I stilled for a moment before upping my speed.
Just a little.
My brain thrashed against my skull.
“Faster, Blair!” He crashed his other hand onto the table, rattling my hold on the knife.
I upped my pace slightly more.
“I said, fucking faster!” He clamped his hand around my wrist, cuffing it, and controlled my speed.
My soul nearly drained from my body while he hammered the knife between his fingers. We got through one hand pass in mere seconds.
He did it again.
And again and again and again.
Until all the anger coiled inside me unraveled and snapped free.
I added force, helping him slam the knife into the table so violently that it rocked beneath us. My mind went blank as I lost control, releasing all my pent-up frustration.
My view grew fuzzy to the point where I could hardly make out his fingers. They became hazy shapes.
I froze, reality crashing in, when I heard a sharp crack.
I’d stabbed his finger, the knife connecting with bone. It wasn’t all the way through his middle finger, but it’d broken through the skin. I yanked the knife out, and blood trickled from the wound.
It was a tiny spot at first, before crimson-red gushed out.
He grinned down at his hand. This was what he’d wanted. He knew I’d hit his finger, and I’d never get out of being his Fawn.
He grabbed the knife, slipping it back into his pocket, and leaned back in the booth to inspect his hand.
My blood boiled as I waited for his response.
He stared down at his finger, smearing the blood, and grinned. “You hit bone. Color me impressed. I’m shocked it didn’t go deeper.”
I didn’t say a word because I couldn’t form them.
His heavy gaze dragged from his finger to me. “How’d it feel, Blair?” He scooted closer, sliding his elbows across the table. Near enough that our lips almost brushed. “How’d it feel to finally release that anger built up inside you?” His alluring voice pulled me into his orbit.
Since the table was narrow, he didn’t have to move much to lower his head and draw my lower lip between his teeth. The taste of that burned sugar returned to my mouth, now mixed with hints of Enzo.
“Tell me how it felt,” he said with full fascination.
In a trance, I whispered, “Great. Empowering.”
“That’s my girl.” He reared back a few inches. “That’s my Fawn.”
He pulled away, grabbed his glass, left the booth, and stood behind me.
I shifted in the chair, pretending to be more uneasy than I truly was, when he ran his fingers through my hair. I only hoped he wasn’t using the bloody one.
His calmness was brief.
I winced in pain when he clutched a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back.
My stare crashed into his violently.
