"All of it," I admitted, my voice breaking. "Everything. I want to feel what she felt, but I want it to be real. Not twisted by madness."
He went perfectly still, studying my face in the moonlight. Then, without warning, he hauled me to my feet and threw me over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
"Then that's exactly what you'll get," he growled, carrying me deeper into the woods as I hung helpless across his back. "But don't think for a second that you'll be able to handle everything I want to do to you."
The hunting lodge appeared through the trees like something from a dark fairy tale. Alexander kicked the door open, carrying me inside where candles flickered throughout the single room, casting dancing shadows on rough stone walls. A fire crackled in the hearth, warming air that smelled of cedar and anticipation.
He deposited me beside a high-backed wooden chair positioned to face the door, leather restraints attached to its arms and legs with careful precision. On a small table beside it lay an assortment of items that made my breath catch: silk rope, riding crop, and most prominently, a wicked-looking hunting knife with an ornate silver handle.
"Welcome to your education," he said gruffly. "Let's see how you handle this."
He cut my bonds, rubbing circulation back into my wrists with surprising gentleness before grasping my torn dress and ripping it completely off me. I stood naked before him, firelight playing over my skin, marked with scratches from our chase through the woods.
"Perfect," he murmured, circling me slowly. "You look like a wild thing. Untamed. Ready to be broken."
Without warning, he grasped my hair again, using it to guide me toward the chair. "Sit."
The leather was cool against my heated skin as I settled into position. Alexander knelt before me, securing my wrists to the chair arms, then my ankles, spreading my legs wide until I was completely exposed and vulnerable.
Only then did he remove the mask.
His face was flushed with exertion and arousal, his eyes burning with an intensity that made my breath catch. Without the barrier of the mask, this became personal again—not the faceless domination of a stranger, but the claiming of a woman by the man she was falling in love with.
"Better," he said, setting the mask aside and reaching for the knife. "I want you to see my face when I mark you. I want you to know exactly who's doing this to you."
The blade caught firelight as he lifted it, testing its weight.
"I didn't use this with Beatrice," he said, his voice rough with something between confession and promise. "This is something I reserve for special occasions. For someone who can appreciate the artistry."
My core clenched at his words. "Show me," I breathed.
He approached slowly with the knife. "This requires absolute trust," he said, kneeling between my spread thighs. "One wrong move, one moment of panic, and you could be seriously hurt."
"I trust you," I said simply, meaning it completely. "Do whatever you want to me."
The flat of the blade pressed against my inner thigh, cold steel contrasting with my fevered skin. I gasped at the sensation, my back arching as much as the restraints allowed.
"Feel how sharp it is," he murmured, drawing the knife higher with exquisite care. "One wrong move and it would cut you. But I won't let that happen. I'm going to take such good care of you."
The blade traced patterns on my skin—never cutting, never pressing hard enough to break flesh, but always present, always dangerous. Every nerve ending turned into a live wire of sensation.
"Please," I gasped as the knife teased closer to my core without quite touching where I needed it most.
"Please what, beautiful?" He traced the blade along my hip bone, watching my face intently. "Tell me exactly what you want."
"Touch me," I begged, abandoning pride completely. "I need to feel you."
He set the knife aside temporarily, replacing steel with warm flesh as his fingers found my pussy. I was already soaking wet, my body betraying the extent of my arousal.
"Christ, you're dripping," he growled, sliding two fingers inside me with one smooth motion. "The chase, the knife, being bound and helpless—it all turns you on, doesn't it?"
"Yes," I sobbed, my hips bucking against his hand despite the restraints. "God, yes."
He worked me with practiced skill, his thumb finding my clit as his fingers curled to hit that perfect spot inside me. Just as I felt my climax building, he withdrew his touch completely.
"Not yet," he said, reaching for the knife again. "You don't come until I say you can."
The blade returned to my skin, this time tracing the underside of my breast with hair-raising precision. I held my breath, every muscle tense as steel whispered across sensitive flesh.
