"You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this." His grip on my throat loosened—just enough to let me speak again.
"Waited for what?" I gasped. "For me to hold a knife to your dick?"
"For you to stop pretending." He leaned closer, as if the blade were mere decoration. "I want the part of you that even you fear."
"And then what?" I tilted my head. "Will you love that part? Tame it? Or destroy it so you can feel superior?"
"I’ll unleash it. Mold it until you don’t recognize yourself—and never want to be anything else again."
Smirking, I leaned in until our faces were mere inches apart. "Be careful what you wish for. That part might enjoy slipping by accident." I dragged the tip just enough to tease, letting him absorb every word. "Because if you choke me unconscious again, you’ll lose more than just your illusion of control."
He glanced at the blade between us, then back at me. "A woman holding a knife to my cock while telling me how to behave... feel how hard I am?"
"So that’s it?" I studied his face lazily. "You get off on being told what to do?"
"No, Fiona." His grin was dark. "I get off on the thought of you stopping the orders and begging instead—"
The grin vanished as I pressed the blade harder against him. "The only one begging here will be you—to keep your cock intact." Maybe I should do it. Let him bleed. Prove he wasn’t untouchable. The thought of controlling him sent a thrilling pulse deep inside me.
"Go on," he dared, voice rough. "Do it," he added, eyes burning, pressing himself harder against the steel.
Our gazes locked. A reckless hunger ignited in me, desire so fierce it pulsed greedily in my core.
"You can’t." His body heat enveloped me like a lethal embrace."You want me too badly—"
"Watch me," I snarled. I shifted the blade higher, pressing it against his flank until I felt it bite into skin.
He tensed at the pain, a curse hissing through his teeth.
Mesmerized by the raw thrill his pain sparked in me, I held my breath. It was as if something dark inside me had opened its eyes. I wanted more. More of that flinch when the steel met flesh. To feel the control, to strike exactly where it hurt—this wasn’t revenge or impulse. It was pure fulfillment. I lost myself in it, in the power in my hand.
It made me careless.
The sweetness of satisfaction danced on my tongue—until he moved.
Brutally.
Like a vise, his hand clamped around my wrist and smashed it—knife and all—into the wall. Again. Again. Each impact sent searing fire through my bones. A pained sound tore from my throat as I jerked, fighting viciously against the instinct to let go. But when the pain became an all-consuming inferno, my muscles gave out—the knife slipped from my grip.
It clattered to the floor. Lost.
My fingers twitched in empty air, refusing to acknowledge the absence of my weapon. The pain in my wrist throbbed, a searing burn radiating up to my elbow—but it was nothing compared to his gaze. There was an unbearable intensity in it, as if he could destroy me with nothing but his eyes.
A shiver raced down my spine, my legs suddenly too weak to withstand the force of his presence. My body rebelled against my mind, craving him—craving everything I shouldn’t want. I gasped for air, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. Not until he took me. Not until he drove into me so hard and deep that every last shred of my control was fucked out of me. My gaze dropped lower, my hips instinctively pressing closer. Desire torethrough me. I needed to feel him, completely.
His lips hovered just above mine, but he didn’t close the distance. He stayed right there—close enough that I felt every one of his breaths, felt the restraint coiled in him. And that was the most unsettling thing: his calm. That dangerous, absolute control.
"You’ve played enough, Fiona." His voice was low and rough. "Now it’s my turn."
I wanted to speak, but he went deeper, harsher. "Say it." His eyes bored into me and his voice like a blade against my skin. "Tell me how much you want me."
I clenched my teeth. Pride hissed at me to stay silent. But my body had already decided. The heat between my thighs was undeniable, my pulse wild, my knees trembling.
"Please…" It came out softer than I intended. "I want you."
The corner of his mouth twitched into a dark, satisfied smirk. Cold anticipation. Then his hand tangled in my hair. Not gentle, not careful. He gripped hard and forced me to my knees. And I let him. Because I knew what came next—and I couldn’t wait.
He took his time. Dragged his thumb over my lower lip, tugged lightly, as if reminding me I’d only get what I wanted when he decided. His fingers traced the curve of my mouth, following the delicate seam before pressing two fingers against it, parting me. I let him in, wrapped my tongue around them, sucked greedily. It was almost laughable how much pleasure two fingers in my mouth could ignite. That he still denied me, still gave only in slow, measured doses, drove my need to new heights. I teased with my teeth, bit down harder—until a faint twitch in his jaw betrayed his pain. Instead of releasing me, he shoved his fingers deeper, rough, forcing my head back against the wall. He triggered my gag reflex, forcing my jaw to slacken. I choked, my body tensing, but he held me there, watching with a cold smile.
