I suck in a breath, as he presses the handle against my palm and pushes it into his chest.
The blade puckers against the thick fabric of his uniform. Slowly, it frays, giving way. I stare in horror.
His eyes are so focused on mine it’s like he has a spell over me. “Kill me. Slice me open. Lay my soul bare. My life is yours.”
My lips part as I stare down at the blade. He is giving me the opportunity to kill him. Here and now.
My attention flashes up to him, but his expression is calm curiosity. He waits, watching me while I weigh his life in my hands. Does he not think I’m capable?
The aching peace in his face tells me, no, he believes it’s a possibility that I would complete the deed. It wouldn’t take that much.
The blade is sharper than I’d realized, even just the continued pressure is slowly splitting his skin. Blood pools down his tore uniform. I would have to commit and force all of my weight into it, but I could kill him. I could kill him right now, and he would let me.
He doesn’t try to convince me not to.
He just waits for me to decide.
I could kill him, take the key, free the girl in the dungeon and run. Maybe I would make it. Maybe I wouldn’t. But my fate would be sealed. One way or another, this game, this push and pull, would end.
There would be no more uncertainty, only fate choosing if it’s finished with me or not.
My muscles relax. My body tells me before my mind does that I am not willing to kill him.
Killing him would be giving up on my own goodness.
I still have hope, foolish perhaps, that this monster could be good too.
I’ve seen his fangs. I’ve seen blood on his hands.
And yet, when his hand again slides up my thigh, my mind is lost again. When did I begin to want him like this? My skin is searing in the best possible way.
My back arches, pushing myself against him, when his hands slide up under my dress, over my waist, and to my stomach. I kiss him again, this time deep and searching.
I don’t understand these feelings. It’s so much more than I’d ever thought possible. I’ve never felt this with any man, let alone a captor.
My blood pulses with heat I never thought possible, and my thoughts again fly out the window.
“Lina,” he whispers against my lips. “Fuck, what are you doing?”
“I thought you didn’t want me,” I tease him and then roll my hips against him. His head falls back with a groan.
“You have no idea what I want.”
“Tell me.”
He bites my bottom lip. “I want to taste every inch of you,” he tells me. “I want to fuck you until you forget your own name.”
I whimper. My heart beats between my legs—a sensation I’ve never felt before.
What the hell am I doing?
“I want you to say my name,” he says softly.
“Your name?”
He nods. “You’ve never said it.”
I run my tongue along my bottom lip, savoring his taste and consider. I have, haven’t I? My brow pinches. I remember saying his name when he was burned. He must not remember that night. Instead of clarifying, I humor him. “Haze,” I whisper against his lips.
