My clit throbs as he looks at me, those intense eyes of his focused on me. “Please let me come.”
Rising to his knees, he strokes a thumb over my tender clit. “Got something I wanna use to help with that.”
He opens the box and pulls out a knife. My heart rate escalates.
“This is the knife I use most. The one I used to kill the men who came after you and our daughter.” As he turns it with care, it glints in the soft light from the lamp. “I shouldn’t tell you that. We aren’t married, and you could be forced to tell the cops should you ever be questioned. But I’m telling you this because I want you to know I trust you with every part of me, Vi. I want you to do the same.”
“I trust you,” I say, without any shadow of doubt. “But a knife?”
“It’s been sterilized.” Miles bites down on his lips and takes a deep inhale and slow exhale. “Raise your knees and keep your legs nice and wide.”
Quickly, I do as he says, even as my question goes unanswered.
Miles turns the knife so he’s holding it by the blade, his grip far away from the razor-sharp edge. “It’s been sterilized thoroughly.” It’s cold when he finally places the tip of the handle against my aching clit.
I jump, then settle, as he rubs it against me. Back and forth, teasing me all over again. It takes nothing to bring me back to the point where I feel like I am close to combusting.
But I’m scared to move.
I don’t want any movement on my part to hurt either of us. The presence of the knife works as surely as if I were tied to the bed. Knowing I can’t move makes everything ... more.
Miles’s eyes are hooded, his mouth slightly open, as he finally eases the hilt of the knife between my lips, I gasp. It’s a cold but welcome intrusion.
“Fuck, Vi. You look so fucking hot taking my knife like a good girl.”
I watch his tongue lick his lower lip as he concentrates. Glancing down, I see his cock, so hard and thick, standing proudfrom his jeans. The tip of it glistens as his arousal leaks, and I wish I could swallow it.
Words and sensations coalesce. I feel transcendent. Out of this world. This is what the women in my books chase. A feeling of being treasured. Of being challenged. Of being so loved and trusted by another person that you will literally share everything with them.
As I climb the steady slope of arousal, I want to grind against the hilt, but I don’t. I know Miles’s grip on the knife blade is precarious.
An orgasm inches closer. It’s within reach.
“Miles,” I moan, and with his free hand, he pinches my clit hard, sending me spiraling into a place where there are a thousand stars. “Oh, god.” Other words tumble from my lips as I ride out the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had. I feel everything as I squeeze around the cold handle.
And Miles doesn’t give me a chance to come down. He tosses the knife in a throw so precise and controlled, the blade lodges in the wall by the window; then he enters me in one smooth stroke.
“Shit, Vi. You feel so fucking good.” He grips the cheeks of my butt, holding me wide open for him to simply take.
His body is hot against mine, the hairs of his chest abrading my nipples. The denim of his jeans runs against my thighs. He kisses me as if this is the last time we’ll ever be together. Or maybe as if it’s the first—like something he’s waited for his whole life.
I slide my hands into his hair, holding his lips to mine. Needing this moment of connection to last. Our tongues meet, dueling each other. My teeth clamp on Miles’s lips, and he groans.
“I’m gonna come,” Miles says finally. “Gonna put my seed so fucking deep inside you. Want another kid with you so bad, Vi.”
“I want that too,” I whisper.
Because the other words I want to say, that I love him, stick in my throat.
29
BATES
The scent of hog and beef grilling, rock music blasting from speakers, and the sun beating down on the lot of the clubhouse can only mean one thing.
The Fourth of July—Iron Outlaws style.
And man, do we know how to throw a party.
