Picking up one of his blades, he holds it between us. The edge is sharp, wicked in the dim lighting.
“Does the pain help?” he asks, voice rough. “Does it anchor you to this world?”
“It was all I knew.” I shrug. “I don’t know how to live without being in pain.”
Taking his hand, he pushes my head back, thumb on my chin. “When used right, pain can heighten pleasure.” His thumb traces my lips. “Let me help you, Princess. Let me be your safe place in this world.”
My heart constricts. Killian has always been my safe place—I never knew it until he took some of the bad memories away and replaced them with his hands.
“Alright.”
He leans forward, capturing my lips with his warm ones. He tastes like mint and tobacco, stealing my breath as if it owns him. Maybe it does. There isn’t a part of me that he doesn’t own.
Nibbling on my bottom lip, he kneels before me, using his knife to slice my leggings. They shred into thin strips, the cold blade drawing goose flesh. He rises as it cuts across my thighs, and I gasp as the blade coasts my skin.
He stops short of the seam at my pussy, smirking at me. Glaring, I cross my arms.
“You know,” he comments lightly, turning the blade so the hilt rests against my clit. I bite back a whimper as he presses, just the right pressure that has me shuddering. “This should only be performed with someone you trust.”
“Oh, you don’t say,” I snap, grabbing his wrist. “Are you saying I shouldn’t look for anyone else to play knives with?”
Snatching my throat, he pulls me close, lips brushing mine as he speaks. “This is my way of reminding you, Princess, who fucking owns you.” He moves the hilt, and I moan, spikes of pleasure shooting outward. “You only come to me. Only my blade touches your skin, remember?”
“You said that as a threat.”
“Or a promise,” he says, grinning. His wrist moves, grinding into me, and I sigh, content.
My body has been used for another’s pleasure since I was thirteen. Only with Killian has my body been used forme—to givemepleasure, to bring me to heights of ecstasy I never dreamed possible. All because of the Reaper before me.
“And what about you?” I flutter my eyes, hips moving along with his agonizingly slow movements.
“What about me?” He’s smiling so wide, a dimple pulls at the corner of his mouth. I want to bite it.
“Who owns you?”
He huffs a sharp laugh. “If you don’t know that by now, I haven’t been doing a good enough job of showing you.”
The hilt twists, pushing harder as he dips his head to taste my lips. His tongue sweeps my mouth, laying an unseen claim,and I moan. Nails dig into my neck, the sting of pain drawing me higher.
I’m infuriatingly close and yet not close enough. Pulling his hair, I yank him back, glaring into his eyes.
“Tell me,” I demand. “Who owns you, Pup?”
He shudders, a violent shake, as if my words alone have leashed him. Pressing his forehead to mine, he doesn’t stop teasing me. Rage, pleasure, and frustration build higher, mixing into an inky mess, and I can’t see straight, let alone think.
“You,” he whispers like a prayer. “You do, Princess. Every wretched part of me belongs to you.Onlyyou.”
“Good boy.” He groans, closing his eyes as if I’ve grabbed his heart and squeezed it.
Exhaling, he leans back, taking the hilt with him, and I whimper.
“Do you trust me?”
My answer is immediate. “Yes.”
The tip of the blade skirts the seam, slicing the fabric away until I’m sitting there, naked from the waist down. Tsking, he holds the blade to my collar and winks. “Don’t move.”
The fabric falls away, the rip loud in my ears. Sitting before him, he scans my body, eyes dark and tone wistful. “Fucking magnificent.”
