“Kylian,” she breathes, my name a prayer and a curse on her lips.
“Shhh,” I command, setting the knife aside for a moment.
I close my hands over her wrists and pin them above her head in one of mine. My grip is unbreakable, a cage of flesh and bone. She struggles, a token resistance that only fuels the fire in my blood.
“You don't speak unless I give you permission. You don't move unless I allow it. Understand? Allow me to worship my goddess the way I plan to.”
She hesitates before finally nodding, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her scent thickens, the sweet aroma of her slick growing stronger, an intoxicating perfume of submission and desire. It's an invitation I have no intention of refusing.
I reclaim the knife and trace the tip over the curve of her breast, and her breath hitches. I press a little harder, not enough to break the skin, just enough to leave a faint, white line that will fade by morning. A temporary mark. A reminder of who holds the power here.
“Such pretty skin,” I murmur, bending my head to follow the path the blade just took.
My tongue is hot against her cool flesh, and she arches into me, a silent plea for more.
I smile against her skin before lifting my head. “So desperate for my touch.”
I move the knife with deliberate slowness, circling her nipple without touching it. It tightens into a hard peak, and the surrounding skin puckers in anticipation. She squirms beneath me, her hips lifting slightly from the ground.
“Please,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I ignore her plea and instead press the flat of the blade against her hardened nipple. The cold steel makes her gasp, and she arches her back. I trace patterns around the areola, watching her reactions as I vary the pressure.
When I finally flick the tip of the knife across her nipple, she cries out, a mixture of pleasure and pain. I do it again, following the sharp contact with my warm mouth, soothing the sting with my tongue.
Moving to her other breast, I repeat the process, this time using the edge of the knife to create a series of shallow scratches in a circular pattern around her nipple. The marks are barely visible, but she seems to feel them intensely, her breath coming in ragged pants.
I finish by pressing the point of the knife directly against the center of her nipple, holding it there as she trembles beneath me. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated with desire and fear.
“Look at me,” I command softly.
When her eyes meet mine, I lower the knife and replace it with my fingers, pinching and rolling her sensitive flesh between my thumb and forefinger.
“Good girl,” I murmur as she moans, her body reacting to every touch. “So responsive to everything I give you.”
“More,” she breathes, her long lashes fluttering.
A dark chuckle rasps out of me. “More? Greedy, aren’t you?”
“Kylian…”
“A servant can never say no to his goddess.”
I move lower, parting her thighs with my knee. The scent of her slick is overwhelming now, a heady musk that makes my own alpha arousal spike. I can feel the pressure building at the base of my cock, the promise of my knot swelling, preparing to claim her, to lock us together in the most primal way possible.
I press the flat of the blade against her inner thigh, so close to where she wants me most. She whimpers, a desperate, needy sound that goes straight to my groin.
“Please, Kylian…”
“Please what?” I demand, my voice harsh with need. “Beg for it, Brylee. Beg me to take you.”
“Please.” She gasps, her hips rising to meet me. “Please, Kylian…take me. Claim me.”
That's all the encouragement I need.
I toss the knife and tear away the remaining scraps of her clothing, leaving her bare and exposed beneath me. My own clothes follow in a flurry of impatient movement until there's nothing between us, nothing but skin and sweat and the electric charge of our combined scents.
I enter her in one swift, possessive thrust, not bothering with foreplay. I can’t fucking wait a second longer.
