Page 115 of Make You Mine

“Why does it have to be so complicated?” I ask, knowing damn well I won’t get the response I’m looking for. “I want to see you and hear you. Is that too much to ask?”

“And I want to taste you, my wife. Stop dancing around the fate you’re condemned to and slash the mask.” There’s a certain annoyance in his tone, even through the voice modifier. “All I wanna do is make your dreams come true. You’ve got the power, Maddy.”

It’s true—I do have the power. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. One move and it could be over.

I close my palm around the knife, finally taking it away from his grip.

Without a second thought, I swing it forward and land on his arm.

I slam it into his skin and twist.

He groans at the unexpected move.

I had no idea that skin would be so thick and bone so tough, and I struggle to push the knife further.

I want to harm him, slow him down enough so I can escape. Give him a nice reminder of how I’m not a toy. Not the little lamb he thinks of. Not so innocent after all.

But I don’t want to kill him.

“Fuck, my girl.” A cackle scrapes his throat. He grabs my neck and pins me against the lockers again, forcing me to let go of the knife, now stuck in his arm.

“Bad, bad, girl,” he says. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

He tilts his head, alternating between staring at me and at his arm with the knife.

“Now, pull it out.”

I don’t move.

He tightens his grip around me. “I said, take it out.”

The way he’s choking me, barely leaving enough space for me to breathe, makes the darkest side of me take over. My pussy clenches.

I know I shouldn’t like this control, the way he’s commanding me, claiming me.

I grab the knife, and with a swift move, I pull it out.

He snatches it back and quickly exchanges his hand necklace for the blade, now coated in dark crimson.

“Roll up my sleeve,” he orders.

He doesn’t need to say it twice. I take the sleeve of his hoodie and push it up.

A gasp escapes my lips as I see the medium-sized wound that decorates his toned arm. It is a thick gash, blood pooling around it. It doesn’t spill, though. The cut isn’t deep, but I did some damage.

Still, he isn’t fazed. His sole focus is on me, on giving me the punishment I deserve.

“Perfect,” he says, his face curved to his arm. “It’ll do.”

What is he talking about?

“Since you don’t want my mouth on your pussy, we’ll go with plan B.”

I’m about to ask, but there’s no need. He brings the sharp end of the knife over my clothes again, down my blouse, and this time, he tugs at the fabric, leaving enough distance between it and my skin, so he can slash through it. He cuts the fabric in a straight line, from the top to the bottom.

Then, he hooks a finger past the belt loop of my skirt and does the same. His hands stretch the fabrics and tear them apart.

I stand still, petrified at what’s happening, my breath ragged and my heartbeat overheating.