Page 47 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

“And you thought it was a good idea to deny me access to my favorite part?”

“Best for last?”

“I thought you needed help,” I say. “Seems like you’re comfortable enough to me.”

She nibbles on her lower lip, shrugging a single shoulder. “I... had an idea. But I don’t know if it’s weird.”

“Oh, no, are you telling me you might want to do something weird with the kinky, tattooed guy with a split tongue and sharpened teeth?” I ask dryly.

Her face flushes scarlet, realizing her mistake. Hopefully realizing I would do just about anything with her. Hopefully not realizing the absolutely filthy things I want to do to her, because I want all of those to be a surprise.

She drops her foot to the floor again and reaches into her cleavage, pulling something out that’s small enough to hide in her hand. She stands between my spread legs and says. “Close your eyes? Put out your hands?”

As much as I want to be a hardass right now, I can’t help the charmed smile that stretches my lips. I close my eyes as requested and hold out an open palm. A cool, smooth weight lands there. When I open my eyes again there’s a simple, black pocket knife in my hand.

My next exhale shudders when it leave my lungs. That hot-cold sensation—the feeling that tells me I’m entering Domspace—flushes through my whole body.

She lifts the knot in her corset laces. It’s a monstrous, tangled thing sitting clumsy and ugly at her navel.

“I’ve always been bad at tying these things,” she says, the words thin and breathy.

It takes me a moment. I have to tent my free hand over my eyes. She shifts her feet. I know because the fabric of her skirt brushes the inside of one knee, then the other. I hear the click of her teeth against one of her acrylic nails.

“I’m—s-sorry,” she whispers. “We don’t have to—ahh!”

She exclaims because I use the same hand over my eyes to grab her by her corset laces. I tug tightly before twisting my wrist, cinching it tighter around her middle. So tight it almost meets in the middle.

“I hope you don’t like these fucking clothes,” I snarl. Even I don’t recognize my voice. Brutal and dark and mean.

She braces one hand on my shoulder, mesh gloves appearing there beneath her too-long sleeves. “Those first,” I say. “Take them off.”

Her breaths come in shallow gusts as she clumsily divests them. There’s nothing sexy or seductive about it. Her hands shake and she throws them somewhere unseen with jerky movements. It’s hotter than any of the lap dances I’ve ever gotten.

I flick the knife open with my thumb, careful to check the edges of the blade, ensuring only one side is sharpened before I light the unsharpened side against the hollow of her throat. A wild flush blooms across the expanse of her collar bones, up her neck, across her cheeks.

Little sounds escape her lips, making my cock strain against the inseam of my jeans.

Yet I don’t know for sure if this was the intensity she’d been hoping for. This girl. She makes my mind melt and I keep losing grip of my own reins. “Such a sneaky little thing you are,” I grunt. “You’re supposed to be stripping for me. And now you’re making me cut you out of your clothes?”

I make myself smile. Make it reach my eyes as I drop the blade from her neck. “I don’t know if you want this enough,” I say. It’s not great. This method still falls firmly in the world of dubious consent at best. But having her like this is better than any kind of inebriation. Better than all the sex I’ve had in my life. I can’t break the scene. I don’t fucking want to.

“I—w-want it,” she chokes out. “Please.”

My brain goes languid and warm as I nod, lighting the dull edge against her neck and dragging it down over the curves of her breasts. I catch the gossamer with the point and slice a clean line from below her breasts to the neckline of the blouse.

“Show me,” I command. She lifts shaking hands to push the sleeves of the blouse off her shoulders, pooling the fabric just underneath her perfect tits.

I heave out a sigh, leaning back to admire the mounds of alabaster skin swathed in black lace. Her pert, pink nipples press at the center of lacy cobwebs, just sheer enough that I can make out the soft dunes of her areolas. My mouth waters as I look up at her.

“You want me to put these in my mouth, don’t you?” I ask her. “Because you wouldn’t have packaged them so pretty for me unless you wanted me to worship them with my tongue, right?”

She whimpers, biting on her lip as she nods, her breaths still shortened gusts.

I pull her closer with the hand still tangled in her corset. She stumbles as she clumsily sits astride me. The wide spread of my legs forcing her flush against my hips. I drop my head, swirling the tips of my tongue over her nipple before filling my mouth with her lace-clad flesh.

She lets out a pained noise and I reward her with a careful, focused roll of my tongue across her nipple, trapped between my teeth.

“Fuck,” she whimpers, thighs shaking.