Page 75 of Silver

I start panting. What the hell is he thinking of doing?

His fingers stroke my pelvis right above my clit. “We’ve talked about a tattoo. Right here.”

We did not talk about a tattoo. He spoke of it while I vehemently disagreed in my head. I don’t say it aloud because it seems unlikely he has a tattoo gun or knows how to use one. I’m confident he’s not about to ink my skin tonight on his own.

“But what about a scar?”

I suck in a breath and hold it.

His fingers continue to dance around my pelvis before returning to my breasts. “A scar would be just as strong a reminder, wouldn’t it, little slut?”

I’m still holding my breath, trying to imagine his intentions.

When the tip of something sharp touches my breast, I nearly faint. All the blood drains from my face.

Silver grips one of my tits hard, holding me in place, and presses the sharp point against my nipple.

I cry out, my voice muffled from my fear.

My attacker had a knife. A knife and a ski mask. Memories of kneeling on the concrete next to my car while he terrorized me flood back.

“This knife is very sharp, little slut. I could easily make a slice anywhere on your body. With the right aftercare, I could ensure it scars beautifully. How does that sound, precious?”

I shake my head. “No. Please, Silver. No. Please stop. You’re scaring me.”

He chuckles. “Scaring you? Don’t I scare you every day? That’s half the fun for a slut like you.”

I keep shaking my head. My toes curl under as I try not to faint. “No. Please, Master. No. I don’t like the knife,” I plead, my voice wobbly.

“Shh,” he whispers near my ear. “Stay very still so I don’t accidentally slice your nipple off, whore.”

I gasp. My entire body is shaking.

Whore. Whore. Whore… Only one person has ever called me a whore.

Silver presses the blade to my tit again, the tip digging in enough that I don’t know whether or not he’s cutting me. It doesn’t matter. I scream. Fear and panic consume me as the blood-curdling sound escapes my mouth. It’s loud enough for everyone in the house to hear. Probably anyone outside, too, if they happen to be walking by.

I’m marginally aware of the clank of the knife as I assume it hits the floor. Did he drop it?

I’m still screaming. I can’t stop.

Silver’s fingers touch my ankles a moment later, and he releases them. His body heat presses against me as he stands to do the same to my wrists. As I collapse, he scoops me into his arms and carries me away from the pegboards while pulling the ski mask off my head.

My eyes are squeezed shut, and I think I’m still screaming. Perhaps even hyperventilating.

And then I’m on his bed. He’s behind me, spooning me. He pulls the covers over us and holds me tight, his fingers wrapped around both my wrists, undoubtedly to keep me from flailing.

“It’s over, Daphne,” he soothes next to my ear. “I’ve got you, precious girl. The knife is gone.”

After a while, I switch from screaming to sobbing uncontrollably. My body shakes violently as I wail. I don’t even try to dislodge myself from his grip. It’s oddly comforting for him to hold me, hugging me tight. He even tosses a leg over both of mine.

Whore. Whore. Whore… I can’t get that word out of my head.

It’s a jumbled mess in there. I’m confusing my Master with the man who terrorized me in the middle of the night. The man who put a ski mask over my head, yanked me out of my car, and threatened me with a knife.

And called me a whore.

“You’re safe, precious,” he says, kissing my neck. “I didn’t cut you anywhere, Daphne. I was only fucking with your mind.”