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The door begins to open slowly, and it feels like I’m a child waiting for Christmas morning. One second passes, then another. I expect the metal gleam of the scissors to catch her eye first, but it doesn’t.
“What happened?” Delilah’s eyes are wide as she takes in the sight of the broken chair. She closes the door slowly while staring at what’s left of the chair on the floor.
Somehow, I manage to keep my voice even. “I knocked it over. Walking around while reading something on my phone.”
Her gaze finally lifts from the floor, and I can see the moment that she realizes she’s been caught.
Fear trickles into her features, her hazel eyes are glued on the scissors, and I can imagine the thoughts circling her mind. Her cheeks grow flush, and her pupils dilate.
She’s probably trying to come up with an excuse, but there isn’t one. At least not one that she would want to admit to, especially not to me. I know I’m not that man anymore, or at least part of me isn’t him, but I just can’t help myself. The desire to give in to the game of cat and mouse is too much for me.
“I’ll give you one opportunity to explain why these were stuffed between the mattresses in the guest bedroom, and it better be a worthy one.”
Her lips tremble, they fucking tremble, but no words spill from them. I can’t tell if I’m more pissed to find the scissors or that she won’t admit why she took them in the first place.
Before I can think my next step through, she rushes toward the hallway as if she can really escape me. With minimal effort, I meet her at the mouth of the hall and cut her off.
I don’t think I simply react and reach out; my fingers sink deep into her hair as I grab a handful of the locks and pull her into my face. She struggles like a mouse caught in a trap.
Inhaling through my nose to try to calm myself so I don’t snap her neck right this second, I catch a whiff of her scent. Fear, but there’s something else.Man. She smells manly like spice and citrus… like me.
The thought makes me pause for half a moment, and our gazes collide. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip to stop it from trembling.
I tighten my hold on her hair, but she doesn’t so much as whimper.
“Tell me, did you plan to use these on me in the middle of the night? Or were you saving them for a special occasion?”
She tries to shake her head, but I want her words.
“Speak!” I yell into her face.
I need to terrify her, to remind her that I’m in charge and that no matter what we’ve done together, nothing will ever change that.
“No.” Her voice cracks. “I… I took them to protect myself.”
My lip curls. “From what? Have I hurt you? Have I tried to use a weapon on you?”
“No…but…”
Before she can continue, I bring the blade of the scissors to her throat. I watch with delight as her throat bobs, and I press the blade harder, watching as a thin line of crimson appears on the blade and her creamy white flesh.
I can see her pulse pick up, but she doesn’t dare move. It wouldn’t take much pressure for me to slit her throat and watch her bleed out on the floor, but I don’t want to kill her. I want to terrify her. I want her afraid, worried that if I ever find her with a weapon again, she might die at my hands.
“I hope my intention is clear, Delilah.” I speak the words into the shell of her ear. “Because I know yours were. You planned to use these scissors, if need be, against me. That’s very brave of you, but also incredibly stupid.” I ease the pressure on the blade a smidge and watch the relief fill her features before I do it all over again and press the blade into her skin a little harder. “If I ever find you with another weapon or the knowledge that you might try to kill me, your ending will be far worse than this. Do you understand me?”
The warmth of her body against mine, and the way she’s trembling, makes my cock rock hard. It wouldn’t take much to have her on her hands and knees, myself pounding into her from behind, but that’s not what this is about. It’s deeper than that.
“I understand.” The words come out as a whisper, and I pull the scissors away and release her like she is on fire. She stumbles, and her knees knock together as she tries to regain her balance.
My eyes move to her throat and the tiny rivulet of blood that mars her skin. This strange urge to smear her blood across her skin overtakes me, but I clench my hand into a fist and ignore the ache.
“Get out of my sight before I do something that you’ll regret.”
Like a wounded animal, she scampers away, a hand to her throat as if I’ve gutted her, and she is bleeding out. I walk in the opposite direction and go into the kitchen to make myself a drink.
I could’ve killed her, I think to myself, but you didn’t.
