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Fuck.
“Do I need toshowyou how to please that little pussy of yours?”
“No,” she whispered, but her body was writhing, sweat dripping down her neck from straining.
But she did not attempt to push me off.
I nudged the handle deeper.
The blade sliced my palm, and my blood dripped down onto her thighs. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Hiding those captivating, beautiful eyes from me….
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I warned, increasing my speed and dipping the blade upward so that the very top of the blade teased her clit.
She gasped, her moan sharp, almost like a cry. Her eyes were staring into mine now.
She gripped my suit jacket lapels and twisted so the material frayed. I turned my head, watching her pale hand grip the tattered fabric.
She’d done that on purpose.
So, she wanted to play, did she? Very well.
Her sounds of pleasure increased in volume, echoing. They were like a song to my ears. I watched those pouty lips in every single one of the mirrors surrounding us. My cock was so strangled behind my slacks that it had become painful, but I was not going to break my gaze from hers for even a second.
“Fuck,” she cried, twisting the fabric more. “You.”
A piece of my jacket finally tore free into her grasp. That dangerous little hand of hers latched onto my pectorals, the sting of her nails slicing into my skin and sending a warm heat down my body. The handle of her knife was no longer visible. The entirety of it sunk deep in her warm center.
My hand was drenched, the handle becoming increasingly slippery as I fucked her deep and hard with its length.
I’d never wanted to be a goddamn weapon more than I did right now.
My kills were all made with my own body. I never needed anything to end a life—just my hands. Now, I couldn’t shake the image of sinking balls deep inside this goddess and her coating me with that sweet liquid.
“I hate you,” she panted, her body pink with a hot blush, her chest rising and falling, her whimpers increasing in volume and tempo.
Fuck.
All too aware of the head of my cock, I felt precome soiling my trousers.
The irony was that I had intended to ruin her dress, yet here I was, with my clothes destroyed. She’d shredded my jacket and now was working on my button-up shirt. The buttons popped and flew off in all directions. The soft tinkling sound they made on the tile as they bounced was sexy.
“Fucking hate me, Kayate,” I urged, her thighs slippery with her juices and my blood.
She was rocking back and forth on the edge of the knife bend, letting it rub her clit and glide her slick heat on my hand.
“Fuck.”
Rock.
“You.”
Grind.
“Lucius.”
At the sound of my name, her orgasm ripped through her. Her body shaking and convulsing like a woman possessed. I couldn’t look away from her, my own orgasm taking hold. My cock was a battering ram that refused to soften and instead simply twitched with the need to claim her.
The final waves of pleasure ebbed, and I felt like I’d been hit with an anvil. Exhaustion was stealing my breath. I finally moved my hand, pulling the handle from the sea of come on the couch, and I chuckled.
