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Sucking on his bottom lip, Dornan seemed to enjoy my reaction to his discovery. He didn’t tear his eyes from mine as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a slim, sheathed switchblade, flicking it open with a casual precision that suggested he had done it countless times before.
My eyes widened slightly as the blade snicked open. I didn’t dare move as he balanced the knife in his open palm, hovering in the space between us.
‘You want to cut it out, or should I?’ he asked.
And in that fraction of time, I saw my way out.
Before he could blink, I snatched the knife out of his hand and, without hesitating, leapt forward, plunging the blade into the meaty section of his left shoulder.
He swore and staggered back. As he moved, I used every ounce of energy I still possessed to wrench the blade free. I wasn’t about to give up the only weapon I’d managed to grab hold of during my captivity.
I took a step back and widened my stance, shifting my weight to the balls of my feet and raising onto my tiptoes, ready to move swiftly.
‘That was unnecessary,’ Dornan growled, touching a finger to his bleeding shoulder before pressing it to his mouth, tasting his own blood.
I tried to fight the urge to lick my lips as I revelled in the satisfaction of spilling his blood. I couldn’t help myself and my tongue darted out over my lips as I tasted the blood in the air between us.
Apparently unconcerned, Dornan held his palm out in front of me. ‘Give me the knife,’ he said, wiggling his fingers for effect. I just smiled at him, ready to lunge forward, waiting for the right moment to attack. As if I’d give it back.
Dornan shrugged and reached into the waistband of his jeans. Before I could blink, the cold, smooth barrel of a gun was wedged firmly underneath my chin, forcing my head back at an uncomfortable angle.
Damn it!
‘Ever heard the expression, “Don’t bring a knife to a gun fight?”’ Dornan asked, clearly happy to once again have the upper hand. I let the knife go, wincing as it clattered to the ground beside my bare feet. Dornan kept the gun trained on me as he knelt to pick up the knife, then stuffed the gun back into his waistband.
With rough fingers he seized my arm once more, hovering the bloodied blade over the spot where my useless microchip was implanted.
‘Sweetheart,’ he said, grinning widely. ‘This is gonna hurt.’
He wasn’t gentle as he brought the blade down across my flesh.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DORNAN
Dornan headed for his room upstairs, once he’d bandaged the girl’s bleeding wrist and chained her to the wall, tightening her shackles until she whimpered. She wanted to stab him? He would show her how quickly he could make her existence agony. But also, he kind of loved that she had reacted that way. Grabbing a blade, sinking it into his flesh, licking those beautiful lips of hers when she thought he wasn’t looking. It made him imagine the fight she’d give if he were to pin her down, force her arms over her head, and fuck her tight little body.
His cock throbbed painfully at the thought of her. He needed release. But he would be damned if he’d let her know what kind of effect she was having on him.
The fire she was lighting through his veins.
He entered the room his father set aside for him during such visits and slammed the door shut behind him. Stalking to his bathroom, he began shedding clothes in his wake.
He made the water as hot as possible, wanting to burn her touch from his skin, to wash away her blood, syrupy and sticky as it congealed and dried on his hands.
But at the same time, he didn’t want to wash it away. He wanted to savour it. To bathe in it. To sink himself into her until she begged him for release of her own.
His hand stirred to his engorged cock, where he squeezed hard. The water washed some of the blood from his hand and it dribbled down onto his cock. He squeezed again, mesmerised. Her blood. His dick. Yes.
He briefly considered returning downstairs. He’d be careful, and maybe, just maybe, she’d lie still to protect her broken ribs.
But he didn’t want her to lie still.
He wanted her to thrash and writhe. He wanted her to fight back even as she gave in to him. Because she was so damn good at fighting back. She seemed to enjoy it.
Jesus. What was happening to him? He was careful and controlled, measured. The volatility that lived inside him was a beast that he’d learned to leash a long time ago, and now he was going crazy over one girl?
No.
