“Pull up your dress,” he demands roughly, his voice deep and raspy. Quickly, I do as he says, bunching the material up just high enough to bare the apex of my thighs.
His nostrils flare, and he clenches his jaw briefly before ordering, “Now wrap your hand around mine.”
Furrowing my brows, I do as he says, grabbing ahold of his hand that’s curled tightly around the blade. “Wouldn’t want to cut up those pretty hands of yours. So, you’re going to guide me.”
I shake my head, feeling myself start to retreat.
“I won’t touch you,” he promises. “You’re in control, little mouse. I’m only here to protect your hand. Instead of allowing this knife to cause you pain, use it to give yourself pleasure instead.”
My throat constricts, and I have the strongest urge to run away. But that feeling is what keeps me still. I don’t want Xavier to win. To haunt my life so terribly that an inanimate object has the power to control me.
Nodding my head, I guide his hand up, my breath hitching when the handle slides along my slit.
Zade watches my movements closely, his teeth clenched and the muscle in his jaw pulsating. Blood begins to trickle down his wrist, and for reasons I can’t explain, I squeeze his hand tighter, eliciting more trails of blood. He growls deep in his chest but doesn’t stop me.
I bite my lip, a whimper breaking free when I slowly insert it inside of me, my legs trembling.
Normally, I don’t think I could ever get enjoyment out of fucking myself with a knife handle. But using Zade’s hand to do it adds a layer of pleasure I wouldn’t be able to find on my own. Seeing his blood drip from our hands instead of my own—it does something to me that I can’t explain.
My breath escalates when I slide the handle inside me to the hilt, Zade’s fingers pressed up against my flesh. A groan rumbles deep in his chest, but he keeps his promise, his hand not even twitching against me.
“Tell me how it feels,” he rasps, enthralled by the sight of me tugging our hands down just to drive it back up, eliciting a sharp jolt of bliss.
“S-so good,” I breathe around a moan, my eyes fluttering as I continue, finding a pace that threatens to make me forget my own name.
“Go slower,” he urges, his hand flexing beneath mine. I force myself to listen, keeping the pace gradual and drawing out the pleasure.
“Now watch yourself. Look how pretty you are when you fuck yourself.”
Mouth parted and chest heaving, I look down between my slick thighs, the euphoria heightening from the sight.
“See how you’re dripping all over our hands, baby?”
Both of our hands are covered in his blood, my arousal mixing in and carving paths through the crimson staining our skin.
My stomach tightens, an orgasm building low in my stomach.
“Yes,” I moan.
“You know what I see? I can see how tightly your pussy is clenching the knife,” he growls, face strained with need. “Like it’s just begging to be filled.”
“Do you wish it was your cock instead?” I pant, enjoying the way his eyes flare. Absolutely loving that he can only dream of fucking me, forced to watch a knife handle do it instead. A rush of power flows through me, and I can’t contain the smile.
His eyes lift to mine, something dangerous whirling in his irises. My stomach clenches, the orgasm cresting higher. But I don’t fear him. I pity him.
“Does it hurt knowing that you can’t touch me?” I ask, another moan slipping free when I hit that spot inside me. “Does it cut deeper than this knife?”
“Yes,” he confesses, his tone low and dark.
“You can’t have it,” I taunt. He eyes me closely, understanding what I’m doing and not liking it. Yet, he’ll never disobey me, knowing that the trust I’ve placed on him will be shattered.
Giving respect hurts like a bitch when your hands are tied.
I drive the knife deeper and faster, reaching that peak, and I decide that giving him a small taste will deepen the agony.
All I need is a little nudge, but this time, I’m not the one that will be begging him to let me come.
He will be begging me.
“Do you want to lick me, Zade?” I ask, eyes threatening to cross. “I’m so ready to come.”
He drops his gaze to our hands, baring his teeth from the restraint.
“Yes,” he chokes out.
“Say please.”
A flick of his dangerous gaze and savage curl to his lips that promise retribution, but he doesn’t hesitate. “Please, little mouse.”