Page 45 of Runaway Queen

“If you knew how I felt inside, you wouldn’t say that,” I warned her.

She swallowed hard. She wasn’t fighting me. Why wasn’t she fighting me?

“I’m already holding back,” I muttered. The dizzying fun house inside me came screeching to a halt when she spoke.

“Stop then. Don’t hold back.”

Her soft murmur crept under my skin. The silence inside me was deafening. She had surprised me. I wouldn’t have thought that was possible anymore, given the level of fucked up my head was at these days, but she had.

“Do what you want. I won’t fight you.”

I looked down at her, my perfect, precious little swallow. She should be scared. She should be beaten. She wasn’t, though. Even lying on the forest floor, her fine dress rumpled, her hair wild, hands bound over her head, she wasn’t. She met my eyes with unflinching strength.

“Do your worst. That’s what you’ve always done. I can take it.” She wet her lips, and the movement nearly undid me. “I deserve it, after all.”

A bitter chuckle left me as I reached for her knife, which she’d carelessly dropped next to her on the dirt.

“If you think that hint of self-awareness will get you mercy…” I started.

“I don’t. I don’t want mercy from you. We’ve always been honest with each other, haven’t we? I broke that promise. Punish me.”

She continued to stare at me, uncowed by my threats. The silence inside me continued. For the first time in seven years, the chaos was quiet. Because of her.

“You’ll regret asking for that, prom queen. I’m not the man you knew.”

“I already regret so much, what’s one more thing?” She arched her back, and her tits threatened to pop out of the satin neckline of her gown.

I lowered my hand to her chest, sliding it down in that valley. She still had perfect tits.

My hands moved to her ribs, and I tugged her bra down with one swift pull. She arched her back into me again as my hands brushed over her tits.

I pinched her nipples softly, and she gave a soft moan.

“Don’t.” My warning was like a whip. Her eyes flew to mine.

“Don’t, or I’ll gag you.” I couldn’t take the sound of her sweet pleasure.

I knew my control was ragged at best. It had been seven years of nothing but my hand and memories of this woman. The blow job the other day had only further loosened my self-control, which was already a tattered thing. One more rip, and it would fall to pieces.

I moved her knife to the edge of her dress, and her eyes widened. The moonlight caught on the blade as I cut. The thin material parted under the sharp edge of the knife as well. She was still as I cut the top of her dress, barely daring to breathe, it seemed. The sash I worked down to her waist. I had no idea she still owned that damn thing. I’d never forget the first time I’d seen her in it. It felt like it had all happened in another life.

I spread open the sides of her dress and let my eyes feast on her chest. Her skin looked darker in the dim light and from her coastal lifestyle. I wondered if she went to the beach often. I wondered if she went with other men. Men like Edward Sloane. I’d nearly jumped the fence when they’d had lunch together the other day and slit his throat right there at the table. I had managed not to, but that didn’t mean I was going to let him live. He coveted what was mine. His days were numbered.

Dark possession filled my chest as I lowered the knife to her sternum. She was so still, I imagined I could hear her heart pounding. I could certainly hear my own.

“Are you scared,lastochka? Between us, you’re still the only one who’s ever cut me in anger.” I trailed the knife down her chest, between her glorious breasts, and slid it beneath the lacey fastening of her bra. It opened in the front. How fun.

The knife cut hard through the fastening, until the bra sagged apart. Her dark eyes glittered up at me. Running the blade across one perfect slope, I reached her nipple. I could feel her fear. It was delicious. Still, she didn’t try to push me away or beg me to stop. She was resigned to her fate. Maybe I was simply living up to her expectations of me. I didn’t care. I was too far gone to care.

“Are you scared I’m going to cut you? Or touch you?” I wondered aloud, undecided as to which. “Maybe my touch was always abhorrent to you, even more than a cut, but you needed me to get away from your father.” The thought had plagued me since I’d found out she was alive.

She frowned, a delicate line running between her elegant eyebrows. She shook her head, her eyes fixed on me. Disagreement. It stirred something in me.

“You’re still the only man I’ve ever been with. The only man I’ve ever wanted to be with.”

Her soft words felt like claws, sinking into unprotected skin. I stared at her. That damn storm that lived in my chest only calmed further at her words. The beast was satisfied with its possession of this woman. The only one I’d ever wanted.

I set the knife aside and leaned forward, unable to wait one more second to taste her.

---