Page 46 of They Will Burn

His mouth continues its assault on my senses, and I desperately try to remain still, to do as he ordered in fear he’ll steal my release away the same way Bishop did earlier.

Every swipe of his tongue makes me cry out, and every time he drags my clit between his teeth, I see stars at the sensations that shoot through my entire body.

“Kaos, please,” I sob.

“What do you need, Princess? Tell me what you need and I might give it to you.”

“I need to come,” I cry out. “Please, Kaos, please.” I should probably feel self-conscious about the way I’m begging like a wanton slut, but right now, I don’t care. All I care about is the release that’s barreling toward me.

His chuckle is muffled against my aching pussy. “Such a needy little whore for me, Princess.”

The degrading name should make me angry, but it doesn’t. It only serves to drag me closer to the edge. I’m about to start begging again when I notice him reaching for something, and I realize too late what it is.

The knife.

“Kaos,” I warn, my body trembling for another reason. I thought we were finally getting past this. I thought we were beginning to understand one another. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part.

“Don’t move, Camilla,” he reminds me, his dark eyes glistening with mischief as he drags the knife up my thigh, not hard enough to cut into my skin but enough for me to feel every scrape of the blade as he brings it closer to my sex.

I swallow my whine, but I can’t tear my eyes off him. He looks downright sinful, kneeling between my thighs, covered in his own blood, and wielding the knife I stabbed him with.

He turns the knife around until it’s the handle he’s dragging along my blood-soaked skin, and somehow that doesn’t seem any better than the blade.

What the hell is he doing?

I’m not left wondering for long when the handle nudges at my entrance, and a startled yelp escapes my throat.

“You’re going to come all over the knife you stabbed me with, Princess, and then I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll be feeling me for a week.”

I don’t get a chance to protest because a moment, later he’s pushing the handle into my pussy, and I’m too terrified to move a muscle for fear he’ll cut off something important.

My gaze is locked on Kaos, while his is on what he’s doing to me with the blade. “Fuck, Camilla. You should see how your cunt is wrapped around this.” His voice is full of desperate need, and somehow that brings me closer to the edge.

I’m not going to come all over the handle of a knife…am I?

At this point, nothing about my body’s reactions to these men should be a surprise. But this certainly is.

A moan escapes my throat, and his eyes dart up to meet mine with a satisfied smile. He’s loving every fucking second of this. And truthfully, I think I am too.

I dig my nails into my palms, willing myself to remain still despite the assault on my senses, and with each second that passes, I draw closer to the edge. I don’t know how I’m going to survive.

“Kaos,” I whine.

“I know, Princess. You need to come so badly, don’t you?”

“Yes, fuck. Please.”

“Such a desperate whore for me,” he muses as he lifts his other hand and presses two fingers to my clit, which elicits another cry. “That’s it, Camilla. Why don’t you come for me?”

The idea is so preposterous I can barely make sense of the words he’s speaking, but my body seems to have a mind of its own, and as if his words alone have conjured my release, I fall over the edge into an orgasm that takes my breath away.

A cry escapes my throat, but I’m too lost in the pleasure to concentrate on anything else. I’m vaguely aware of Kaos speaking, but it’s like his words are underwater as my entire body trembles from the power of the release.

I don’t know how much time passes before I finally pull myself out of the rush of pleasure, but when I do, Kaos is looking up at me with an amused smirk playing on his lips.

“Holy fuck, Camilla. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

My cheeks flush at the idea, but mainly because it can’t be true. Kaos is fucking hot. He’s huge, built like he belongs on the starting line of any NFL team, and is covered head to toe in so many tattoos I can barely comprehend how many hours he must have spent in the chair. There’s just no way I can come out on top of any of his experiences. The thought shouldn’t make me self-conscious, but I am laid out on top of a kitchen counter naked and covered in blood, so I guess it’s fair.

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