Page 28 of Monstrous Urges

Being accosted in my hotel room, manhandled, and slammed into the windows with a knife to my neck and an erection digging into my ass should horrify me.

It doesn’t.

Because when the lights go out and my thoughts take over, this is where they take me.

These are the sorts of twisted, fucked-up, depraved fantasies that make me gasp into the sheets at night.

The violence. The complete loss of control.

Someone much bigger and stronger than me doing what they want with or without my permission.

Yes, it’s completely terrifying that my stranger has tracked me to a hotel room, jumped from the shadows, and placed a knife at my throat as he puts his hands wherever he wants on me. It’s also my ultimate fantasy.

My every whimpered, whispered desire.

Take control. Take anything you want.

Chase me. Catch me. Hurt me. Fuck me….

The second he growls those words into my ear, any and all horrified restraint goes out the window. I shamefully realize I’m already wet, and my nipple that he twisted is already tingling and swollen with achey need. Instantly, I’m melting against the glass, the skin of my throat throbbing under his blade.

“Say the fucking word, my little slut,” he rasps darkly. “And I’ll stop.”

I cry out as he bites my earlobe hard. His mouth drops, and I whimper and moan as his teeth bite into the side of my throat, sending bolts of powerful lightning crackling through my core. I look up, and my heart lurches as I realize I can vaguely make out his reflection looming behind me in the glass.

He’s all in black, same as before.

Black t-shirt. Black jeans. Black boots.

A black devil’s mask over the top half of his face, leering at me with pure malice.

“Or maybe I won’t,” he growls slowly. “Maybe you’ll say your precious safe word, blithely thinking that will save you, and I still. Won’t. Fucking. Stop.”

A dark, twisted, devious sort of need throbs and pulls at my core. Heat pools between my thighs, and I whimper as he suddenly spanks my ass brutally through my skirt.

“But that’s a die you’ll have roll yourself, isn’t it?”

I nod quickly as my breath quickens. My chest heaves, and I squeal as he suddenly grabs a fist of my hair close to the scalp. He twists and pushes, pinning my cheek to the dark glass overlooking the neon lights of New York. The blade at my throat slowly trails lower, the tip dragging lightly over my skin and leaving a throbbing, shivering quiver in its wake.

He notches the tip against the top button of my blouse.

Flick.

The button slices away. The knife slides lower.

Flick.

With another quick twist of his wrist, that button also gets cut away. He keeps going, slowly slashing off every button of my blouse until the whole thing falls open. I shudder as he slips the blade into the front of my black lace bra. Deftly, his wrist flicks again, and I gasp sharply as he cuts my bra away, freeing my breasts against the chilly glass.

He roughly cups one of them, his weight still pinning me to the window. The blade in his other hand teases over my ribs, fluttering just off my skin enough not to cut me. The thrill of the imminent danger of that knife dancing over my skin makes my blood roar and my head swim. I move to plant my hands against the glass. But in one motion, he’s yanking them both around to the small of my back and pinning them there with one hand.

My pulse jangles as my breath fogs the glass in front of me. He yanks my ripped blouse and bra down my arms and twists and wraps them tight around my wrists, tying my hands at the small of my back. I feel the knife slide lower, dancing over my skirt before it slips under the hem, and I whimper when he lifts the fabric with the blade’s edge.

The knife twists in his hands, pushing up between my thigh and the fabric of my Chanel skirt. I jolt as he suddenly brings the blade forward, his muscled forearm rippling in the glinting lights of the city as he slices clean through my skirt.

The fabric drops to my feet. His hand twists my hair at the scalp again, pinning me harder to the glass as his blade teases over the lacy waist of my thong.

The tip pushes under the front. My eyes bulge, my breath hitching and my skin erupting into goosebumps as he slowly pushes the knife down into my panties. It’s sharp as fuck, but he angles it so it doesn’t cut me. It’s just the hard flat width of it that pushes lower and lower, teasing so dangerously close to my pussy that for a second, I truly consider how fucking unhinged all this is.

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