Page 74 of Break the Ice
So wrong.
ALL WRONG.
I clench my eyes shut and try to ease my breaths. They heave out against my will as Rafe kisses my neck and drives the hilt in deeper. His thrusts pick up speed, still with a level of gentleness, the blade completely tucked inside the palm of his hand.
“Your juices are dripping down the inside of your thigh, Sugar,” he taunts, giving the knife another thrust. “You’re getting off on this like the talented slut I know you are. I told you you’d be my whore tonight. Come, Sugar. Come with the knife in your pussy.”
“No!” I cry out.
“Yes,” he growls. He twists the hilt and works it deeper into me ’til the blade guard brushes my pussy lips and the sleek handle’s retreating.
I pant out my dissention even as he penetrates me. Even as my hips buck against him and my pussy flutters around the handle. Pleasure tingles up my body and heats me from the inside out.
I come, crying out more of my useless protests.
Rafe grunts right along with me. As my hips have bucked, he’s moved with me, thrusting the hilt at an angle that reaches the right spot and feels impossibly good. We continue rolling together ’til, pulse by pulse, the pleasure fades and reality comes roaring back in.
He withdraws the hilt of the knife from where it’s deep in my pussy and tosses it aside. The handle’s embarrassingly slick with my juices. But the blade… it shines with blood. I gasp, an instant wave of lightheadedness sweeping in.
“Where—?”
For a wild second, I’m assuming it’s mine. Then the splat sound of a droplet of blood makes me glance behind me.
Rafe’s right palm is cut up. The same palm that had held the blade side clenched inside. I spend a moment processing what I’m looking at—the blood dripping from his hand, the gash sliced across his palm.
He’s grinning at me. His eyes haven’t lost their gleam.
He’s rock hard in his pants.
I stutter out broken words. “What… the blade… Rafe…”
I’d assumed he’d wrapped a towel around the blade or some other material to keep it from cutting into him. But what’s most puzzling of all is his reaction to the gash. He heaves a ragged breath and stares at me like I’m to be devoured.
He regrets nothing.
He demonstrates this by gathering some of the juices trickling down the inside of my thigh and then smearing it across my cheek.
Along with the blood.
Blood and cum wet my cheek and quickly begin drying.
What should be the most vile thing anyone has ever done to me… somehow feels dark and erotic in the most depraved way.
“A little of you. And a little of me, Sugar,” he says, nipping at my jaw. “Which makes you my toy to play with. And mine only. Are we clear?”
“Rafe Golding,” I whisper. “You’re crazy.”
He kisses me. His mouth covers mine, and I’m sent into another whirl of shock. He sucks the taste of wine from my tongue and licks at the inside of my mouth. The deep kiss tells me in no uncertain terms what he has planned next. He’s reached a level of arousal that’s beyond simple hunger.
He’s ravenous.
He grabs my hand, his bloodied, and he whisks me off.
I can’t bring myself to object—the night has gone from a mystery to a dream that’s erotic and twisted.
Within the hour, Rafe’s checked us into a suite at the Onyx. He has me butt-naked on a balcony on the top floor, my leg stretched onto the banister as he fucks me from behind. More punishment for the stunt I pulled at the dinner table.
My knees soften, threatening to buckle. I grip the iron bar and moan at the orgasm bubbling up inside me. Rafe’s rough and unrelenting. His hands grope my naked flesh and his hips jerk. His dick tunnels deep into me.
