Page 25 of The Contract

I go to the kitchen. I take off my waistcoat then start getting out ingredients for a sandwich. Tristan comes to see what I’m doing but stays on the other side of the island.

“I don’t want any food,” he says.

“You need to eat.”

“Or what? Are you going to force feed me?”

I leave my work and walk around the island. He tries to step back, but he’s so damn easy to catch. This time, it’s his tie I grab. His eyes widen.

“The only thing I will force feed is your ass. And I will do it again and again. With toys. With my fingers. With my cock. Whenever I fucking please. You will become intimately acquainted with your prostate.” I step closer and start undoing his tie. “You’d never felt it before, had you?”

He’s frowning. His anger is coming back. I pull his tie free and lay it over the back of one of the high chairs.

“Is this some kind of game to you?” he demands.

“It’s a contract.”

“It’s bullshit! All it says is that you can do whatever the hell you want to me!”

“That’s not exactly what it says, but I understand your point. And, yes, I can do almost anything I want—until you say the terminal word. So really, Tristan, you have all the power.”

“This is so fucked up.”

“Who cares? I love it. So do you.”

“No, I fucking don’t!”

I’m not even angry when I grab him, but I do mean business, so I kick the chairs out of the way and slam him against the island. I pin him there with one arm braced against his back. My other hand reaches around to unbuckle his belt and whip it away.

“Yes, you fucking do,” I growl against the back of his neck. My anger is rising now, or something like it. A dark, familiarneed. “What you love is the chance to scream and express how fucking angry you are. What you love is the chance to fight—and still get what you need.”

I undo his pants and yank them down along with his briefs. The waistband catches on his stiff cock, but I am ruthless. He cries out as his cock is tugged down then springs back up against his belly. I slap his ass and watch red bloom on the creamy flesh.

“Ow!” he shouts furiously and lunges across the island for the knife I left there.

I could stop him, but I’m so fascinated, so fucking thrilled, that I just watch the knife flash toward me. He stabs it into my thigh. I pull back just enough to keep it from sinking in more than a couple inches.

The pain bursts bright as Tristan yanks the knife free. I grab his wrist and quickly disarm him. I set the blade to his throat. He freezes.

I turn the blade away from his skin and slice open his shirt. “Hey!” he protests as I yank the ruined garment down. It catches on his wrists. Frustrated, I get a little rough, but I get the job done.

I spin him around, steadying him as his pants tangle around his ankles. His cock is jutting out stiff and thick. I have the knife at his throat again as I wrap my other hand around that beautiful thing. It twitches in my hand.

My leg is throbbing, but the fight, even the pain, has only made me harder. I want more. I give the knife back to him. His hand curls around the handle as I drop to my knees to untie his shoes. I don’t look up. I wonder if he’ll try to kill me.

He lets me take off his shoes and socks. He steps out of his pants. Wholly bare, there’s no hiding his body’s response. I rise to my feet and start undressing as he stands before me naked and aroused. The knife is steady in his hand. His eyes bore into mine—until I take off my shirt.

His gaze roams over my torso. When my hands drop to my belt, his eyes lock there. My erection is pressing visibly against the front of my black pants. He watches with rapt attention as I unfasten them. I pull the waistband of my boxer-briefs clear of my cockhead. Tristan sucks in a breath at the sight of the fat mushroom tip. I let him enjoy it while I toe off my loafers.

When I shove down my pants and bend to pull off my socks, I grunt at the flash of pain in my thigh. Tristan’s eyes are on the bleeding wound when I straighten.

I tear open the packet of lube that I grabbed from my pocket. I slick my dick. That draws Tristan’s eyes away from the wound. His cheeks are flushed. His lips are parted. Precum is threading down from his slit.

“Did you enjoy stabbing me?” I ask as my hand squelches along my lubed dick.

“It wasn’t against the rules.”

“No, it wasn’t.” I step toward him. I limp a little, but it’s not going to stop me from fucking him.

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