Page 20 of Prohibited

She made a small sound in her throat. Eyes riveted on the knife hovering in front of her face. His other hand came around her throat and he held her to him. Flesh scalding. He would brand her throat with the shape of his hand if he didn’t release her. His cock, hard as a diamond, pressed between them.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” he said, voice soft as falling snow. He placed the flat of the blade against her flesh and slipped it along her cheek with expert precision. It brought another wave of gooseflesh. Tightened her nipples and pushed them out, like the buds of roses preparing to bloom. The heat already ignited between her legs by Ryan roared to life, a rogue fire that she did not have the means to extinguish. Hot, honeyed nectar gathered there, moistening that dark tangle of hair, moistening her thighs, making her spine curve ever so slightly, while he moved the frigid metal over her jaw and down the side of her throat.

Dear God, what was wrong with her?

Panic breathed fire into her chest. Begged her to lash out at him, throw him off of her. Do anything to get this man and his blade like a frozen serpent away from her.

But sense prevailed. She did as he told her and didn’t move a muscle except to watch the knife move like her life depended on it.

“Has anyone ever cut you?” Such a beautiful voice to speak such evil words.

“No.” Her voice shook, though she desperately wanted it not to.

“What do you imagine it would be like?” he breathed into her ear. “If I cut you?”

“Painful,” she said in a voice as evanescent as smoke.

“Yes,” he said, voice thick with desire. “I imagine so.” The knife glided over her collarbone and down her chest. Then, he released her and the knife disappeared, causinga stab of fear to go through her. She felt a tug and the sound of something pulling and then releasing. The sound over and over again. With dawning horror, she realized her corset was getting looser and looser. The bastard was cutting it off of her.

“Stop,” she said, but didn’t dare move, lest he let the knife slip.

All she got in reply was a quiet laugh that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. He went on cutting the lacing until the thing fell away from her.

“That’s better,” he said.

All she had now was a camisole that stopped several inches under her bust, and the drawers and garter that were still trapped around her thighs, which she pressed together until her legs ached. But she might as well have been totally naked. Trembling started in her shoulders and radiated out through her body. Her mind was like a bird trapped in a cage, beating its wings against her skull screaming to be let out.

Unthinkable that she should survive the bombs, the snipers, the ambushes, the influenza, only to end up in this strange place with this strange man holding a knife at her back.

Was it the end? The idea made her shake harder. But the fierce part of her, the part of her that insisted on survival, burned brighter. No, this was not the end.

The cold blade of the knife skimmed across her inflamed backside, causing her to jolt.

Another laugh. Then the knife touched the other side of her backside and glided across her hip.

“You know,” he said. “As advantageous as it is to leave you bound up like this, I can’t see your face. And if I can’t see your face while I cut into you, well… where’s the fun in that?”

It was not even possible to accept what he was saying. Cut into her? He would not cut into her.

“Why are you doing this?” She tried to make her voice clear, steady. He was a predator the way Walter Stanley was. Giving him any more tastes of her fear would only enhance his desire to increase it.

A click behind her.

Then muted sounds, fabric rubbing against fabric. Then a sound that made her blood freeze–a revolver being pulled from a holster. She knew that sound because Walter always carried a gun in a leather shoulder holster. Every night she spent with him, he pulled the thing out and placed it on his bedside table before he stripped off the holster so he could get undressed.

A cold, hard touch at her lower back confirmed this as a fact. She held her breath, not daring to move.

“I’m going to untie you, and if you so much as move a muscle I’m going to pull this trigger,” he said in a flat, cold voice that was deadly serious. “I’d rather watch you die slowly, but if we just so happen to hasten the process then so be it.”

A crazed notion seized her–that she should let him unload the gun into her back. From what she was alreadygathering, being shot to death was the least evil of the other options available. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. And instead, she stood perfectly still while he kept the muzzle pressed into her flesh. His chest pressed against her shoulder while he reached over her head, working with agile fingers to undo her bonds. The smell of him enveloped her, a warm, woody scent that caused a hot throb between her legs. A fact that filled her with confusion and horror, and made her press her legs together with renewed effort.

Then her hands were free, drawing a small sound of relief from her lips. Another laugh from the insane man at her back. Her hands had started to go a little numb, being raised over her head, and the blood rushing back into them made them sting. Still, the pressure off of her shoulders felt luxurious. Alex didn’t waste any time flipping her around to face him with rough hands. He slammed her back against the bars, holding her there with his whole body. Though they were the same height, the strength in his body was terrifying. Beneath his linen clothing, his muscles were hard. It was like being crushed by a stone. Her hands were between them, pressing the air out of her lungs, the leather of Ryan’s belt still wrapped around them.

It was disconcerting now to be face to face with him, his jeweled eyes raking across her features, taking in every inch of her expression with a keen, cool interest that made her shiver. He pressed his forearm into her throat, cutting her air off for a moment. He held it there, while heholstered his gun. In a burst of desperation, she thrashed against him, but it was fruitless. Instead of anger, a smile of amusement crept over his face.

He took his arm away from her throat at last and she gasped for air while he made quick work of tightening the belt around her wrists. Then he grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her to the ground, twisting out of the way as she fell. The brutality of it was shocking. The impact with the floor knocked the air out of her lungs. She started trying to move backwards, away from him, but he was on her before she could even get a leg up to kick him. He straddled her hips and sat on her, rendering her legs useless. Though she tried bucking to move him off of her, he just hardened his thigh muscles and smiled at her.

“I do enjoy that you’re making this interesting,” he said. Then his hand went into his pocket and drew out his knife again. The sound of a flick as the blade emerged again caused her breath to catch.

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