Page 28 of The Secrets We Share

I reach down to grip her right wrist squished between our bodies and the bench seat. My other moves in tandem to find her left, which is already twisting in the fabric of my shirt. With both in my hands, I bring them up above her head to clasp tightly, but when they bump against the seatbelt, an idea forms in my mind.

With one hand free, I pluck the knife from my waistband and flip open the gleaming blade. Her eyes lock on the sharp edge, but it’s not fear that dances there. It’s excitement. I glide the smooth metal up the thick fabric covering her body. It doesn’t have the same effect as when I get to play it against her bare flesh, but it’ll do for now.

“Harkin, what—” she pushes out but breaks off when the blade disappears behind her head.

I slice the seatbelt into two pieces, gripping the top piece’s end before it disappears into the car’s compartment. Stowing the knife’s blade between my teeth, I wrap the thick fabric around her wrists tightly, tying it off. When she pulls against them, it hasthe opposite desired effect. Her hands don’t break free. Instead, the seatbelt mechanism locks and pulls them tight to the edge of the seat.

I pull back, taking the knife from my mouth, and sit back on my side of the car, admiring my little trussed-up prized. It’s too bad I didn’t think to remove her clothes first. Her ire is about to build tenfold. I grip the collar of her thin t-shirt, the backs of my knuckles brushing against the swell of her full breasts.

“You wouldn’t!” she says indignantly, but knowing damn well I would and will.

“Give me a reason, little one, and this will go differently,” I offer.

“I wanted to help,” she spits out.

“A half-truth doesn’t count.” And as the words tumble from my lips, the first notes of the fabric tearing fill the air.

“You fucking asshole,” she seethes, pulling against the seatbelt, but when she remembers it’s no use, she tries the next option. Her leg starts to lift, and her booted foot is on a trajectory to cause some severe pain.

Thinking just as quickly, I capture her thighs, swinging my right leg over both to lock them between my thighs. It doesn’t stop her from bucking wildly. Her taut body fights my hold with every ounce of strength she has. But I’m more than willing to wait until she tires herself out. When she finally settles and quiets—I can only imagine what the driver thinks is going on back here—I let the standing question hang between us.

“I knew Nikita might be able to uncover something we haven’t figured out on our own.”

The tip of my blade pushes under the small lace band of her black see-through bra.

“Harkin, don’t you dare.”

The delicate fabric slices like butter, exposing her breasts, and they’re calling me home like a siren song. Leaning forward,I wrap my lips around her already hard nipple. When my teeth pull at the sensitive flesh, a keening moan encourages my ministrations. I plan to deny her, but the sounds she’s making hypnotize me under her spell. She reins it in only when I let the blade dance across her skin to the other peaked bud.

“Always the temptress,” I breathe against her skin. “So sinful, so sweet.”

I let the sharp blade nick along the curve of her areola. The tiniest beads of bright red crimson blossom under the pressure. Her breath hitches as she watches in fascination. I halt the blade’s journey when the blood begins to drip down her milky skin. I enjoy running my fingers through the rich color, smearing it like Jackson Pollock working on my next famed piece, her body the stretched canvas ready for my creative madness. The car hits a bump in the road and my hand shifts, taking the blade with it. It meets the tattooed flesh on her ribs, adding more color to the brilliant, deep shades of green and purple.

“Tell me your safe word, little one.”

“Black,” she answers right away.

“So, you wanted to help? And thought Nikita was the way to go about that?” I ask while unbuttoning her tight jeans and shoving them to lock around her knees.

“Yes, that’s all. I swear,” she pleads, eager to turn this little game on its head.

“Why go alone? You could have told James. He could have escorted you.”

She scoffs at my question, but it’s the unconscious roll of her eyes that has me sucking my top teeth and breaking out into a menacing smile. She realizes a moment too late, and those same offending eyes grow wide with the knowledge of what comes next.

“Oh, that was naughty, little one. And to think, you already have so many strikes against you today.”

“I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t—” Her excuse cuts off when the knife slides close to her pussy.

“Tell me… do you think my pretty pink cunt”—I slap the blade against the thin silk fabric covering what’s mine—“is wet enough for me to fuck you with this?” I flip the blade in my hand, offering the handle in example.

She rocks her hips back, away from me, not feeling too keen on that idea. But I’ve got one better.

“Hmm, but you’re a greedy whore for me, aren’t you, baby? I think I’d need to fuck you with”—I leave the handle outstretched and reach behind me to pull my pistol free from its holster—“this to make you come.” I weigh them between us in the air as if trying to decide which option is the best.

The answer is obvious, and I flip the blade closed, tucking it away for safekeeping. I let the tip of the pistol drag between her breasts that heave in anticipation. The deadly steel glides smoothly down her quivering stomach to the edge of her panties. I wish her blood was still flowing freely. I’d trace it across her flesh in beautiful designs just to see the way she’d beg me to finally fuck her with it. I’ll just have to find another way to make her scream her desires.

“Last chance to come clean, sweetness. After this, there won’t be any stopping until the truth is ripped from your lips on a moan.”

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