Page 132 of Pretty Poisoned

"You hurt my fucking feelings! Do you get that? Youhurtme, you tricked me…you made me feel stupid just like everyone else in my life doesall the time, and now, I don't even want to look at you. So, you know what?Youget over it. One person in the world doesn't like you—big fucking deal. What do you care?"

He shakes his head, then turns and kicks the door closed. "Fuck!" he yells. He comes up behind me and grabs me by my throat. "It's a big deal because I picked you…for me. You're mine, and I am never going to be done with you."

"I thought no one belonged to anyone, and I could leave whenever I wanted," I hiss through my significantly reduced airway.

"Well, I make the fucking rules," he growls. "I can break them. Besides…" He traces the 'L' carved into my chest, just above where the towel is tied off over my breasts. The hand around my throat tightens, and he says, "It looks like you already belong to someone. Is this what you want, Teagan? You want me to be more like him?"

I feel his hard cock against my ass, and—I can't help it—I arch my back against him.

Maybe he's right. Maybe I do want him to be more like Luca.

"Mmm…no. Not like that, you little slut." As he releases my throat, one arm circles my waist, holding me tight against his hard body and my towel falls to the floor. I gasp for air while I struggle to break free of his hold, but I can't even move my arms.

"I'm going to enjoy this more than I'd like to admit," Declan says. He takes his knife from his pocket and runs the flat side up my stomach and then over one of my hard nipples. "I fucking love your body and your perfect fucking tits. You know, people like us don't always have the best sense of self-preservation. I think I need to remind you what you're dealing with."

He turns the sharp end of the knife into my body, pressing just hard enough to break the skin.

"You said I don't need to be afraid of you," I hiss through my constricted airway.

"You don't…as long as you behave."

I watch a small stream of blood run down the front of me in the mirror. The knife's tip aligns almost perfectly with the top of the 'L' on the left side, and I realize what he's about to do.

And I don't want it.

"Declan, please don't hurt me," I beg. "I'll be nice. I'll be sweet for you if you want. Just please don't."

"It won't be that bad, Teagan," he says. "Then, you won't be able to forget who chose you or who you really belong to even if I did let you go. And Teagan, I am never letting you go anywhere."

I grit my teeth and scream as the knife digs deeper into my skin. Blood gushes down the front of my body in a river of deep scarlet. When Luca did it, it was different. I felt desired and loved—maybe even by both of them, as ridiculous as that sounds. I thought I was special.

But I'm not special. I'm a toy—a plaything.

And so, I sob. "Please stop," I cry. "It hurts. That's too deep."

"Stop squirming," he says. "You're making it worse. I'm going to puncture your lung if you don't fucking stop."

He starts on the second line, and I do my best to stay still because I'm pretty sure he means it—I'm pretty sure heisgoing to puncture a lung. I scream through clenched teeth and wait for it to be over.

And when it is over, he licks the blade clean, then releases me, and I fall forward onto the countertop. "Declan," I sob. "I don't think I'm okay…it's too much blood. I think I'm going to pass out."

With my head swimming and my vision blurry, I slide down the side of the counter and onto the floor. I look up at him from the cold, wet tile, but I can't really make out his face— he's just the silhouette of a figure in dark clothes standing over me.

He kneels on the floor beside me in a puddle of my own blood.

"I'm dying."

"You're not dying," he says. And I swear I hear a laugh in his tone. "Your airway sounds clear. You're just bleeding—and sweetheart, it looks so beautiful."

He leans down and presses his mouth to the fileted skin. It's deep enough that he can actually get his tongue inside the cuts, and I groan, squirming against his hold while he licks and traces it before moving down my chest and licking the blood from my tits.

Between my legs, I feel something hard against the inside of my thigh before he pushes my legs apart and thrusts it inside my pussy.

I moan, and then he holds the knife in front of me.

"See that?" he says. "See how wet it is?"

"Not really," I say weakly. Because I can't really see it, but I realize it was the knife handle inside me.

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