Page 145 of Auctioned

“Like this?”

A stinging pain in my abdomen. The tip of a knife presses into me.

A knife I forgot to put away.

My nostrils flare. Her eyes shine brilliantly.

“I won. I’m ready.” She runs her teeth along her bottom lip, her voice shrill. Slightly unhinged. “Since we’re done and all, can you bend me over? All this murder talk gets me so hot. Please.”

Her instincts are sharp, having developed over years of needing to defend herself, I see. Sleeping with one eye open would do that to a person.

Mine are sharper. I spent plenty of nights wide fucking awake.

I flip her over, pushing her against the table. The movement is so quick that Ophelia loses her grip on the knife. The moment I hear it dropping on the floor, I pin my cock to her ass, locking my free hand around the back of her throat.

“This isn’t what I’d call ready.” I squeeze the air out of her while rubbing my thumb along her jaw. “This is raped, tortured, and murdered. If you’re lucky.”

“Please, don’t.” Her voice is off. Soft. Pleading. A lie. Then her ass presses to my dick. “Please, sir. Mercy.”

She’s seducing me. Hoping I’ll let her go. That I’ll postpone our classes. Not hap?—

“And this isfuck you.” Glass breaks. Catching me—me—off guard. My mind’s still trying to make sense of the sound when a sharp shard is pinned to my forearm. I got way too close to Ophelia. An oversight on my part. Because even though she has her back to me, her hands are very much free. “You’ll bleed out before you can get your dick out of your pants.”

I don’t hesitate. Don’t fucking blink, tightening my grip around her neck.

Her eye that’s staring at me widens, mouth parting to suck in air. Fighting against my hold.

“James,” she chokes out. “What the fuck?”

“If you wield a weapon, Ophelia, you better be ready to use it.” My mouth twists in a snarl. “The pen you stuck into me? That was nothing. A scratch.”

She gasps. Steps on my foot over and over. Still holding the broken glass in place.

She’s failing. Not me, herself.

Unacceptable.

“This isn’t a game, damn it.” Adrenaline soaks my veins. Her helplessness does that to me. But I don’t want that now. I want her to do better. Shecando better. “Fight me. Fucking fight me. You won’t kill me. I’ll—” I can hardly believe I’m about to say this. “I’ll never leave you. But you have to do it. Cut me. Hurt me. Fight back, Sonnet.”

Her growl is agonized, then, there it is. There she is, nicking my skin. My hand stays exactly where it is until she plunges the broken shard deeper. Until the cut turns into a gash, and there’s a puddle of blood gathering on my table.

“Good girl.” I release the pressure on her throat, turn her around, placing her on the table. Stroking the length of her neck. “Such a good girl.”

“Fucker.” She sucks in a deep breath, tilting her head to stare up at me.

Then she continues what she started.

I let her cut me up to my elbow, smirking at the gory sight, then I let go of her throat to rip it from her hand and toss it across the room.

“You’re such an asshole, James.”

“Am I?” I tug on her hair. Just enough to tip her head back. For her to be within reach. So I can kiss her for being so good.

That’s the most affectionate I’ve ever been with another person.

She might call me fucker. She could think that I’m a sadist for this lesson.

Fine by me. Having her fingers dig into the gash in my forearm is just as acceptable.

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