Page 104 of Only for Him
“You want me to fuck you, don’t you, little viper?” he taunts, the knife still hovering a whisper away from my dripping pussy,close enough to part my lips, my need sharper than the cool metal.
I whimper as his fingers push deeper into my throat, almost enough to gag, but sucking them in is my only anchor, the only thing keeping me from lowering myself onto his knife just for an ounce of relief.
Tears collect at the edges of my eyes. He is debasing me and I am begging for more.
He likes it when I beg.
“You’ve wanted me to fuck you this whole time.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, my entire world reduced to the throbbing need between my legs and the fullness of his fingers between my teeth.
All I can do is suck harder, swallowing his taste, groaning at how empty I still feel.
The knife edge slides down my thigh, and pressure from the flat of the blade finally peels my legs apart as he shifts, from straddling me to kneeling between my legs.
I’m spread for him now, his nose nudging the top of my slit as his lips pass over my clit. I groan again, and can’t stop myself from grinding down, but he doesn’t allow it. He pulls back, denying me what I need most.
“But Ihavebeen fucking you,” he growls, the vibration making me quiver. He’s so close to my aching clit, but I keep my hips still, knowing he’s in charge.
Against my calf, I feel the hard length of his cock. Knowing how close it is, is torture.
All I can think is how satisfying it would be, pressing into me. If I can’t have him filling my pussy, I’d take him in my throat. I start desperately sucking on his fingers, harder than before.
Apparently, that pleases him, because his tongue slides slowly up my slit, lapping at my juices before circling my clit just once, but it’s enough to make my entire body contract. My hips are aching to rise and meet his mouth and I’m greedy for his perfect brand of torture.
When something else slides up to my slit, my eyes widen. I’ve never needed anything more than this, right now. While his tongue continues to tease my clit, his fingers poise at my entrance—but his fingers are too cold, too hard.
It’s not until he’s entering me that I realize it’s not his fingers.
It’s the handle of the knife.
“I’vebeenfucking you, ever since I carved your name onto that first body,” he says, pulling back to watch me react, licking his lips, chin shiny with my wetness.
He slides the knife inside, slow, and the shock is total—humiliation and satisfaction, feeding each other. My eyes roll back in my head as I finally get what I’ve been begging for, but not in the way I wanted it.
He whispers, “Not down here in your cunt…”
Roman pulses the handle up and down, shallow at first, then deeper. And harder. He watches my face for every flicker, every tremor, as if he’s cataloguing reactions for future reference.
I want to hate him. I want to kill him. I want to beg him not to stop.
A smoky pressure builds in my belly, winding in tighter and tighter spirals.
He rocks the knife handle in and out, driving it into me like the weapon it is. His fingers slide out of my mouth. I gasp at the loss until he fists my hair and tugs it until I hiss.
The pain sparks nerves that the pleasure couldn’t reach, my body now thrumming with delirious need.
“I’ve been fucking you up here. In your head.”
His hand wraps my throat, thumb resting over the artery, the rest of his fingers spanning the column of muscle.
He doesn’t squeeze. Not yet.
I float there, pinned between pain and promise, every nerve begging for the next inch.
Then he lathes my clit with his tongue.
I gasp, this time unable to stop myself from jerking towards him, the pleasure of his soft, wet mouth blinding me. I’m senseless and rising, pleasure like a bolt of lightning down my spine.
