Page 151 of Chokehold

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“Well…what a pickle.”

Cole curses, sweat beading on his brow—again, the one visible.

I really should tell him to right his mask or remove it completely.

“I love you,” he says, playing on my heartstrings. “Remember when I hurt myself while cutting onions the other week? You nearly tore the kitchen apart.”

“You’re very accident prone,” I mutter.

“Yes… You hate it when I get hurt.”

“That’s different.”

“How is it different.”

“It’s outside of sex,” I reply, sawing the rope.

Cole looks like a ghost, his eyes wide and terrified. “What the fuck are you doing?” he repeats with more panic.

“What does it look like? I’m letting you down. Besides, I know how much fear gets you off.”

The rope begins to split, thread by thread.

We exchange a glance, and then Cole rips off his mask, his glassy eyes pleading for mercy. Before he can open his mouth to speak, the rope snaps and he crashes to the ground with a loud thud.

Groaning pitifully, he writhes, and I study him closely while circling like a hungry predator.

“Jesus fuck…” He grimaces in pain, forehead pressed to the sticks and wet leaves on the ground.

“What’s wrong?” I taunt, using my foot to shove him over onto his back. “Can’t handle it?”

“I can handle it,” he grits out as he watches me unbuckle my belt.

“Are you sure about that? I can always turn to someone else if it’s too much?—”

Cole flies up to his feet and shoves me back, his body vibrating with possessiveness. “Don’t you fucking dare finish that sentence.”

This is a game we play. Who can make the other the most jealous.

But that’s all it is. There’s no other man for me but Cole, and he knows it. I would rather claw out my eyes and feed them to our dogs than let another man touch me.

Deep down, no matter how insecure I feel at times when he travels away, I know I’mitfor him too.

I press the knife to his throat, his eyes holding mine as I guide him back against the nearest tree. A drop of red trails from the shallow cut, and I lower the blade a fraction before leaning in close to drag my tongue through it.

Cole groans and grabs my upper arms to push me away, but it’s half-hearted. While the intent is there, his body speaks a different language. He wants me to hurt him and fuck him and make him bleed all over his designer clothes.

I smile against his throat, and then whisper near his ear, “Did you miss me?”

“So fucking much,” he grunts, his hips chasing my touch as I palm his hard dick through his shorts.

“Is that why your phone was turned off?”

“I told you…” His heavy eyes take in my mask, and he wets his lips. “The battery died.”

Shoving his shorts halfway down his thighs, I grab his hard length. Cole shudders, his lips parting.

I stroke his dick like I own it—stroke it until his soul trembles and his knees quake. My touch drips with possessive intent. I press the tip of the knife to the pulse point in his neck and nick the skin on purpose. A bead of blood rushes to the surface, and Cole sucks in a breath, his dick twitching in my hand.