Page 72 of Absolution
I start running again.
But he’s always been faster than I am, his long strides eating up the distance between us. My toes sink into the turf, and I put on a desperate burst of speed.
His weight slams into me from behind, and he tackles me to the ground, turning our bodies at the last moment so that he catches most of the impact. I thrash out of his grasping arms, but he quickly rolls, pinning me with his weight.
Something silver glints in the moonlight, and I go still before my brain fully registers the wickedly sharp hunting knife. Thecold blade kisses my throat, the lightest scrape that makes my skin crackle and spark.
“You’re going to be my good little plaything now.” He smirks, his perfect face demonically handsome.
“Fuck you!” My insult is ruined by the gag, but he seems to understand.
A slow smile sharpens his features. “My pretty captive is so proud and defiant. I will relish stripping you down to nothing. By dawn, you’ll do anything to please me. You’ll beg for my cock, and if you’re good for me, I might fuck your sweet cunt instead of your mouth.” He lowers his face to mine and brushes a kiss over the gag. “If you’re bad, I’ll claim your tight little ass.”
I try to curse at him again, but all that elicits is a soft, delighted laugh. His eyes glint in the moonlight, their deep green hue cruelly beautiful.
My bound hands shove at his chest, but he easily grabs them and pins them above my head. His other hand holds the knife steady at my throat.
He cocks his head at me. “You don’t seem to fully grasp your predicament. You still think you have a hope of fighting me off. But there’s nothing you can do against me. You’re so fragile. I could crush you without a second thought.” His hands tighten around my wrists to the point of pain before releasing the pressure. “I won’t damage you, but I will punish you if you don’t behave.”
The tip of the knife drags down the column of my throat, between my collarbones, and down to the lace neckline of my nightgown.
“Don’t you dare,” I try to warn him through the gag.
He shakes his head at me as though he’s disappointed in me. “No growling, pet. I’d much rather hear you purring for me.”
The knife hooks beneath the lace, nicking the delicate material. I go utterly still, primal survival instincts freezing mymuscles as the blade nears my heart. My nightgown parts at the slightest pressure of the knife. He takes his time destroying it, watching me intently as he tears the silk in two. With each passing second, I fall deeper into his dark green eyes, as though I’m under some sort of spell.
Erotic tension crackles between us, heating the chilly, damp night air.
With one final tug, the hem of my nightgown tears. He makes quick work of severing the two thin straps at my shoulders, and the garment pools around my naked body.
“What shall I do with my pretty captive now?” he muses.
The knife drags along the line of my collarbones, the lightest scrape without breaking my skin. He traces the line of my sternum, his glittering gaze fixing on my tight nipples.
“You like this,” he observes. “My kinky little plaything. Are you wet for me?”
I shake my head in wild denial, even as I can feel the wetness of my arousal coating my inner thighs.
“Don’t lie to me,” he warns.
I shake my head again, this time in protest as he directs the knife toward my pussy. I stop breathing when the cold flat of the blade kisses my clit.
“Even in the moonlight, I can see your cunt glistening for me,” he admonishes.
He releases my wrists so that he can tweak my nipples, and pleasure arcs straight from the abused buds to my vulnerable clit. A garbled sound of carnal fear catches behind the gag, and he shushes me gently.
“I promised not to damage you,” he soothes me. “But you have to learn to behave. Now, be very still for me when you come.”
He says it as though my orgasm is a foregone conclusion, something he can command with a single word.
And he’s earned every ounce of that arrogance.
He knows exactly how to manipulate my body to force me to come undone.
With every sharp twist of my nipples, my body winds tighter for him. My clit pulses madly against the cold blade, a frigid reminder of his order for me to remain still. His control pushes me over the edge, and I whimper out my rigid orgasm.
“Good girl,” he praises. “You like my knife?”
