Page 176 of Intense
He’s always been a mindfuck. This is just another one.
“Yes,” I say, honestly.
So I sign.Mrs. Quinn.
I hold the pen out. His fingers brush my wrist, and a jolt sparks through me.
He signs beside my name, then reaches for a scalpel from the tray.
“Anywhere in particular you want me to cut?” he asks, completely void of emotion.
“I… kinda preferred it with the whole pleasure part.”
His brow lifts. “You won’t sign without that?”
I shake my head.
“Fine. One hand for me to cut, the other you can use to pleasure yourself.”
My stomach dips. Not what I’d meant.
“I want you to do it.”
He stands, towering over me, his hand clamping my jaw.
“I am in control of your pleasure. Your pain. Your whole fucking life in here. You don’t make requests. You don’t make demands. Do you understand? You’re lucky I’m being this nice.”
“Nice? You think this is nice? Chaining me in a cold medical room, waving a creepy contract in my face like some kind of?—”
He lets go, stepping back and placing the signed document neatly on the tray.
“This isn’t a game, love. It’s a trial. The man you think I am and the man I actually am? Not the same. You’re lucky to have this much grace. Men in your position wouldn’t. But you—” his voice hardens— “you took part of my heart.”
My pulse thrashes.
This isn’t theater. This is real.
“If I’ve pissed you off, I’m sorry,” I breathe.
His laugh is low, humorless.
He kicks my legs apart and steps between them, his voice almost gentle now.
“Now… are you going to give me what I want?”
“Do I have a choice?”
His jaw tightens. He doesn’t answer.
I place my hand in his. He takes my ring finger, slicing the tip. I hiss at the sting.
He presses the paper to my blood. “Atta girl.”
He does the same to himself, then tucks the document away in his pocket.
“Are you ready to play?”
“Yes.”
