Page 33 of Jewel of the Assassin
In a way, this will be death for her. And rebirth.
ROMAN
“No boundaries tonight, Valentina.”
The candles burn low.
The air tastes of wine, sweat, and the heat rolling off her skin.
Valentina is spread before me like an offering—trembling with fear and desire, the flickering light catching the curve of her throat where her pulse dances like an invitation.
She doesn’t know what I’ll do. That’s the point.
I’m not a man of routine. I’m an experimentalist by nature. A scientist of sensation.
And tonight,she’s my study.And my religion.
Her breath hitches when I rise, stalking closer. The hunger in me is already feral—but I won’t rush this. No. I intend toexplore. Every whimper and plea, every clench of muscle, every defiant gasp until she surrenders to submission.
“This is just the beginning. By the time I am done with you, you will surrender everything to me. I will fuck you and break youdown. I’ll defile you and degrade you…but worship and praise you, too.”
And I will take her apart in a thousand ways—just to discover how best to put her back together.
“You cannot fathom what you’ve done to me, Valentina Makarova.”
She whimpers, and I reach for something I prepared for her. With a tender hand on the back of her neck, I raise her head enough, tip the cup to her mouth, and direct her to drink. She obeys but makes a face, wincing at the bitter taste.
“A special tea for you. It will take effect soon,” I say lethally. “You’ll need it.”
It will make her float, just enough to disorient. To dissolve time. To open her like a rose.
She swallows. When I peek beneath the blindfold, her pupils are already dilating.
A few moments later, heat pulses off her skin. I brush my knuckles along her cheek, savoring her shiver before removing the clamps on her lovely nipples and rubbing my thumb across each, hearing her sharp intake of breath. They are sensitive, red, and swollen.
She’s silent. Overwhelmed, judging by her tears. But she’s trusting me through her fear.
Perfect.
I reach for the small leather case by the bedside and open it, revealing my tools.
A thin black ice pick, still wet from the chilled icebox. Beside it, a glass vial of wax I’ve warmed near the candle flame. Next to that: the twin shock probes. Her thighs clench when I insert one into her cunt. With practiced care, I sink the electro plug into the tight ring of her ass. Thanks to the tea’s effect, she doesn’t push out the plug.
The probes hum inside her. I’ve connected them to a pulse reader. “The rules are simple. You must stay still. And silent,” Itell her, tracing my fingers along her belly and to her hip. “You must not come unless I command it.”
My cock rages in my pants, but I will control myself. I will savor our time. I won’t fuck her until her voice is hoarse from her screams. Not until she begs me to fuck her.
Her lips part. A soft tremble runs through her thighs.
“Every twitch,” I murmur, “will cost you.”
I lift the ice pick and trail the cold steel along the soft underside of her breast. She gasps. I click the button, triggering the electroshock sensor. A sharp little jolt dances through her pussy, and her spine arches like she’s been branded.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” I lean over her, lips brushing her ear. “That was a warning.”
Then I tip the wax, and a single drop falls onto her sternum—just above the line of her heart. She jerks. Another jolt. This one is stronger. Her cry cuts off before it can form. Her breath stutters.
Good.
