Page 18 of Betraying Family Vows
I slide the knife lower, slow enough that she can feel every inch of it traveling down her throat, between her breasts, against her abdomen.
"Don't," she says, voice shaking. "Please."
I don't answer. Instead, I bring the blade back up and hook the tip of the knife under the neckline of her dress, just below hercollarbone. She gasps, hands twitching like she might try to stop me.
"What are you?—"
I slice straight down the center. The fabric parts in a clean, effortless line, peeling away from her skin as it falls open.
"Stop!"
But it's too late.
The red dress glides off her shoulders, sliding down her arms, pooling at her feet.
She stands frozen, in nothing but a bra and panties. I see her skin prickling with goosebumps in the cool air. Her chest rising and falling in sharp, panicked breaths.
And fuck if my pulse doesn't jump at the sight.
She's perfect. All curves and smooth skin, but I keep my expression neutral. This isn't for pleasure. Control. I need control.
Her shock gives way to rage. Her hand flies up, connecting hard with my cheek.
She slaps me. Hard.
My head jerks sideways from the force of it.
I grab her throat with my left hand and slam her back against the wall.
Not choking. Just pinning. Holding her still. My fingers tightening just enough to make breathing difficult but not impossible. Just like the knife, control, not cruelty.
She stares up at me, eyes blazing, chest heaving against my grip.
I take my time looking her over now, letting her feel it.
Every inch of bare skin. Every line of her body.
I check for weapons, for wires, for anything I might have missed.
She shudders. Not just from fear.
"Just wanted to make sure you don't have any more surprise weapons," I say, releasing her throat.
She stumbles, catches herself on the wall.
I turn away, moving toward a chest in the corner. I set the knife and gun on a table next to it and dig through it until I find a worn t-shirt and sweatpants. I toss them in her direction.
"Put these on."
She snatches them mid-air, clutching them to her chest as if they might shield her from my gaze.
I turn back to the chest and find a pair of jeans and some black boots. As I put them on I hear her scrambling to get dressed.
When I turn back, she's dressed. Bare feet now, with baggy clothes hanging off her frame.
"You're a fucking animal," she says, voice shaking with rage as she ties the strings of the sweatpants to keep them from nearly sliding off her hips.
"Me?" I ask, sliding into the black boots. "You do remember you're the one who drugged me and kidnapped me, right?"
