Page 40 of Knife Thrower

Raymond, bound to a chair. His arrogant, polite smile completely gone. The flat, dead gray of his eyes replaced by absolute, visceral terror.

A dark, twisted thrill flares in the center of my chest. The numbness coating my veins burns away, replaced by a hot craving for blood. He took my childhood. He gave me a daughter through the trauma, and the universe stole her away. He deserves to suffer. He deserves to feel the exact same terror I felt every single time his hand turned my doorknob.

I bite down hard on my lower lip. Then I lean over the edge of the mattress. My fingers brush the cold linoleum, finding the leather-wrapped grip of the throwing knife we discarded earlier. I wrap my fist around the hilt and sit back up.

I drop the quilt.

The fabric pools at my waist, leaving my breasts bare to the chilly air. I brandish the six-inch steel blade, pointing the lethal tip directly at Cole’s chest.

His dark eyes go wide.

“Get between my legs.” The command leaves my mouth dark, rough, and uncompromising. “Eat me out.”

Cole stares at the blade, then at my face. That sharp, devastating grin carves deep into his cheeks.

He shifts his weight instantly, crawling forward on his knees until he positions himself directly at the juncture of my thighs. I lie back against the pillows, letting my legs fall wide open.

Cole settles his weight between my knees. He reaches out, his large hands gripping my bare thighs, his thumbs pressing into the soft, sensitive flesh.

“Make sure you keep that knife on me, Archer,” he murmurs, his gaze dragging down the length of my torso. “I need to stay properly motivated.”

He leans forward, and his fingers brush through the neat, trimmed bush of blonde curls covering my center.

“Fucking beautiful,” he breathes, parting the slick, swollen folds of my pussy. “I love it.”

His face drops. The hot, wet slide of his tongue hits my opening, dragging in a long, agonizing stroke straight up to my clit.

My spine bows right off the mattress, and a sharp, breathless moan tears through my lips.

Cole doesn’t hesitate. He devours me. He uses the flat of his tongue, applying a firm, relentless pressure, lapping at the swollen bundle of nerves. His fingers work inside me, sliding two thick digits deep into my dripping heat, matching the frantic, wet rhythm of his mouth.

I throw my head back against the headboard, my vision blurring. The pleasure hits my bloodstream like a narcotic.

I bring the knife down, resting the cold steel directly against the hard, bunched muscle of his shoulder. The contrast scrambles my brain. The lethal threat of the blade pressing into his skin while his mouth ruins me.

Something dark and utterly twisted breaks loose in my head.

The fantasy of Raymond’s demise takes over. I picture the heavy wooden chair. The ropes cutting into his wrists. The look of panic in his gray eyes as I step into the room holding Cole’s steel. I imagine driving the blade straight into his thigh. The scream tearing out of his throat. The hot rush of blood spilling over my knuckles as I carve pieces out of the monster who broke me.

The homicidal urge feeds the arousal, acting as a violent accelerant.

“I’m thinking about hurting him,” I whisper. My voice shakes, rough but unapologetic.

Cole’s mouth leaves my clit for a fraction of a second. “Tell me.”

“I want to cut him.” I twist my fingers into Cole’s dark hair, gripping the thick strands tightly. “I want to bleed him out while he begs.”

Cole groans, a harsh, guttural sound of pure approval. He thrusts his hips forward, humping the mattress, the friction dragging a wet curse out of his throat. He buries his face back between my thighs, drinking down my slickness, his tongue working faster, harder, completely unhinged.

The heat pooling in my lower belly coils to the absolute breaking point. The edge approaches, sharp and blinding.

Inspired by the dark rush of violence humming in my veins, I tighten my grip on the leather hilt. I press the razor edge against Cole’s shoulder muscle, applying a firm, deliberate pressure.

I drag the steel.

A shallow line of crimson immediately blooms across his skin.

Cole’s hips stutter violently against the bed. A brutal, deafening roar tears out of his lungs. He thrusts his cock against the tangled sheets, the sharp bite of pain sending him straight over the edge. He climaxes hard, his body shuddering under my hands.