My fingers dig into her jaw. “I own you. And you will never disobey me again.”
Her eyes move over my face, and no argument spills from her lips. So I take it a step further by kissing her. Hard and punishing, my body pressing hers into the bed. My cock insistent that I sink inside of her.
“You’ve been into my cognac,” I tell her. “Do you like the taste of me on your lips as you fall to your death, my sweet?”
I grind against her, and she does not retreat. She is breathing heavy. Her chest rising and falling. Her nipples are stiff beneath the fabric of her soft white chemise. No bra. The swells of her breasts heave with the force of her breaths.
“My little Juliet.” I nuzzle into her skin and suck on her flesh. “You will taste of me for all of eternity. Because you don’t get to leave me.”
“You will grow tired of me,” she replies.
“I will not ever love you,” I tell her as my lips move down the snowy skin of her throat. “But I will have you, Talia. In every way. Make no mistake that you are mine. And I will do as I please with you.”
A puff of air leaves her lips and ruffles my hair as I nudge her top down to reveal her breast. She is watching me, her eyes no longer dead. But curious. Curious about what I will do. And impatient.
I swirl my tongue around her nipple and then suck her into my mouth. She shivers against me, biting down on her lip hard.
My hand cups the heat between her legs, rubbing the material of her shorts with my thumb, soaking it in wetness.
When my gaze meets hers, there is shame there. But want too.
And this is how I know she is not lost. That perhaps the thing she needs is not love but want.
My thumb rubs circles around her shorts, using the material for friction as I free her other breast and suck the soft skin into my mouth. She bucks her hips. And cries out.
“It won’t work,” she tells me.
My fingers yank the material of her shorts aside and shove inside of her bare pussy. Soaked and ready for me.
“It works just fine.”
I finger fuck her and eat at her breasts.
“I can’t.” She keeps telling me. Even as her body contracts and expands around me.
“You will.”
But she isn’t letting go. And I know what she needs from me. I also know that I want to give it to her.
I reach down and fumble around in my bag until I find what I need. The flick of the switchblade causes her eyes to shoot open. It has the immediate effect of calming her. As I knew it would.
My angel thinks she wants death. But what she wants more than anything is to trust. In me.
I reach up and drag the blade down the sensitive flesh of her throat, scratching at the skin but never puncturing. Beneath the milky soft flesh, her pulse beats wildly for this. For me.
“Harder,” she pleads.
The blade travels lower, down over her breast and ribcage as my fingers continue to move inside of her.
“Do you want some pain so that you can have your pleasure?” I ask.
“Yes, please.”
Her hips are straining up against my palm, her body coming alive for me as I stroke the blade over the tender place on her stomach. And then lower. Down over her hip and against her thigh.
The anticipation is freeing her from the prison in her mind. But I know she will not give in until she has what she thinks she wants. What she thinks she needs.
“You don’t need to be ashamed, my angel,” I tell her. “I want you to let go for me. It is okay to enjoy this.”
She meets my eyes and shakes her head, biting into her lip.
“I need more.”
“I know what you need,” I tell her.
There’s an argument already prepared to spill from her lips. She thinks I will deny her. But I won’t. Not now. Maybe not ever.
I like my fucked up wife. I like everything about her. And I’m going to keep her.
I take the blade and retrace the path back up her body. To the pale flesh of her fingers and over her knuckles until I reach her thumb. I press the tip into the flesh, and her breathing halts. I’m fingering her harder, and she is so wet for me I know she can hold out