Page 142 of Sin Like the Devil

“Suck.”

“Go to hell,” she seethes.

“Already there, sweetheart. Suck or I’ll find another use for this knife.”

Gulping hard, she opens wide to accept the slightly curved black handle. I move it in and out of her mouth, letting her saliva coat the surface. Strings of spit stretch from her lips when I pull it free.

“Now, I can’t leave this greedy cunt empty. Can I?” Pinning her legs completely open, I run the lubricated handle over her folds. “Keep those legs open for me.”

“Xander?” Her voice trembles.

“I told you how this works before, Rip. You’re mine to do with as I please. That much hasn’t changed.”

I push the pocketknife inside her like any other sex toy. Even when I lift my hand from her thigh, she keeps her legs spreadeagled, exposing every last inch of herself to my perusal. Her pelvis must be aching.

“Perfectly safe,” I murmur. “As long as you don’t move a muscle.”

She can’t see it from her position, but the blade is a safe distance away. Her fear is delicious, though. I keep an eye on the blade impaling her as I stand and peel off my rain-crusted clothing. Her eyes drink in every pale inch that’s revealed.

I’ve never had trouble baring myself. I’m not ashamed of my scars. Only the secrets behind them. From the feverish gleam in her eyes, she’s as dedicated to unearthing them as I am to forgetting.

Standing over her, I wrap a hand around the hard length of my cock. That smart mouth remains clamped shut as I begin to pump my shaft, imagining the glistening heat that will soon be around it.

“Are you ready to tell the truth?”

Her locked jaw tightens.

“I see. We can play this game all day if that’s what you desire.”

Settling between her legs, I slowly slide the pocketknife from her cunt. It’s glazed with her juices. Such a tantalising sight. I raise it back to her mouth then cock a brow expectantly.

“Clean up your mess. This is my favourite knife.”

Her rosy lips remain tightly sealed.

“Ripley.”

Still being a brat.

“Fine.”

I keep the blade pinched but drag the razor-sharp tip across her lips as if I intend to carve her up. She quickly follows my command, letting her mouth open. I push the handle inside and watch her lick it clean.

“Good,” I hum. “Not so hard to obey, is it?”

Once the knife’s clean, I flip the blade to retake the handle. She can’t suppress a terrified squeak when I suddenly stab it into her bed, mere centimetres from the side of her head. Her breaths are sharp and rapid.

“Give me attitude again, and I’ll sink it into your heart instead.”

Ripley gulps in response.

Perfect.

Kneeling between her legs, I have a great vantage point to study every trembling inch of her. Disfigured ink. Stitched wounds. Trails of dried blood. Odd fading bruises. Every imperfection is its own siren’s call.

I don’t want her perfect and unblemished. Some of us are brave enough to admit that we find beauty in the twisted and depraved instead. I only wish someone else hadn’t touched what’s mine to tarnish.

“Poor Ripley. So desperate for relief, yet so willing to deny herself too.”

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