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Something he said to me so long ago, when he told me to run and hide in Parsons Manor, promising a punishment if he found me.

I have a feeling he can smell me now, and just how much my body weeps for him.

“Lift your leg, baby,” he orders roughly, voice hoarse with desire. I listen, watching him loop the lacy strap around my foot and raise it to my upper thigh, his knuckles coming dangerously close to my center.

“Do you remember how to use this?” he asks, flipping the blade in his deft fingers. For the life of me, I can’t fathom why that was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen him do.

“Uh-huh,” I squeak. It takes effort to drag my eyes away from the twirling blade to meet his gaze. There’s a hint of challenge swirling in his mismatched pools, and I feel myself rising to meet it. “Do you know how to use it?”

I’ll never know why I instigate him, even when wariness lingers behind the cloud of lust.

The smirk that curls his lips is wicked, causing my body to flush. I’m overheating, and he’s hardly touched me.

I’m not sure what he intends to do, but that look on his face tells me it’s going to be something nefarious.

“You can’t cut me with it,” I say seriously. For a moment, I see a flash of rage in his eyes, gone before the fire can spread. And I know he knows the reasoning behind my request. There have been several nights where I confessed the things that had been done to me in that house, including Xavier’s kink with slicing me open while he raped me.

For a moment, I panic, fearing he’ll stop at the reminder that other men have used my body. Tensing, I wait for the disgust. I wouldn’t blame him if he was repulsed by me, but it’d tear my heart out anyway.

Instead, he flips the blade until he’s gripping the sharp edge in his hand. Then he slides the handle against my thigh, gentle and teasing. The fear begins to dissipate, relief soaking my bones. But even that quickly fades when the handle caresses my pussy, just a whisper of a touch.

Now, I feel nothing but anticipation and that lingering wariness.

Turbulence rocks the plane again, a physical representation of how my heart feels.

“Did you know that reclaiming something that was stolen from you can help with trauma?” he asks.

“Yes,” I murmur.

“And if something hurt you before, giving it a new meaning can help.”

His eyes lift, focusing on me intently.

“Do you want me to show you a new meaning to this knife?”

I hesitate but then nod my head. A different kind of fear is seizing my body—the kind that I’ve always been attracted to. And I’ve mis

sed it so much.

“Pull up your dress,” he demands roughly, his voice deep and raspy. Quickly, I do as he says, bunching the material up just high enough to bare the apex of my thighs.

His nostrils flare, and he clenches his jaw briefly before ordering, “Now wrap your hand around mine.”

Furrowing my brows, I do as he says, grabbing ahold of his hand that’s curled tightly around the blade. “Wouldn’t want to cut up those pretty hands of yours. So, you’re going to guide me.”

I shake my head, feeling myself start to retreat.

“I won’t touch you,” he promises. “You’re in control, little mouse. I’m only here to protect your hand. Instead of allowing this knife to cause you pain, use it to give yourself pleasure instead.”

My throat constricts, and I have the strongest urge to run away. But that feeling is what keeps me still. I don’t want Xavier to win. To haunt my life so terribly that an inanimate object has the power to control me.

Nodding my head, I guide his hand up, my breath hitching when the handle slides along my slit.

Zade watches my movements closely, his teeth clenched and the muscle in his jaw pulsating. Blood begins to trickle down his wrist, and for reasons I can’t explain, I squeeze his hand tighter, eliciting more trails of blood. He growls deep in his chest but doesn’t stop me.

I bite my lip, a whimper breaking free when I slowly insert it inside of me, my legs trembling.

Normally, I don’t think I could ever get enjoyment out of fucking myself with a knife handle. But using Zade’s hand to do it adds a layer of pleasure I wouldn’t be able to find on my own. Seeing his blood drip from our hands instead of my own—it does something to me that I can’t explain.