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She was art in motion—rage and desperation wrapped in skin that begs to be bruised, claimed,owned.

My cock is rock hard now, straining against the unforgiving fabric of my pants, pressed against the cradle of her hips. She feels it. I know she does. Her lashes flicker. Her hips shift again—almost imperceptible—but it’s there. She’s aching. Wet. Wound tight.

She’s trying so hard not to want this.

But her body’s already sold her out.

I know exactly what she needs.

But she’s not getting it.

Not yet.

Not until she screams for it.

Not until shebegs.

I let the knife trail along the curve of her jaw, slow, reverent—like I’m memorizing her by touch. Her breath catches. Her back arches just slightly, barely perceptible, like she’s leaning into the danger.

Needing it.

I drag the blade lower, tracing the line of her throat down to her chest, just above the swell of her breasts. She shivers—not in fear. Not entirely. It’s something darker. Deeper. Hungrier.

She wants me to break her.

Wants me to pierce the surface and dig underneath the armor she wears like a second skin.

I press the knife gently against the side of her ribs, not hard enough to draw blood, just enough to make herfeelit.

Her breath stutters again.

And her eyes—fuck, her eyes—they flash not with fear butneed. Like she’s wondering what it would feel like if I did sink the blade into her flesh. If maybe pain is the only thing sharp enough to cut through the chaos in her chest. If it would drown out the war between pride and want.

“You want it, don’t you?” I whisper, my voice low and brutal. “The pain. The pressure. Something to override the noise in that pretty little head of yours.”

She doesn’t answer.

But her pulse flutters wildly at her throat. Her skin flushes deeper where the cold steel kisses her.

She’s so close to cracking. So close to giving in.

But I need the words. Need her toadmitit.

She’s aching. Needy. Desperate.

And still trying to wear that mask of defiance like it’s not cracking beneath the weight of her own desire.

“I could fuck you right now,” I murmur, voice like gravel and fire. “Right here. With you pinned down, filthy and furious, just how I like you.”

Her jaw tenses. Her eyes flare.

But her hips shift again—seeking friction.

“I could bury myself in you so deep you forget your own name,” I continue, dragging the knife lower, just above her waistband. “And Iwill.But not until youaskfor it.”

She glares at me, lips trembling between a curse and a cry.

I lean in, breath hot at her ear. “Scream for me.”