Page 136 of Executing Malice

When he tears my top up over my tits, baring me, I know I’ve lost. I’m barely fighting anymore as he drops his blade over my heart, point puncturing the flesh beneath my thundering heart.

“Cock or knife, little whore?” he taunts.

He wouldn’t.

He’s not that crazy.

But then again, he’s proven time and time again that he definitely doesn’t have the same moral compass as normal people. Does that mean he’d fuck me with the knife?

“Get off me,” I pant, wishing I wasn’t so out of breath when he’s barely affected.

From somewhere to my right, a light flares on. It’s low to the ground, but it captures the sight of him straddling my stomach, knife fixed against my heart. It catches on the tiny bars fixed to my hardened nipples.

The flashlight.

The fall must have knocked something loose, but that’s not my problem right now as I stare up into white eyes and do something immensely stupid.

I smack his hand.

He’s not expecting it either and his hold slips. The point slashes across my skin, over the curve of my left breast. The cut bubbles and runs crimson rivers across my throat, down the center of my breasts. It soaks my top, turning the white a horrific red. The burn is immediate and terrifying as I cry out.

“Leila!”

His panicked gasp jolts something in me and I strike. I twist my hands around his slackened hold and wrench the knife free. In the same motion, I slash it wildly, attempting to scare him off, but I miscalculate his distance.

A hot spray mists my cheek.

Dante jerks back with a hiss, hand flying up to cover the gash I created. My eyes go wide as I watch blood trickle down his arm. From between his fingers.

“Oh my god, Dante!”

The knife clatters out of my grip as I lunge to grab him.

But he’s laughing. Deep, unhinged howls that echo forever into the forest. They ripple down my back, tickle my own amusement. I don’t think that was part of the plan, but fuck...

“Fuck,” he groans, dragging his fingers through the mess, slow and deliberate, only to smear it across his chest. To cup his hand over his mask, staining it with actual blood. “Spread your legs, Leila. Let me in.”

The way he growls it with blood staining his fangs and his eyes white spheres has me obeying. Maybe it’s the feel of hissticky fingers closing across my throat, cutting off my air while he forces his hips between my thighs.

“Fucking little cunt is so wet,” he groans, grinding his bulge into my pussy and huffing like a beast when I return the push. “So hungry to have me fill it right here in the dirt.”

He reaches between our bodies with his free hand and fumbles with his pants. I’m dizzy with so much need, I’m barely aware of anything, except the sight of him spilling free, each bar ready to destroy me.

No. Not yet. It’s too soon.

Coming to my senses, I plant my hands against his chest and shove. I buck wildly, nails digging into muscle, leaving fresh trails of blood.

“Little demon,” he snarls, breathing hard.

He captures my wrists, slams them into the earth above my head just hard enough to hurt. He holds them there with only one hand while the other drifts down to my chest. To my breast with the cut. His thumb teases the nipple, smearing it with my blood ... then bending his head and licking it clean.

“Just as sweet as I remember,” he moans, and runs the flat of his tongue up a crimson streak to the wound.

To my horror — and maddening arousal — he plants his palm over the still leaking gash. Smears my blood across his palm.I think he’s going to rub it over his chest like he had his own, but his hand dips lower.

Lower.

Disappears between my legs.