Page 91 of From Hell

“How about you bare something else?” he growls, gripping my hips and lowering down until he’s on his knees for me. Taking one of my legs, he hoists it over his shoulder, giving him a great view of my bare slit. I still have the knife on him, now at his throat, but he pays it no attention. He curses and leans down, the knife digging in.

Then he licks, slow and leisurely, burning me up, lighting up my insides until the handle of the blade threatens to slip out of my hands. “You’re so fucking wet.” He’s close enough that his warm breath brushes my pussy.

“We’re in the shower. Of course I’m wet,” I pant, gripping the knife firmly so I’m holding him at knifepoint.

I slip the razor edge under his collar and slash the material sideways—a blush of red blooms on his shirt where I cut.

“You’ll pay for that.” Eyes dark and bottomless, his tongue slides in, plunging deep and then lathing over my clit. Shaking, I brace against the tiles and slash the other side. In retaliation, he bites, raking his teeth over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Fierce pleasure snakes outward and through every part of me, and my mouth opens, making a silent O.

Jaxon carries on sucking and biting, teasing me into my own orgasmic Hell. Because that’s where I’m headed, nothing can stop me from going down screaming. If Jaxon is the Devil, then Heaven, burn me if I ever step across that pearly threshold.

I drop the knife. It bangs against the shower floor tiles.

He stops.

“Since you like playing with knives,” he chuckles darkly, reaching for it.

The shock of the hilt at my entrance makes me bolt upright, hands slipping over the sleek tiles. “Jaxon, no.” I glare at him, but all he does is smirk, watching me squirm as he slides the slick metal handle in deeper.

I bite my lip, making a half whimper, half throaty moan type of noise.

“Please, don’t.” I don’t want to come on the weapon that killed Christian.

Jaxon’s look is half-lidded and almost evil as if he knows that’s exactly what I want. “You ruined an expensive shirt.”

“I’ll buy you another one,” I rasp.

He laughs, a deep rolling sound. “I’ve seen your bank balance. You’ll have to pay in other ways.” Jaxon’s seen my bank balance. How? When? And just how much can a shirt cost?

I don’t get to consider any of the answers because Jaxon has the handle of the knife inside me up to his fingers curled around the blade. It’s long and thin, enticing waves of pleasure with every deep thrust, but not enough.

I need more.

Much to my horror, my hips tilt, and my back arches as he fucks me with the knife, chasing the sensation sizzling through my body.

“Tell me what you want, little fox,” he muses.

Fuck. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Then turn around and offer that pretty ass up to me.”

He slips the knife from me, dropping my leg, and I do as he asks, waiting, pinning myself against the cold tiles. I shiver from the lack of heat and the thought of what he’s about to do.

I sense him close, the heat of his body through his wet shirt racing up my spine as he presses into me, hands on my ass, fingering me from behind. I let out a whimper, unable to help myself.

“Admit it,” he says in a low husky voice. “That you like being fucked with this.” He teases my entrance with that damn knife again.

“No, I don’t.”

“Liar,” he chuckles, pushing me into the tiles harder, my nipples like bullets as condensation runs over them. At some point, the shower turned off. The only heat is Jaxon covering my body with his and the blood beneath my skin burning me with desire.

He pumps me a few more times with the surgical knife handle, making me moan. “Your body tells me a different story.”

“I like it,” I say quickly, hating myself for saying it because it’s true.

“Good girl. Now, come for me, and I’ll let you have what you want.”

“Jaxon, I can’t.” My voice is hushed. How many people has he killed with that blade?