Page 227 of House of Cards

I swear I can feel it pulsing against my arch.

He scoots closer, my shin pressed against his chest, and wraps an arm around my bent leg, keeping me steady.

His eyes meet mine, and for once, there’s no mask there.

Just raw, unfiltered Smith.

Dark eyes, parted lips, a faint frown. There’s a tremble on his mouth, a sudden flash of guilt in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asks hoarsely.

“I’m stronger than you think.”

His eyes drop to my lips as I speak. He shakes his head, slow, like he’s in a trance. “I?—”

I lay my hand over his arm, not surprised when I don’t even feel the slightest tremor in his muscle.

“You can’t break me, Smith. Not even if you tried.”

I should be terrified, but the way he holds me, rock solid and unapologetic, makes me feel safe. Comforted, even. Maybe that’s why I relax into his grip, why I can tear my gaze from his face to his hand when he finally tears his eyes away from mine.

Why I can watch, silent and still, as he defiles me in the sickest, darkest way possible.

The first cut is shallow.

I barely feel the cold metal he drags across my upper thigh. But then the blood wells up in a ragged ruby line, and with it a fiercely stinging heat.

Smith’s eyes darken as he watches it, his breathing becoming just as ragged. His breath just as hot against my skin.

God help me, I arch into it, wanting more. More of that sinister pain, more of the feverish attention of his eyes on my skin.

My mind goes back to that bottom drawer of his. The one filled with countless chips, hundreds of thousands of dollars. He tossed them in there like they were nothing.

Because theyarenothing to him.

This…this is what he wants. What he craves.

What he treasures more than anything.

I’m giving this man something no one else can. I’m sating a twisted desire he’s kept hidden for who knows how long. Something that’s brought him shame, and suffering.

I’m feeding his darkness …and loving every second of it.

He glances up at me, looking high and drunk at the same time, his bottom lip clamped between his teeth.

“Are you—okay?” he mumbles. His voice catches on the last, like he’s wondering ifhe’sokay enough to even be asking the question.

My voice is thick, but I don’t stammer.

“Yes.” I lay my hand over his, releasing a shuddering breath. “Fuck, yes.”

Smith

When the blade slices into her skin, it’s like I can feel it biting into my own flesh. My hands shouldn’t be this steady, not when everything inside me is chaos, but thank Christ they are, because this is the most impatient I’ve ever been.

I’m strung out, light-headed, clamping the inside of my bottom lip between my teeth so I don’t let out the groan building in my throat.

Should wait, but I can’t.