Page 28

T he streets whip past me as I pull up a few miles from the Valentine estate. The roar of the Kawasaki Ninja H2R fades into the distance, replaced by the cool, salt-tinged breeze of the ocean. I shut down the engine and slip off the bike, its sleek black frame melting into the shadows.

The estate is a massive mansion, lit up like a Christmas tree, the windows bright and the patio illuminated. Keeping to the shadows, I make my way to the back of the estate, easily scaling the fence. I move swiftly and silently, keeping to the perimeter. As I near the house, I spot the window she instructed me to use.

Climbing up the trellis, I reach the window, carefully prying it open. I slip inside, hitting the plush carpet without a sound. The moonlight filters through sheer curtains, illuminating the room—a teenage girl’s nest, cluttered with frilly pillows and a canopy bed. She’s sprawled out, her blonde hair splayed across the pillow.

Moving quietly, I make my way to the side of the bed. I notice a near-empty bottle of wine and a bag of Doritos on the nightstand. She clearly passed out drunk.

Time to wake up, sleeping beauty.

I unclip my belt, the leather a harsh promise of what’s to come. I pull out the duct tape, ready to silence her before she can make a noise.

She shifts, mumbling incoherently. I freeze, waiting until she’s still again. The tape sticks over her mouth, muffling any chance of protest. Her eyes snap open as the belt tightens around her throat, terror replacing the drunken haze.

Her hands claw at the air, but it’s futile. I straddle her, my grip stiff, watching as recognition and fear flicker in her eyes.

I loosen the belt slightly, enough for her to take a shallow breath, the air struggling to enter her lungs. Her muffles cries are a sweet symphony, her body bucking underneath me.

I stare at her, smirking behind the mask. Her body shakes, her eyes filled with terror.

I pull a knife from my pocket, holding it up for her to see. Then, I bring the blade to her throat, tracing a line along her skin. She whimpers, and her body shudders.

Fear radiates off her in waves. Slowly, I move the blade down, trailing it between her breasts over her thin tank top. Her breathing is ragged, and her heart is racing. She’s completely at my mercy.

I drag the blade lower, the cold steel pressing against her skin. She’s still, her body rigid. I slip the knife under her shirt, sliding the blade between the fabric and her skin. I slice through the fabric, the blade tearing through the delicate material like butter.

I rip the shredded shirt away, revealing her perfect tits. Her nipples are hard, and her skin is flushed. She’s fighting under me, struggling to get free. But she can’t escape. She’s mine.

I drag the knife over her skin, leaving a red pressure line. She’s fighting and squirming under me, the sounds of her muffled cries sending a thrill through me.

I won’t cut her.

But she doesn’t know that.

She’s terrified.

A wave of twisted pleasure surges through me as I watch her fear unfold. Shifting my weight further down, I bring the knife to her underwear, slipping the blade under the waistband.

Tears streak down her face, her eyes wide and pleading. I hold the knife there, letting her fear build. Then I slice her underwear open, exposing her pussy. I trail the blade lower, tracing it between her legs.

Tightening the grip on the belt, her breathing is labored, her body writhing and squirming under me. She’s trying to close her legs, but my weight is too much.

I trace the handle through her folds, the cold steel sliding against her wet heat.

She knows this sensation, the cold hardness. She loved it, begged for it.

The masked man.

The knife.

It’s me .

This is me.

And she is mine.

I shove the handle inside her, pushing it deep, stretching her tight hole. I thrust with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each movement precise and controlled. Her muffled cries and ragged breaths pierce the stillness of the room.

She thrashes underneath me, but she’s trapped—helpless to stop me. I tighten the belt around her neck, and my pace quickens, relentless, unforgiving.

Her wrists are pinned beneath my knees; she can’t do anything but take it. And she loves it.

I thrust harder, each movement more forceful, more savage, losing myself in the twisted pleasure of it all. My thumb finds her clit, circling the sensitive nub. Her back arches, muscles rigid as she’s dragged to the brink.

Her eyes squeeze shut, and her walls clench around the cold steel, her climax ripping through her as I push her past the point of no return.

Fuck.

She’s coming.

Her muffled cries—a perfect mix of pain and pleasure—drive me to the brink. My cock throbs with the need to be inside her.

With a swift motion, I release the belt and yank the handle out of her, discarding it carelessly. I flip her onto her stomach, her wrists pinned beneath her as I pull her to her knees.

The belt is back around her neck, this time a leash, tightening with every breath she struggles to take. Her face is buried in the pillows, her perfect ass arched high.

Fuck, she looks so fucking sexy.

I reach around, sliding two fingers deep into her dripping cunt, feeling her walls clamp down, desperate to keep me inside. She tries to shake her head, her muffled cries frantic with fear and anticipation.

Oh, little Siren, you will love this.

My cock aches, balls tightening with the need to bury myself inside her. I tighten the belt once more, cutting off her air. Her body tenses, struggling for breath, but she’s not going anywhere.

I grip her hip, holding her in place. She’s trying to fight, but it’s useless.

She’s going to take everything I give her.