Page 105 of Only for Him

He holds the knife handle inside me, pulsing it, teasing the depths I need him to reach. The frustration wracks my body, spoils my mind.

“This pussy is mine to pleasure or punish,” he snarls, my clit so sensitive now that even his breath against it makes me buck. “No one touches it but me. Not even you, unless I tell you to.”

He grinds the knife handle deeper, torturing me. My knees draw up when he squeezes my throat, demonstrating how fully he possesses my every cell.

“You wanted me to catch you. You always did.” Finally, his mouth returns, sucking at my swollen clit now, grazing his teeth gently across it, his hand on my throat pressing down my scream.

The knife speeds up—then tilts. He findsthatspot and my entire body locks. My toes curl. My eyes give me away. He sees everything.

With a whimper, I move my hips, meeting his pace, fucking the knife as hard as its fucking me. Sliding myself against his mouth, pressing as hard as I can, grinding against every inch of tongue he’ll give me.

Each time he sinks the blade, the tension ratchets higher, blooming and building and breaking me down.

“You don’t get to come until I tell you to,” he mouths against my pussy. “Tonight, you’ll come when I claim you.”

I don’t know what he means—until I do.

He speeds up, savaging my body, my muscles taut to the point of snapping. Pleasure ripples up my spine, lapping at my nerves.

So close, sofuckingclose.

I need more, harder, I need him to fuck me until I erupt. The next thrust is the deepest yet and the world narrows to a pinprick.

His thumb takes over, rubbing my clit until everything sparks.

His hand on my throat tightens, he yanks my head to the side.

He lunges forward and bites my shoulder, sudden and brutal, breaking skin.

I come, violent and blinding, legs kicking, throat making animal sounds.

The heat rips from my toes to my scalp and I feel like a dying star, all the energy I’ve ever had ripping through me at once.

I shake against him, juices flooding as I clench and throb around the handle over and over.

It lasts forever and then, it keeps going.

“We’re not done yet, little viper,” Roman says.

He flips me around, shoves my face into the floor, and thrusts the knife handle mercilessly into me from behind. I scream, the sound echoing in the air, and he fucks me like he’s trying to erase the memory of every other man.

He leans over, lips at my ear. “You’re mine,” he repeats. “No one else.”

He fists my hair, yanking my head up so I have to feel every thrust. Slow, steady, and ruthlessly drawing pleasure and pain together and apart until I’ll never be able to tell them apart.

He keeps going, working me through it, never slowing, never letting up, until I’m sobbing and shaking and begging for it to stop even though I never want it to.

But he doesn’t, for hours, or at least for however long it takes for me to pass out.

27

GISELLE

In the momentsbetween sleeping and waking, I think I’m in heaven. Cool sheets, so smooth they might be liquefied air, surround me. There’s no antiseptic smell telling me I’m in a hospital, but this isn’t my apartment. I’m dressed in soft but unfamiliar clothing, and my throat is bruised and raw.

And then I’m aware of a mellow pain throbbing in my jaw and abs and my—oh.

Oh… fuck.