Chapter 41 #2
Her eyes shot open, pupils blown wide. There was fear there.
Good.
I held the blade against her skin, my grip firm in her hair.
“Say it,” I demanded. “Say your safe word.”
She blinked once. “Mercy,” she said, calm, leaning back into me.
I lowered the blade and caught her gaze in the mirror.
“Good girl,” I murmured. “I needed to hear it.”
Her fingers twisted together, anticipation tightening her shoulders.
I stepped back enough to work on the line of infuriating buttons running down her spine. One by one, I sliced through the Rouleau loops with the tip of the blade, a convenient use for it.
When I reached her waist, I saw she wore nothing beneath the lace.
Just skin.
Freckles scattered across the creamy white skin of her back like a map only I was allowed to follow.
I turned the knife and traced the blunt edge down her spine from neck to waist. The chill of metal against her skin drew a shudder from her.
She always answered my touch.
I returned to the task, cutting through the remaining loops. At the final one, I slid my thumbs beneath the parted fabric, knife still in hand. At her shoulders, I peeled the dress open and let it fall.
It pooled at her feet.
Something small slipped free along with it.
A card.
It fluttered once before landing near her heel.
Scarlett followed my gaze.
I bent and picked it up.
Saint Longinus.
An unexpected reminder of my fate.
She blinked up at me, somber now.
“Luca gave it to me,” she whispered.
I held her gaze for a moment.
No questions. No explanation.
Just recognition.
Only Scarlett would have understood what that card meant. What I had done. What I had become the first time I spilled blood for her. And every time after that.
She was my destiny.
I folded the card once and slid it into the back pocket of my trousers.
Then I looked back at my wife.
She stood in nothing but a white lace thong.
She’d grown confident in her body and no longer instinctively tried to cover herself. No shame. And we put the meaning of that card behind us.
Instead, she arched slightly, dipped her chin, and gave me that feline smile that sent heat straight to my gut.
I pressed the flat of the blade to her shoulder.
She didn’t quite catch on to my meaning.
“On your hands and knees,” I growled beside her ear.
She bit her lower lip and lowered herself to the floor.
The blade followed.
I kneeled behind her and placed my palm at the center of her back. Her heart rate was high, and I liked it. I liked her excited, not afraid.
I dragged my fingers down to one strap of her thong. With a quick motion, I sliced through it; her back arched at the movement. I repeated the cut on the other side.
Using the blunt edge of the knife, I hooked the top band of her thong at the small of her back and dragged it down, tracing the cleft between her cheeks slowly. The lace slipped free and dropped between her knees.
The tip of the blade remained between her cheeks as I moved it lower.
“Don’t move, Scar,” I warned.
I guided the steel to her slit and let it dip within.
I stilled as she held her breath.
Then I withdrew the blade with care and brought it to my tongue. I drew one flat side across it, then the other, tasting her sweetness.
Christ.
I could never get enough of her.
Every instinct told me to flip her onto her back and bury myself in that drenched pussy, right here in the cloud of lace and silk we were enveloped in. But this was her first night of play. I wouldn’t rush it.
I tossed the knife aside and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her back until her spine met my chest.
“Spread those knees, wife,” I ordered.
She obeyed without hesitation.
With one hand, I cupped her breast. With the other, I traced a slow line from her waist, down her stomach, and to her pussy. She was so slick my fingers slipped inside her easily.
“Remember Spain?” I murmured near her ear. “This is how I pictured it. Us in front of this mirror, your knees spread wide. My fingers driving in and out of you.”
Her head turned toward me.
“Me too,” she breathed.
“Watch,” I instructed. “Watch how that pretty pussy takes my fingers.”
Her gaze dropped to my hand in the mirror.
“Add one of yours,” I said. “I know you like that.”
She smiled and slid her hand beneath mine, pressing another finger inside herself. Together, we stretched her slowly.
I rolled her nipple between my fingers, tightening the pressure with each thrust of our hands.
“Use your thumb, Scar,” I said. “I can feel your walls fluttering. Make yourself come.”
And she did.
Her hips bucked as she chased her release, her eyes drifting shut.
“Eyes open,” I commanded. “Watch that pussy.”
I drove our fingers deeper and faster.
She exploded.
Her breath broke into sharp pants as her body clenched around us.
I didn’t stop.
My little bird always had more.
She sank back until her ass rested on her heels, but our hands kept moving, pumping through each wave as her muscles fluttered around our fingers.
I held her there until the tremors eased, until every last pulse had wrung itself out of her.
I pulled my fingers out, kissed her shoulder, and stood behind her.
She glanced up at me, confusion flickering across her brow.
I smirked. “Don’t worry. That was only the warm-up. Now be a good girl and go sit in the center of that bed.”
She scrambled to her feet with a soft giggle and moved to the bed.
“Have you ever been in a playroom before?” I asked.
She shook her head.
That matched her first reaction to this place. Nothing specific had frightened her—it was the sheer intensity of it all at once. I remembered my own first time walking into this room. The scale and the intention behind every object stood clear. No expense had been spared.
I crossed to the St. Andrew’s Cross and dragged my fingers along one of the leather restraints.
“This will be fun to play on sometime,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at her.
“Will you let me tie you up to that?” she asked.
I chuckled. “We can take turns. How about that?”
She smiled and nodded, pulling her knees up in front of her. From that angle, I had an unobstructed view of those dark pink lips between her thighs.
Fuck.
My control would be tested in this room tonight.
I walked to the wooden cabinet in the center. Mounted on top was a rack of impact tools—paddles, floggers, crops, canes, straps—each one selected for purpose, not decoration. On the silver tray beside them sat handcuffs, candles, and lube.
I ran my fingers slowly across the row of impact toys.
Her eyes tracked the movement.
“Curious about these tonight?” I asked.
She shrugged, but when my hand paused over a leather strap, her shoulders dropped slightly.
Curiosity.
I filed that away.
I opened one of the drawers beneath the cabinet and retrieved a realistically shaped and unapologetically large dildo.
Her face pinched as she shook her head. “Okay. Definitely a no.”
I set it aside without further comment.
I gave her a quiet tour of the remaining items, watching every shift in posture, every tightening of her fingers. I chose carefully—nothing overwhelming, nothing that would push too far too fast.
Tonight wasn’t about breaking her in.
It was about opening the door.
I selected a candle, a lighter, a petite vibrating plug with its remote, lube, and a set of nipple clamps. I arranged them on the tray and carried it to the nightstand beside the bed.
She rolled onto her stomach, studying the items with interest before glancing up at me.
Her expression held challenge.
And trust.
“There’s one more thing I think might be fun,” I said, reaching into my pocket.
I pulled out a rosary made of dark red beads that I’d picked up at the church and held it in front of her.
Her eyes shifted from the beads to mine and back again. One brow lifted.
“So,” she said, “are we praying to the sex gods for multiple orgasms tonight, or what?”
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. I dropped the rosary onto the tray.
“On your hands and knees. Now, my wife,” I ordered, gesturing to the bed.
Excitement flashed across her face as she moved into position without hesitation.
I picked up the nipple clamps, taking a second to appreciate how her breasts hung in this position—full, heavy, offered.
“These are for your nipples,” I said. “They sting at first. Then they make you hypersensitive. As much as you love when I pinch them, you’re going to love these.”
I secured the first clamp with a sharp click.
She jerked.
“Ow, shit. That hurts.”
I stopped.
I gave her room to breathe. To say mercy if she needed it.
She rolled her lips inward, took two steady breaths, and let her shoulders settle. After a moment, she nodded.
Before attaching the second clamp, I traced a slow circle around the first with my fingertip.
Her breath hitched.
“Ohh.”
Her lower lip slipped between her teeth.
I ran my hand down the center of her back the way she liked, slow and gentle, giving her something steady to anchor to.
Then I secured the second clamp.
She grunted, but didn’t complain again.
With that, I reached for the petite vibrator.
I still didn’t understand how she had managed to keep that tight hole untouched under the circumstances she’d endured, but I was grateful.
Trauma—there was a wound that didn’t heal easily.
The thought of taking her there for the first time lingered in the back of my mind.
It would be something earned—not rushed.
She watched me intently.
I opened the lube and moved behind her. I squeezed a generous amount over the plug and set it briefly on her lower back.
With one hand, I spread her cheeks. With the other, I added more lube. She jerked at the cool touch, so I rubbed it in, working it over her tight ring until her body softened under my fingers. I added more to my fingertip and pressed at her entrance, sliding in slowly before stopping.
“Breathe, my wife. You’re in control.”