Chapter Sixteen #2
“Maybe your dick,” I fire back. Don’t show him what he’s doing. “I don’t care about anything else.”
“Then why did you draw me over and over?”
“Fuck you,” I snarl in a low voice. That’s the warning sign with me. I don’t yell or get upset. I go quiet and intentional in what I have to say. Only I don’t know how to answer this time.
“You never ran from me. Are you going to start now, or are you going to admit what you want?”
“You were a means to an end, Rebel.”
He lets out a low laugh and grabs my wrist, pushing my hand back onto the couch, with the other, he reaches into his pocket and takes out a knife. My heart stops for what feels like a solid ten seconds. When it restarts, it’s thundering, beating too fast.
I should break my beer bottle over his head, throw him off and kick him out of here. But it doesn’t happen. My eyes are pinned to his as he trails the knife edge over my shirt, between my breasts, then curls it beneath my nipple.
The damn thing is sharp, one wrong move from me and he could slice right through my clothes to the bare skin beneath.
My body is a damn treacherous bitch because I’m not fighting. I drop the bottle, not caring its spilling beer over the floor.
“You’ve never told me to leave.” His gaze drops from mine to watch the knife as he moves it to the neck of my shirt and turns the sharp side inward, slicing through it. I’m losing too many shirts with this man.
“What do you want from me, Rebel?” I find my voice, stopping him in his tracks, even as I desperately want him to go on.
He laughs. “That’s not how this works.”
I flinch as the knife slices through the thin fabric, and his fingers push aside the two parts of the torn material, baring my chest to him. I’m only vaguely aware I am free to push him off.
“I don’t have the patience to dance around this.” My voice comes out shaky. “You’ve made it clear from day one you want nothing from me.”
“I came here for some peace. To get away from what I want to do.”
“Which is what?” I ask with a challenge in my tone.
We stare at one another in silence for a moment, his heavy breathing and the thumping of my heart the only sounds I hear.
Has he ever said anything like this to another woman? Don’t go getting stupid over it. He is using me to make himself feel better.
“Kill a man.”
My eyes widen and Rebel stills, staring straight into my soul, showing he means it. I’m no stranger to the darker side of life, and there are plenty of times I've wished I could do the things he is fighting so hard against. To the person who terrorized me.
It should freak me out, he admitted he wants to kill someone. I should, at the very least, ask who it is. It has to be the people threatening his club. Someone bad.
Another thought takes over. One that scares me more than his knife carefully and delicately moving against my skin. Rebel came here to stop himself killing someone. He came to me. Yet I know with everything inside me he will never hurt me.
“I’m the kind of man who lays his cards out on the table when I want to, little villain. Why hide what I want, when that is you?”
My tongue doubles in size, making it impossible to respond. He ducks his head, his eyes never leaving mine as he sucks my nipple between his lips and bites down, not enough to hurt, but damn well enough to have my resolve up and running out of the door.
My moan and back arch give away far too quickly how much I want him. His stupid smirk makes me want to grab the knife and stab him in the eye. A dark thought best left locked in the back of my brain.
Instead, I take hold of his hair and press him harder against my breast, forcing his eyes away from mine.
The pull of his lips makes me want to squeeze my thighs together, but his big body is between them and he’s not touching where I need him to. It’s time I take back the power.
“Something you want, little villain?”
Pulling back my legs, I use my knee to press his chest and nudge him back further so he is up on one knee, following him until we’re facing one another. He watches me rise to stand in front of him so I can remove my pants, taking my underwear too, then shrug off the shredded shirt.
His eyes darken as he takes me in, and I lift a brow.
“Why are you always wearing clothes, biker boy?”
“Boy?” he scoffs.
When I stare him down, Rebel unfolds himself and stands to his full height. I might be tall for a woman, but I still angle my head back to meet his heated gaze. Mine becomes just as lustful as he drags down his zipper, toes off his boots, then kicks them away.
It gets harder to breathe when he removes the rest of his clothes, tossing them on the couch behind him. Through it all, he kept the knife in his hand. A bolt of fear, chased by desire runs through my body, making me shiver.
He’s beautiful. From his sculpted face, pretty dark eyes, and all the tattoos decorating his skin. His abdomen flexes as I take him all in, the Adonis belt with the tattooed flames that surround his cock, which is hard and pulsing as I study it with no shame whatsoever.
This man is dangerous, his cut on my couch and the reason he came here, to stop him doing something terrible tonight, all prove that.
Kill a man.
The irony is not lost on me we’re standing on hallowed ground. If I believed in God, I’m pretty sure both of us would be ash by now.
We step closer together, and I put my hands on either side of his neck, choosing to trust him, I draw his face down.
I want to kiss him more than I want to breathe right now.
He grips my hip with the hand not holding the knife, and our mouths meet.
There is no rush, no out of control desperate clawing at each other. Rebel owns me with this kiss.
The cool surface of the knife trails a path down my abdomen, and I freeze, having to fight the subconscious fight-or-flight part of my brain. Goosebumps rise on my skin, and a red-hot shot of desire races down my spine.
“I won’t cut you,” he murmurs against my lips. “Do you trust me?”
My eyes rise to meet his. We’re so close together, our breath mingling. I’ve already let him cut me before, and I’ve done the same to him, but this is different.
He waits, watching me, and I know he will stop if I tell him to.
Any sane person would back out of this, given what I know about him, the memory of blood splashed on his clothes, the busted-up knuckles from using his fists against someone.
“Yes,” I tell him, he doesn’t want me to nod my head or whisper the words. He wants them clear and genuine.
“Spread your legs,” he says after giving me a soft kiss, our lips barely touching.
I do as he asks and look down between us when he slides the knife lower. My stomach quivers, but he isn’t moving the blade over my skin anymore, it’s the handle. He’s holding it at the hilt, with the blunt edge against his palm, but one wrong move and he will cut himself.
He sees the moment I surrender, knowing I’m putting my safety and my trust into the palm of his hands and the knife he is holding there.
The first touch of it against my clit has my teeth clamping down tight on my lip. If the knife doesn’t draw blood, my teeth will with how hard I’m biting.
Rebel tugs my lip free as he uses the handle to tease my clit before lowering it and running it shallowly between my lips.
“Don’t move, little villain.”
He kisses me again and pushes the handle of the knife inside me. I can’t help but clamp down on it, a gush of wetness running down the blade. We’re sharing breath, our lips barely touching, Rebel’s eyes locked on me as he uses his knife to fuck me.
His hand tightens around my hip as I moan, my head tilting back enough for him to bite down on my neck, making me jerk. He hisses, but doesn’t stop, and in my lust-infused state, it takes a second to register and tilt my head back.
“Did you-”
“I’m not stopping until you come, little villain.”
“But-”
He pushes the handle deeper inside, making me gasp and rise on my toes. I couldn’t argue even if I wanted to despite the slow, controlled movements he is fucking me harder.
The sensation of the cold metal and his hot body pressed against me becomes too much.
“That’s it,” Rebel whispers into my ear. “Come for me. Come all over this knife fucking you.”
I lose it, the power that he holds over me no longer matters because my body has locked up with pleasure as an orgasm tears through.
I barely even register him removing the knife, sweeping me up and lowering me onto the couch, he drops over me, shifting my hips and pressing himself between my thighs.
My mouth falls open as he rams inside of me, setting off aftershocks from the orgasm that is still rippling through my body. He’s like a wild animal between my legs, but the way he touches my cheek and the slow, languid roll of his tongue against mine are jarring.
He keeps going until I come again before he roars out his own release, pushing up till his elbows lock and his head tips back, the muscles and veins straining up his arms and throat.
It’s only when we come down that I see all the blood.