33 #2
“Some say anything can be forgiven with proper penance,” he muses. “And if I recall correctly, you did ask to repent.”
“I didn’t ask. I told you to make me.”
“Ah, that’s right. You have quite a lot to repent for, don’t you?”
“Yes.” I don’t stop to consider my response. I know what answer he’s looking for. I’m going to give him whatever he wants, because I need this. I need to forget about tomorrow, if only for a short time. I need the kind of reprieve that only comes from letting someone else make all the decisions.
Slade leans forward, grabbing me roughly by the chin. I look up at him, entirely rapt, my churning thoughts replaced by the silence that comes with letting someone else take the lead. “Your safe word is Savior,” he says. “Do you understand?”
I nod.
“Use your words.”
“I understand,” I murmur.
“That’s my good little sinner.” He releases me, then, but keeps his gaze locked with mine. Those light-blue eyes are merciless. “Do you even know how you compel me? My brother’s vengeful creature, always a mere few steps from death, and yet I’ve never encountered someone so difficult to kill.”
“We both know killing me wouldn’t be difficult at all,” I say, a little bitterly. “Not for you.”
His laugh is a soft exhalation. “If it were easy, Talin, I would have done it already. What would I do with myself if you were gone? Who else would consume my every waking thought?” Slade cants his head to the side as he continues unbuttoning his shirt.
It’s a testament to his face that I manage to keep my gaze from dropping to his chest when he says, “I spend far too much time going over all the ways I’d love to hurt you.
Especially now that I know you’d like it. ”
He tosses his shirt aside. I’m overwhelmed with the desire to touch him, but I keep my hands to myself, knowing I’ll be punished if I move without invitation.
Slade chuckles. “Do you know why you’re so interesting to me?
It’s because you simultaneously love being given orders, yet hate being told what to do.
I see the resentment flare in your eyes whenever I make a demand, but you can’t seem to stop yourself from complying.
It’s almost as though you get off on your own anger.
” His grin turns mocking. “And, of course, you adore being praised.”
I can feel the muscle ticking in my jaw. For years I’ve thought myself so complicated, and yet here he is, unraveling me effortlessly. “I hate you,” I say through my teeth.
“Good. Now take off your clothes and hand them to me. You can stand up.”
For the barest fraction of a second, I consider refusing.
But he’s right—I can’t stop myself from complying.
It’s like a need. A compulsion. What I find sexiest about this man is how much I resent him, and although I know it’s indubitably fucked-up, I’m so far past the point of caring.
Continuing to glare at him, I strip off my oversize shirt and panties.
My nipples peak at the exposure, and I’m overwhelmingly aware of the disease, stark against my skin.
Slade, however, doesn’t appear to mind. He drags his gaze languidly over my figure, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Very good. Go and face the wall.”
I hand him my clothes, then do just that. It doesn’t take me long to figure out why he wanted this: Now that I can’t see him, the anticipation is torturous. I can’t hear anything but the sound of my own labored breaths, and it’s dark enough that I can’t make out his shadow in my periphery.
So when I feel the cool press of metal against my back, I nearly leap out of my skin.
“Shh.” Slade’s voice is directly behind me. I have no idea how or when he crossed the room. “I can hear your heartbeat, little sinner, but I know better than to think you frightened. Don’t worry—it’s not too sharp.”
I don’t need to ask what he means. I can feel the flat of the knife give way to the tip as he rotates it, drawing out shivers that travel the length of my spine.
It’s not exactly painful, but the gentle scrape holds a tiny bite, and I know any sudden movement would be a dangerous mistake.
Every nerve ending in my body seems to follow the path of that knife.
I’ve only just become acclimated to it when Slade’s fingers dip between my legs, a barely there caress that has me gasping.
He tsks. “Really? Is this all it takes?”
My face burns. I know how wet I am. I can feel it, and he hadn’t even touched me with his hands until now.
“You shouldn’t recoil like that,” he advises, his soft voice at my ear. “It could be dangerous.”
I don’t respond. I can’t respond. He continues to circle his finger over my clit, winding me tighter and tighter, moving the knife gently across my back all the while.
Then, catching me entirely off guard, he forces two fingers inside of me.
I give an involuntary jerk, feeling a sting as the point of the blade nicks my ribs.
Maybe I should hate it, but I don’t. Not even a little.
The sharp bite of pain does something indescribable to me.
Slade gives a long, drawn-out sigh. I hear the click of the knife folding shut as he abruptly withdraws his fingers. “What did I just say? Now you’ve made me hurt you. And when I hurt you, I want it to be because I intended to.”
I make a sound low in my throat. I feel like a kitten growling at a lion. “You did that on purpose.”
Rather than answering, Slade grabs a handful of my hair. He uses it to forcefully guide me over to the nearest surface—the kitchen counter—and another breath rushes out of me when the edge of it slams into my bare stomach.
“Bend over,” he orders.
I start to comply, but I’m not fast enough, and he shoves the flat of his palm into the space between my shoulder blades. I brace my hands on either side of my head as my cheek meets the hard, frigid surface of the counter.
“Do you have anything you’d like to say to me, little sinner?”
I keep my mouth steadfastly shut. He’s not about to draw out an apology, and he knows it.
I let out a surprised yelp as his other palm makes contact with my ass.
The sound shocks me nearly as much as the pain—a sharp crack that rings through the small space.
I’ve barely recovered when he strikes me again, then a third time, not bothering to build up the intensity.
I squeeze my eyes shut and force my body to relax, to stop recoiling, letting the waves of pain crash over me.
Slade is merciless in his assault, and I can tell from the shift in the cadence of his breathing that it’s driving him wild, which in turn drives me wild.
I love it, knowing he’s turned on by this. There’s something—some feral hunger—deep within me that can only be sated through violence, and this man appeals to it. I think I knew from the moment I met him that he could give me what I want.
Involuntary tears begin to prick the corners of my eyes, but whenever I start to think I can bear no more, Slade somehow knows to move his hand slightly, varying the blows just enough.
Repentance, I think, means surrendering to the pain.
There’s something singularly delicious about having nothing else to focus on, nothing else to worry about.
I don’t know how much time passes before he stops, moving his hand in slow circles over the raw skin of my ass.
I feel frozen in place, the countertop now warm from being pressed to my cheek for so long.
Then he brushes my hair away from my back, pressing his lips lightly to the center of my spine.
“You took that so fucking well. Let me flip you over.”
I do, and he accomplishes the task with seemingly no effort at all, hefting me up so that I’m fully reclined on the counter.
“No,” he snaps as I attempt to sit up. “Lie back.”
Again I do as he commands and am rewarded with the gentle scrape of his teeth along my inner thigh.
I shiver as he moves farther and farther upward, eventually pausing right at the apex of my legs.
I’m all but vibrating with anticipation.
He knows it, making me wait, and I practically convulse by the time his tongue flicks over my most sensitive flesh.
I let my head fall back as my spine arches off the counter.
He’s so fucking good at this. His tongue moves in light circles, each brush of my clit incidental, lacking the pressure he knows I frantically crave.
My fingers claw futilely at the counter, and I let out the tiniest moan of frustration.
Slade presses his hand into my pelvis, forcing my hips down and holding them in place.
“Shush,” he says. Then, suddenly, the flat of his tongue is giving me exactly what I want. He winds me tighter and tighter, making it impossible for me to focus on anything but the sensations at my core—
And then he pulls away.
I should probably be embarrassed by the noise I make. I whine like a furious animal as I prop myself up on my elbows, my head lifting only to find my gaze in line with his. My chest is heaving, my skin on fire as I glare at him. “What the fuck?”
One side of his mouth twitches. There’s mischief in those cold blue eyes. “You look angry, little sinner.”
I slam my palm against his clavicle. It’s halfhearted, but I’m still slightly resentful at how little he reacts. “I am angry.”
“Excellent.” He pulls me up to sit, then extends a hand. It takes me a moment to realize he’s offering me the hilt of his knife.
“What the hell is this?”
“You said you wanted to make me bleed.” His voice is low, coaxing. “So do it.”
At those words, my pulse drives higher. I’m not sure why. I don’t know what’s wrong with me that the idea of breaking his skin, making him hurt, is appealing right now. But my frustration takes a momentary back seat as I grab the blade. “You want that?”
Slade catches the tip of his tongue between his teeth. “I can’t think of anything lovelier than your wrath. I can’t imagine anything more exquisite than bleeding for you.”