Page 53 of Trailer Trash

He licks his lips, unaffected. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

I search his eyes, but my vision blurs with the heavy haze of alcohol.

“I love the shape of your body,” he rasps.

“Killian,” I whisper. “Stop.”

I grab his wrist, holding the blade back.

He doesn’t skip a beat. As smooth as silk, he murmurs, “Relax. Not every guy is your ex. I won’t hurt you.”

His words hit hard. They’re both a challenge and an offer, but I’m unsure if I should accept.

He decides for me.

The knife grazes my skin once more, tracing along the cup of my bra down to the middle. He slices. The cups snap to the sides, unleashing my bare flesh to the room.

“I’ll buy you a new bra, too,” he says before I can complain.

Just as quickly, the cold steel drags over my nipple, demanding my attention. He draws along the shape, causing the flesh to tighten. He flicks the bud with his tongue, then gives it a gentle suck. It’s just for a moment, but steals my breath. With my nipple wet, he returns the blade, and the coldness is amplified.

Warmth blooms in my body, responding to him on its own accord.

I don’t swat him away either. I just stare, frozen in place with my lips parted. He moves closer and presses his lips to the other nipple. I gasp and hold my breath. The bud hardens in his mouth as he sucks softly.

He pulls back and studies his spit glistening on my taut flesh. Tilting his head, he watches with lust in his eyes as he tantalizes my sensitive nipples with the knife’s tip. I can’t help it. The tension builds, and I whimper, a big part of me wanting his warm mouth to return.

Gently, I lay my hand on the back of his head. I don’t pull him closer. Something about it feels like defeat. Still, I tug at his hair. As I hoped, his lips return, and he nibbles on the taut flesh. My pussy clenches from the sensation, and I exhale a shallow breath.

When he pulls back, he says, “I don’t want you to panic. Just stay calm. I won’t go deep.”

I flutter my lashes, and—

Oh my gosh!

My eyes snap down as the blade slices — just barely — into my breast. The knife pulls away, and nothing happens, until slowly, crimson blooms where the blade once was.

I prop myself up on my elbow. Gravity creates blood trails. My eyes widen as Killian uses the pad of his thumb to spread it, painting the slope of my breast in a red sheen.

My breath is shallow and fast. My body is heavy. My senses heightened.

And then—

His eyes fix on mine as he leans in, his tongue dragging over the red on my skin.

I gasp, half shocked, half aroused.

I whisper his name, low and meek. “How do you get me to do this crazy stuff?”

He hums against my skin.

But he doesn’t answer.

He seals his mouth over the cut and sucks, slow and hungry, as though drawing more blood from me is the entire point. He inhales my scent and rubs his cheek against my skin. Some of my blood tints his face, and oddly, I freaking love it. He’s a glutton for me.

A better man wouldn’t touch me drunk.

Killian is not a better man.