Page 80 of Carnal Wagers

“Oh?”

Her hips rolled, and that little pressure launched me into orbit. I hissed a groan and shoved the reaction down.

“You forgot to check everywhere,” I countered.

I slipped my hand between us and unclipped my folded karambit knife from the built-in ring in my boxer lining. My teeth pried the blade free of its lock.

“You sleep with a switchblade? T’es complètement barjot.”

The spine of the knife ran along her jaw, and I snickered at the way her teeth gritted. “What does that mean?”

“You’re completely fucking crazy.”

“No, sweetheart. You chose to crawl into bed with a cutthroat.”

Her arms no longer wrapped me in seduction. Her hands held my shoulders, not quite a shove, not a pull either.

“You came to play.” I nosed her neck and sucked in her piquant scent. “That’s twice you’ve invaded my space. Twice too many. How do you think you should pay for that?”

Her breathing quickened. Her pupils widened, and her fingers curled into claws, long fingernails prickling my skin.

“Should I bleed you?”

The tip of my knife nicked her jawline, and a sharp gasp escaped her. A dark spot welled and trickled down her neck, then around to her nape. I thumbed the blood around her pulse point and pressed down. Her heartbeat rammed against my finger.

“Should I cut you open and see what you’re really made of?”

My cock nestled against her core, I trailed the blade’s spine down her chest to her trembling belly. What was it about her that held me in a chokehold?

“I wager I’ll enjoy your pain more than you enjoyed toying with me. And I’ll win. No one makes sport of me. Not even you.”

The knife’s tip hooked and sliced through her dress from navel to collarbone in seconds. The sides fell apart. Her breasts heaved under her bra. With a little tug, the bra ripped open, and her breasts spilled out, just like her shaky whimpers. My mouth latched onto one pert nipple, suckling, licking, nibbling. The taste of her, a mix of strawberries and shea butter, drove me into euphoria. My cheek rubbed along her skin, expecting yesterday’s warmth. Except it was cool, dewed in a sheen of sweat, and trembling.

Her hands fisted the air near her shoulders, her body a long line of tension. She goggled at a point above my head and sucked in shallow breaths as she shook more and more uncontrollably.

“Alice?” I shifted over her to get a better look at her face. “Fuck. Síbhean, can you hear me?”

I tossed the knife to the other side of the room. It clattered to the ground, but the noise didn’t draw her attention. My gut wrenched, and I took her face in my hands.

“Oi, Alice, look at me. You’re alright. I’ve got you. The knife’s gone.” I held her against me and rubbed her back. She was still nonresponsive and laboring through inhales. “Talk to me. Tell me what you need. A hospital? Water? Clothes? I’ll get you a shirt.”

She gripped my wrist as I twisted around to rise off the bed.

“No. Hold me,” she croaked between wheezed breaths.

“What?”

Tears glimmered in her trembling gaze. “Hold me.”

I passed my tongue over my bottom teeth. “Tell me this isn’t a game.”

“Please.”

That little word blasted through every protective layer I’d built around me over the years. It sounded so broken, wet, and painful. This, I recognized. I understood. I sympathized.

Scooting back under the covers, I gathered her close, her arms crossed between us. She pressed her head against my chest and slipped her leg between mine. For long minutes, I held her in silence, sweeping my hand up and down her spine. Slowly, her shivering settled, and her breathing evened. Her body thawed, and she snuggled deeper into me. It felt good, as if my arms were exactly where she belonged. That was a dangerous thought.

“Thank you,” she mumbled into my shirt.