Page 129
I circle him once more before stopping in front of him. “Legs apart.”
I kneel in front of him and begin with the outside of each thigh. His cock hangs heavier as my hands move inward, thickening while I trace the old scars one at a time. Most have gone pale. A few rise beneath my fingers, crossing one another without pattern because Simon has never had anyone qualified to arrange him.
The fresh one remains pink. I put my thumb beside it without touching the healing skin, and the muscle beneath my hand tightens. His cock lifts another inch.
“You haven’t added anything.”
“I’ve been a little fucking busy.”
“That isn’t why.” I look up at him from between his legs. “You know I’ll find it.”
Simon’s eyes stay on mine, but he doesn’t answer. Fear might keep his hands away from a blade for a few days. He already knows what he wants. He’s simply been getting it from the wrong person.
“You were useful today.” I move my hand from the scars and settle it against clean skin higher on the inside of his thigh.
“I’m useful every day.”
“You took your pill.”
“You didn’t give me much of a fucking choice.”
“You cooked twice without damaging my kitchen. You returned everything I allowed you to use. You didn’t break anything, and you didn’t make one new mark on my body.”
“Congratulations on keeping your hostage house intact.”
I press my fingernails into his thigh.
Simon’s next breath comes through his teeth. I let the pressure build beneath each nail while his leg grows rigid under my hand and his cock fills completely between us. His head tips back, exposing his throat, and his hands curl once at his sides before he forces them open again.
I press harder, holding him exactly at the point where the pain becomes difficult to ignore. His thigh begins to shake. I count to three before releasing him.
The places beneath my nails are pale at first. Color moves back into them quickly, leaving five small red crescents that will disappear before morning. Simon looks down at the marks and then at me.
“That’s it?”
“Did I say there was more?”
His jaw shifts.
I wait until he looks at my face instead of my fingers.
“Again,” he says.
“Ask properly.”
Simon laughs once, but nothing about it sounds amused. His cock is still hard between us, and the muscles in his thigh haven’t relaxed. He looks as though he’d like to throw me against the wall or put himself on his knees. I’m interested in seeing which urge wins.
“Please.”
“Please what?”
His eyes narrow.
I let him decide how badly he wants it.
“Please hurt me again.”
Pretty.
