Page 37 of Safe Word

‘Green…’ she whispered, breathless.

And it made me want to devour her. Because she had overcome it again.

Goddamn, she was such a good girl. She knew how to let herself fall apart and still make it look like devotion.

I pulled back, knife back in hand, but her eyes weren’t on it any more – they were on my dick. Good. I’d reward her – give her what she came for.

I stroked myself – unhurried, ruthless in rhythm. Let her eyes take in every shift of my wrist.

She was enthralled, watching every slide with a new hunger. Her chest rose and fell in time with mine, our breaths echoing in the stillness.

I dragged the blade upwards, a slow glide that left a path of gooseflesh in its wake. Her body quivered beneath my touch even after all this, her thighs trembling as her gaze stayed locked on mine.

She gripped my hand, fingers digging into flesh. I let them. If this was what it took to crack her open, I’d let her shatter me in return.

‘I want to touch you…’ she whispered.

And in that moment, she wasn’t just mine. She was everything. Every inhale, every shiver, every ounce of strength and surrender.

The fire that stoked within me threatened to consume us both, but I held it back, teetering on the razor’s edge of control and chaos, knowing I wouldn’t fall – not until she asked me to.

‘On your knees,’ I said.

My gaze followed her every move as she struggled to sit up, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her release. I slid the knife away absently, my need pulsing harder with each ragged breath she took. Then, with a grace that was equal parts determination and allure, she moved to kneel before me. Her plump lips hovered inches from my mask, so close I could feel the warmth of her breath ghosting over the fabric.

Staring down at her, my restraint hung by a thread.

Her eyes met mine, glimmering with mischief and something darker, more daring, and I nearly came undone right then. Her hands, soft and warm, moved over my chest, tracing the lines of muscle and skin with reverent curiosity. Then she curled her fingers, nails threatening to break skin – to unravel me.

My head fell back as I fought against the rising tide of release, my breaths ragged, my control slipping.

I didn’t notice the shift until the cold bite of metal snapped around my wrists.

My gaze shot to her, torn between shock and the brutal ache howling through me – just as she pressed the buttons on the clasps. Before I could react, the chains yanked my arms apart, spreading me wide like a fucking offering to the devil.

The audacity…

The defiance…

Need exploded alongside the rage.

There she was, holding my own blade. The knife gleamed wickedly in her hand, a giant, dangerous weapon that looked absurdly perfect against her delicate fingers tipped with red nail polish. The colour shimmered like fresh blood in the low light.

A snarl curled at the base of my throat, burning all the way down to my chest. But my lips remained sealed.

A violent surge kicked through me – the urge to snap the chains, grab her throat, take her back. Reassert. Undo what she dared. But I didn’t. I fucking let her.

And I never let anything like this happen before.

If she hadn’t been drunk on lust, I would have sworn there had been a devilish grin playing at her mouth as the same idea struck her: she had stolen my power, broken my rhythm, restrained me, taken my blade – and now she dared to own it. Hunger burned in her eyes as if it had always been a part of her. And perhaps it had.

I was hers in that moment, utterly and willingly.

The knife trailed down my chest, leaving a path of cool fire in its wake. My muscles tensed under its caress, each scrape of metal against flesh driving me closer to the edge.

‘Why do you do this?’ she asked, voice feather-soft – curious, not defiant.

I closed my eyes for a moment to take it in. She wasn’t pushing. She was pulling me deeper. Learning.