Palming the back of my head, he forced me down on the table. “Oh no you don’t. I say when to breathe. Not you.”
He came down over me, bracing on his left elbow with his forearm across my shoulders. It took me a minute to realize he had another knife in his right hand. Once he had my attention, he pressed the flat of the blade against my throat. My heart pounded and I could imagine my blood rushing to his cold steel, eager to do his bidding. His breathing rasped in my ear and he drew the blade down to the top of my right shoulder. “This is safer. I don’t quite trust myself to have a knife to that lovely throat while I’m fucking you.”
“You, safe?”
He chuckled heavily and pulled my head toward his shoulder so I could feel the tightening cotton on my windpipe. He didn’t have to hold me there—I kept my head back as far as he’d allow. I could still breathe, but with a corset on my throat instead of my chest. Widening his stance to get a better angle, he thrust again, deep and hard. His weight against my hips, pressing my stomach down on the unforgiving table, combined with the strip around my throat. Lightheaded, I sank into bliss. I’d been in subspace before, but not like this, with him. Not so completely. He had the ability to shut off my brain so I was all body, all his, merely an extension of his will. In all the scenes I’d done with other partners, I’d never been so completely taken, so fulfilled and yet so owned, so thoroughly enslaved, at the same time.
The blade bit into the top of my right shoulder and his mouth clamped over the wound. Thrusting savagely, he drove me higher, gray fading to brilliant white and then edging toward blackness. There, I heard a rumbling roar and he convulsed against me. His hands squeezed and I flowed through his fingertips like wet sand.
I blinked, forcing my eyes to focus. My cheek was on the cold table. He reached over me to jerk the cotton free of the knives, his other hand at my throat loosening the cotton.
“Ranay,” he whispered urgently. “Are you okay?”
I pushed off the table, trusting him to catch me. He swung me up against him and I buried my face against his neck. I didn’t try to talk. He could feel how okay I was. How perfect. Words weren’t necessary now, and it was more than I could manage anyway.
He carried me to the bathroom, sitting on the toilet with me cradled in his lap until the tub was full of steaming hot water. His hands, so large and powerful and violent, now incredibly tender. He loosened the ties and stroked the red marks where I’d twisted my hands and fought to get my legs apart. His hands trembled as he stroked the small cuts he’d put in my skin.
I forced my heavy eyes open. “I want...” I had to pause a moment, waiting for my mouth and brain to work together again. “To see. The two.”
He shifted me in his lap, twisting my right hip up so I could see where he’d cut me. These marks were heavier than the first one’s he’d done on my breast. In fact, part of it was still oozing blood.
Lifting me up effortlessly, he pressed that cut to his mouth and licked the blood away.
Watching him, I could only smile that I’d given him what he needed. It didn’t disgust me. It couldn’t. If Master needed it, I gave it. Without question.
Gently, he set me into the tub, holding me up so I didn’t slide beneath the water. I would have, without him. I would have sunk beneath the surface and drifted away to sea.
I fought up through the billowing waves of sleep as he tucked me into bed and wrapped himself around my back, drawing me into his heat. He turned his head, pushing beneath my still-damp hair to find my ear.
“Sleep awhile. Then we’ll devour the food you made.”
“On the table,” I whispered, unable to get much volume in my voice. He smiled against my ear.
“Yes, we’ll eat at the table. After I wipe it down first.”
“Don’t—” I wanted to tell him not to fix the holes in the tabletop from where he’d thrust his knives, but it was too many words to string together at once.
“I won’t,” he assured. “That table is scarred forever, as my mark is now on you. Sheba’s here, so I’m going to clean up.”
“Not yet,” I mumbled, unable to stay awake. “Hold me.”
I could feel sadness settling over him like a heavy blanket. “As long as I can, kitten. As long as I can.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sweating and sore, I waved my hand at him and bent over to catch my breath. “Maybe I should borrow some running shoes after all,” I gasped. He wasn’t even breathing hard, though sweat glistened on his bare chest. Even with a large bandage covering a three-inch-long gash in his side barely held together with staples. “Did we work off all that cheesecake yet?”
“I thought running was a hard limit.” He smiled faintly. “You’re doing well. I think you’re ready for the next step.”
We’d been practicing my self-defense skills all day. My muscles were already sore from yesterday’s scene, but he was adamant. No lounging in front of the fireplace while the wind howled and snow piled up outside, not while we had work to do.
So far, we’d only been using our bodies. I figured he’d have me kneeing my attacker in the groin, but he concentrated on the same general pressure point concepts—exactly how he liked to send me into the stratosphere. But these points were way meaner. A sharp thumb-punch to the nostril area. A hard slash with the sides of my hands against the brachial nerves in either side of his neck. A short, jabbing punch with the heel of my hand to his solar plexus. He let me practice on him, which I didn’t mind until he urged me to strike harder, ever harder. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him.
Straightening, I accepted a small wooden dowel from him. It extended a little on either side of my palm. One end had a felt-tip marker loaded with red ink.
“Remember what I showed you yesterday?”
I bit my lip and fluttered my lashes at him. “How could I forget?”
“Focus, Ranay. This is serious. This is the difference between you living to see another day or never seeing me again.”
Put that way... I nodded.
“Throat.” He touched his neck with a similar dowel, leaving a red circle on his skin. “Heart.” He made an ink circle over his left pectoral. “Thigh.” Another red circle high on his thigh, almost in his groin. “Any one of these, well-placed, will kill, but don’t stop with one. Never strike once and think you’re done. Boom, boom boom, and if he’s not down, try for the other thigh or the groin.” He held up his hand and curled his fingers at me in a come-hither signal. “Slow motion first. Follow my marks. Go.”
Only a foot away from him, I lifted my right hand, but then he snagged my wrist and adjusted the dowel so it fit better in my palm.
“Feel the difference?”
I tried not to think about what he was teaching me, but the red ink was way too close to blood. “Yeah.”
He tipped my chin up, his brown eyes warm and tender. “You can do this, Ranay. Let me teach your body the moves. Then you won’t even have to think about it.”
“It looks like blood,” I whispered. “I don’t like to think about you bleeding.”
He kissed the tip of my nose. “Think about how much I like blood.”
“Even your own?”
“Especially my own, if that means you’re safe. This is just a dance.” He took my hand in his and guided me through the three movements. “Boom, boom boom. Again. Boom, boom boom.” He let go of my hand and I did the same pattern, over and over until he nodded. “Now, do it harder. Try to make me move. You’re not going to hurt me.”
I managed to make him rock back a little when I hit his chest. I was careful not to hit him too high in the groin area. Lord forbid I incapacitate the master in any way. I started to repeat the pattern and he suddenly stepped aside, easily dodging my attempt to mark his neck.
“I’m going to make you work for it now. Come after me, and see if you can keep the same general beat. Boom, boom boom. Get as close to the original stamps as possible for the best blows.”
If I didn’t think about
someday holding a real knife, I could enjoy this. It was a game, chasing my Master, earning his smiles and nods of approval. He started easy but soon we were both intent and breathing hard.
Finally, he signaled for a pause. My lungs burned but I was pretty darned pleased with myself.
“You’re fast. You seem small and timid when people first meet you, so use that to your advantage. Don’t try to seem big and brave. Make yourself small, look afraid, and let him get close. Then boom, boom boom as hard and fast as you can.”
“Then what?”
“Follow him to the ground and do the cycle again, only hit the other thigh and the other side of the throat.” He showed me, starting with his opposite thigh and ending at his throat. “Always finish off your attacker. Don’t stop. Don’t think. Just strike. We’re going to play a game for the next few days. Any time I say strike, I want you to attack me with these three blows. Got it?”
“Sure.”
“The last thing I want to show you is what to do if you’re grabbed from behind.” He gestured for me to turn around, and then he wrapped his arm around my neck. “Most men aren’t going to be worried about a woman hurting them, so he’ll be careless. He’ll come in nice and close, like this.”
He pulled me back against him so I could feel every hard muscle in his body. My blood was already high after working so hard. Having a gorgeous, sweaty male body against me devastated my ability to concentrate. I dropped my head against his shoulder and made sure his cock was nice and happy against my ass.
“That’s not quite what I had in mind,” he murmured against my ear. He adjusted how he held me, wrapping his palm around the front of my throat rather than his forearm. “This is more personal. More intimate. But if a man was going to grab a luscious slave like you, he’d probably want you fully at his mercy.”
“You speak as if you know this so-called attacker.”
“I do, in a way. He’ll be like me.”
I stilled against him, barely breathing. “Why do you say that?”
“He’s a predator. He’ll relish the hunt, the chase, the kill. He’ll want to play with his food first, as long as he has time. Even if he’s rushed, he’ll want to assert himself above me as the alpha.”
I huddled against him, soaking in his warmth and strength. “You’re my alpha. You’re my Master.”
“Predators can’t help but test each other. There can be only one alpha in the pack.”
I wrapped both of my hands around his wrist, hugging his arm to me. “You stopped Tasker, so why are you still worried?”
He breathed against my ear. “I killed Tasker, Ranay. You have to face what I am.”
“Fine. He’s dead.” I still managed not to say that Charlie had killed him. “But he wasn’t the person who broke in, was he?”
“Tasker knew about Sheba. He sure as hell wouldn’t have attempted a snatch-and-grab without neutralizing her.”
“And now whoever tried to get in knows about her too.”
“Exactly.”
“The same person who set off the alarm my first night?”
“I don’t know,” he answered slowly as he released me. “That might have been Tasker, testing the security that first night.”
“So who’s this other guy?”
“I’m afraid we’ll find out all too quickly.” He dropped his arm from my throat and gave me a playful shove toward the couch. “Now it’s time to reward you for such hard work. I believe I promised a fire and wine.”
“And cuddles.”
He chuckled as he headed to the kitchen. “Lots of cuddles. We’ll continue the defense lessons tomorrow. With this snow, I’ll be grounded for another day or two.”
“Since this is my reward for working hard, do I get to do anything I want?”
“Your wish is my command, kitten.”
A sweet sentiment, and oddly true, even though he was Master. He’d already proven how thoroughly he cared for me. While he was busy, I stripped out of my sweaty clothes and knelt naked on the floor beside the couch.
His step faltered a moment as he returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He set the items on the coffee table and then leaned down to stroke my cheek. “I don’t expect such absolute submission. I never want you to feel like you owe me this kind of service. That you’re less than me. Because that’s the last thing on my mind.”
I tipped my cheek against his hand for a deeper caress and then leaned forward to rub my face on his thigh. “I know. But since that first night when we sat in here, I’ve been daydreaming about sitting with you like I wanted.”
“This is how you wanted to sit with me? That first night?”
My face heated. “Yeah. I’d love to sit at your feet any day.”
“You’ll have to show me what you have in mind.” He sat, then started to reach for the wine.
“Allow me, Master, please. It’s my honor to serve you.”
Sitting back against the cushions, he looked at me. “And it’s my honor to simply look at you. You’re so beautiful.”
In general, I never liked another person’s undivided attention. Nothing made me freeze up quicker than feeling as if they knew my flaws and deemed me unworthy. But my Master was an entirely different situation. I existed for his pleasure. I wanted nothing more than to have his attention wholly focused on me, and while he knew my every fault in glaring detail, he reveled in my weakness because it made me need him all the more.
Keeping my gaze lowered demurely, I posed for him as a well-trained slave. Shoulders back but relaxed, so my breasts were lifted high. Slightly tilted to the side, so he could see all my curves. As gracefully as possible, I poured his wine. I offered him the glass, but he shook his head.
“Sample it first.”
It was a sacrilege for the slave to dine before the master. When I hesitated, his mouth quirked to show his dimple.
“I love to watch you explore new things, and I collect wine, remember? See if you like it.”
I took a small sip and held the wine on my tongue. It was red and thick and dark, not chilled like the other wines he’d given me. It didn’t make my tongue cringe with its fruitiness or dryness. In fact, it was almost like syrup, only not quite as sweet.
“Wow.”
His smile deepened and he accepted the glass from me, carefully turning it so he could put his mouth where mine had been. “I’ve been saving the best...” His smile slipped. “For you.”
It made me think he was going to say something else, maybe the best for last. I crawled closer to him, settling between his feet so I could wrap my hands around his thigh above his knee. He lifted his other leg and hugged me between his thighs, cradling me against his body.
Heaven. Except for the heaviness I sensed from him.
Every once in a while, he’d offer his glass and I’d drink a little more. The wine was so strong and rich, it heated my stomach. It pooled there, slowly heating my blood. Or maybe that was just sitting between the master’s thighs. But I couldn’t let my libido distract me. Not yet.
“The first night, you encouraged my questions.”
He stroked my hair, spreading it out across his lap. “I did. I still do.”
I tipped my head around so I could see his face. “Anything?”
He smiled faintly. “Anything you actually want to hear the answer to. I can’t promise to answer, but if I do, it will always be the truth. I’ll never lie to you, kitten. I just hope you don’t hear something that changes your mind about me.”
“Never.”
He didn’t respond but simply looked at me as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“You used to work for Blake, who hires assassins.” I watched his face for any little flicker or tenseness, but he didn’t move a muscle. “Were you an assassin?”
“Yes.”
“You work for Doctors Without Borders now.”
“Yes.”
“Is that it?”
He shook his head slowly, watching my face as carefully as
I watched him.
I swallowed hard and forced the words out before I changed my mind. “You told the deputy you started your own side business after you left Blake. That’s why you can’t always tell me where you are.”
“It’s not safe,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’ve already risked you horribly, and for that, I’ll never forgive myself. All I can do is keep you as safe as I can at all times. Even if I’m not here. And to keep you as separate from that side of my life as much as possible. But I’m afraid we’re as entangled in my mess as you are with me right now.”
I tightened my grip on his thigh and pressed more of my body against his. “Good.”
With his shirt gone, part of the tattoo on his lower stomach was visible above his waistband. This would be the perfect chance for me to get a good long look at it. I reached up and unbuttoned his jeans. His eyes burned, but he didn’t say a word. I opened his jeans and traced my finger over the ink. Where the tats on his shoulder were more traditional and masculine, the two inked in his skin here was graceful and elegant in black. Red dripped from it, though, pooled around the base as if it bled. A raven sat on the upper curve of the number, its eyes red and looking straight at me. It was creepy, yet beautiful.
“When did you get this one done?”
He took a breath, and I suddenly realized he hadn’t been breathing before, or at least he’d kept his breathing so shallow and soft I hadn’t heard it. “When my father died.”
“When you were seventeen?”
He shook his head. “Much, much later than that.”
That made sense because the tat didn’t have a lot of age to it. The colors were still rich and vibrant, where the ones on his shoulder seemed a little faded. I checked his face to try to gauge his emotions, whether I should keep pushing about his family or not. What I knew of his family history was horrible and I didn’t want to hurt him by forcing him to remember the past.
“He hid from me a long time, using different aliases, keeping his kill count low and scattered to prevent me from tracking his movements. But I was determined to find him after he killed my mother. It took me nearly fifteen years, but I finally did. He wanted me to find him.”
One Cut Deeper Page 17