Page 51 of Altered By Fire (Undercover Sinners 1)
"So I see," he smirks, and his other hand snakes down the front of my sweatpants to push inside my tight pussy. His hand shifts from my chin down to my throat, and he uses it to hold me pinned to Weston's door while his fingers thrust into me a couple of times. "Well-rested."
He withdraws his hand and slowly licks his fingers. I shiver with arousal, and a small whimper escapes my throat. This seems to trigger something in him, because in a flash, he's pulled a gleaming sharp dagger and it's pressing against my throat where his fingers had rested just moments before.
"Arsen," I gasp, but he shushes me with a finger to my lips.
"I could slit your throat, you know," he tells me, like I’m not already aware of the danger. "Just one little slice, and Princess Petrova is no more. Tell me, darling, what do you think your Daddy would do if I had your pretty head delivered to him in a gift box?"
Something dark and sick inside me is responding to his threats like a damn cat in heat, and I moan softly, letting my lashes flutter.
Arsen keeps the knife to my throat, but his other hand shoves my sweats down roughly, and I kick them off my feet. "You're almost as fucked-up as me, aren't you?" he snickers as he frees his thick cock from his pants. "You want me to fuck you right here, with this knife against your throat, don't you?"
As if he needs my response. I hitch my leg up around his waist and drag him closer to me so that he can feel how turned-on I am. "Yes," I pant, feeling the cold steel against my neck and trying not to move too much, "Please, Arsen. Fuck me."
He chuckles a dark sound, and lines his cock up to my core. "Don't move, Miss Petrova. Or do … I've never been against a little blood with my sex."
With this, he thrusts deep inside me, and I feel the blade nick my skin as I jolt with his entry. Whether it’s deliberate or not, I don't give a shit. The sharp sting of the cut, followed by the drip of blood down my throat has me shuddering into a spontaneous orgasm before he’s even completed one thrust.
"You sick, twisted bitch," Arsen pants, his eyes glued to the blood running down my neck while his thick cock pounds me into Weston's door. His breath is coming fast, and I know he'll be quick, so I tighten my Kegels and squeeze him with all I've got.
With a growl, he withdraws his blade from my throat and slams it into the door beside my head so hard that it probably protrudes from the other side. I don't get a second to consider it though, as Arsen dips his head low and licks a slow line up my neck, catching the falling blood and swallowing it.
Holy fucking shit. That's next level crazy, and one of the sexiest things I've ever seen.
My hand snakes between us, giving my clit the couple of quick tweaks that it needs to skyrocket me into another orgasm, and Arsen joins me. His hot load spills inside me with a few hard pumps and then … he's gone.
By the time the stars fade from my eyes, and I pry my eyelids open, Arsen is nowhere to be seen. The only evidence that I haven't imagined the whole damn thing is the semen sliding down my thighs and the blood soaking into my t-shirt.
What the fuck was that?
I wince as I touch a hand to my neck, then bend to pull my sweats back on.
That was just a taste of what that psycho has to offer, and you damn well know it, Natty.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. I'm playing with fire, but I fucking love it …After cleaning up in the little shared bathroom, I drag the first aid kit out and patch up my neck as best I can. It's not a bad cut, but it is enough to need a bandage, so I swab on some iodine and then tape a gauze pad over the top. By the time I'm done, the bleeding has pretty much stopped; it just stings like a bitch.
Sighing to myself, I stash the medical box back where I found it and then hunt the kitchen for some booze. I'm no idiot, and am well aware that alcohol thins the blood. But like I said, it wasn't a bad cut. It certainly wouldn't kill me to have a few glasses of that Russian vodka Colt pulled out the other night.
Ah.
There it is.
I pull the bottle out of the cabinet and unscrew the top. There's a reason the Russian word for water is applied to this alcohol; it's so damn easy to drink. Each sip feels like it satisfies me in some way, settling deep in my belly, burning my throat. I take pride in being able to hold my alcohol; my father would accept nothing less.
