Page 16 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

“I’m not scared.” The denial comes out quickly.

The knife slices downward. My leather suit parts cleanly under the blade with a soft tearing sound. “You should be.”

Another cut. The suit splits further and cold air hits my bare skin.

“What happened to all that confidence?” he murmurs. “To calling me disgusting?”

The knife reaches my navel. My suit hangs open now and my chest is completely exposed.

“Am I wrong?” His voice drops lower, intimate. “Are you not scared right now?”

I don’t answer.

His free hand touches my bare chest. Palm flat against my sternum. “Your heart says you are.”

The touch sends unwanted heat through me. I tell myself it’s adrenaline. Fear. Anything but what it actually is.

“You sure you don’t want my help? Your cock is begging for attention.” His tone is mocking, cruel.

His hand cups me through my pants, squeezing. Shame burns through me. I bite down hard on my lower lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing me react.

He notices anyway. “You can make sounds, Wolf. I want to hear them.”

I shake my head mutely.

His hand moves in slow circles through the leather, building friction. The pressure makes my hips jerk forward without permission.

“Stubborn.” His mouth finds my chest. Lips brush skin. Then teeth, scraping over my collarbone. “But I wonder... how quiet can you stay when I do this?”

He squeezes again, harder this time.

A moan tears from my throat before I can stop it. The sound is absolutely undignified.

“There it is.” Satisfaction drips from every word. “I knew you had a voice.”

Bastard.

This fucking piece of shit keeps touching me.

“You’re sick,” I manage.

“Probably.” He doesn’t sound bothered by the accusation. His hand continues working me through the leather, relentless.

Maybe if I slam my head into his, he’ll back the fuck off.

His hand strokes me again through the fabric. He then tugs and presses the heel of his palm against me.

“You’re a fucking crazy bastard.” The words come out strangled.

“Strong words for someone currently at my mercy.” His voice carries dark amusement.

“Go to hell.” I curse.

He laughs, low and warm. “There’s that fire. I was starting to worry I’d broken you already.”

It takes more than his fucking wandering hands to break me. I’ve endured worse than this. Burns and blades and bones snapping. Guild training doesn’t leave room for weakness.

“You’ll get nothing from me.” I snarl.