Page 28 of Merciless

He chuckles at my reaction. “Don’t act like a prude now.”

I narrow my eyes and grit my teeth.

He removes his body from mine and shoves my head into the pillow with one hand. With the other, he yanks my sleep shorts and panties down my legs to hang around my bent knees.

I squirm beneath his hold and grapple with the bed to get up. His fingers clench my hair and hold me in place.

He tsks and lifts my hips into the air, then straddles my calves to keep me in the most vulnerable position I’ve ever been in. He can see everything while I’m like this.

“Please,” I cry.

“Please, what?” He snorts a laugh. “Please fuck you? Please spare you? I need you to use your words, slut.”

I turn my cheek and glare at him from the corner of my eye. “I’m not a slut.”

“Oh, really?” he says, his voice pitching lower in a purr.

He releases my hair to drag his fingertips over my arm, then stops at the cuts that pulse from my struggle. The adrenaline lessened the pain, but his touch brings it back. His fingers circle my wrist, and he yanks my arm behind my back. I whimper at the burning sensation in my shoulder. Even though I can’t see him, I know he’s looking at the cuts. Inspecting them and counting the old scars.

I refuse to give him any more proof of my discomfort. The sick asshole would likely get off on it.

He rubs his thumb over one of them, and the weight of his stare rises to my head. “You like hurting yourself?”

I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my bottom lip.

When he realizes I won’t answer, he digs his thumb against my fresh wound. “Answer me, slut. Do you like pain?”

I yell and turn my face into the pillow to muffle the sound.

He watches me squirm and cry into the pillow. The curiosity in his gaze shifts to malice. My stomach sours, and I turn my head to peek at him. In the darkness, I spot the black balaclava mask hiding his face from me. He releases my arm and grabs a switchblade from his pocket. The blade pops out and glints in the moonlight.

“You like pain, and I love giving it.” He flips the knife in the air and catches it by the blade.

“No,” I whimper.

He turns his dark gaze to my face. “You’re a little liar, you know that?”

“I’m not⁠—”

“Such a pretty cunt.” He drags the flat side of the knife between my folds.

Each time he swipes, he presses down on my clit. My body betrays me as warmth pools low in my stomach and tingles zap to my toes.

“Oh,” he sings. “You like that, do you? What if I add a little pain?”

I shake my head, then stop when he smacks my pussy with the flat side of the knife’s blade.

“I wasn’t asking for your permission.” He pinches my clit and rolls it between his finger pads.

I bite back a moan and tense from the pain and pleasure.

He spreads my ass cheeks and thrusts the handle inside my pussy. I bite back a moan, and the pleasure is short-lived when he draws away. His dark chuckle sends heat through my veins. He holds the knife toward me, letting the moonlight hit the glistening handle. My cheeks burn.

“Tell me again how this isn’t turning you on,” he growls.

My lips pinch together.

His laughter comes out low, the sound maniacal. He squeezes my ass and holds me in place as he leans back on his haunches to stare at my pussy.