Moments of Malevolence (The Hunters Book 1)
Moments of Malevolence: Chapter 10

HIS HAND SHOOTS OUT TO cover my mouth as I’m trying to scoot back up the bed. I bite his hand hard enough to taste blood, but he doesn’t seem to care. He simply stares at me with those eyes that are impossible to read.

Forest green in color.

How stupid am I?

I mean, let’s be real. I was pretty damn stupid, but money makes me stupid.

Argh.

My eyes replace the knife still pressed to my leg. If I move, it will slice me. Even now, I can feel it digging in, ready to cut.

He showed me who he was.

And I didn’t care.

Yet here I am, naked in a hotel room while he stands in front of me, just as naked as I am, smirking and holding me to the bed with a fucking knife.

The real issue I am having, though—and it’s a big one, really big—is that I’m a little turned on.

Make that a lot, actually.

Fuck.

He licks his full lips. It’s funny. I’d pay to have lips as thick and full as his, yet I know his are natural.

His eyes leave mine and scan downward. “If you scream again, I’ll cut you. Do you understand?” He says it while applying a little pressure to the knife, where I feel the blade breaking the skin. I try not to wince, but I can’t help it. “A little blood never hurt nobody.” As he says it, he smiles. Removing his hand from my mouth, he slides it between my breasts until it reaches my lower belly.

I follow the movement, both worried and fascinated.

Worried that he will cut me and I’ll bleed to death.

Fascinated by what he’s doing.

I’m fucked-up.

This is fucked-up.

His hand slides lower, and my body betrays me and breaks out in goose bumps, which he doesn’t miss as he reaches my pussy. Two fingers slide along my lips, and when they do, he can tell. He knows. It’s the slight twitch of his lips that gives it away. He pulls his fingers away and quickly brings them to his lips, and smiling as he slides them into his mouth, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Little Miss Trouble likes to play dirty.”

“How do you know it’s not from earlier?” I bite back.

“Oh, it’s not.”

He’s right.

It’s not.

He lifts the knife from my leg and slides it toward where his hand was between my legs. A small amount of blood trails in its wake along my skin.

I freeze, my whole body locking up tight.

He notices, and his expression turns wicked.

“Are you finally afraid?” he asks.

Fucking hell, I don’t dare look at him. Instead, I stare down at that knife where it rests near my pussy.

That’s an area where I’d prefer not to have a knife, thank you very much.

“Little Miss Trouble. What if I…” He moves the blade a bit, and now it’s so close that if he moves it any farther, it will slide straight over my most sensitive body part.

“Get that fucking knife away from there, you sick sadist,” I shout as I move my hand, careful not to move my lower body, and reach for his cock. I’m sitting up straight now with him hovering over me, our lips close and my hand on his hard length. “If you even think of moving that closer, I will fuck you up.” I groan as his other hand moves and slides between my folds. He slips one finger inside me, and the knife lowers to the bed.

He slides his finger out and back in, and his cock jumps in my hand. I go to release my death grip on him, but as I do, I see the knife move, and so does my hand. Reaching as quickly as I can, I grab his balls and tug down, all the while squeezing them as hard as I can.

He groans. And when my eyes meet his, I see a mixture of pain and pleasure blazing back at me.

“You like that,” I say and do it again. “Throw the knife away, now.” I growl out the words, and he does so at my command. I pull one more time, gripping tight before I release him. When my hands are back at my sides, he pushes down hard on my chest. Lowering me to the bed. And before I can see what he’s doing or tell him to fuck off, his mouth is on me.

Down there.

Hot and wet.

Most men lick, and lick, and lick, and keep on going in the hopes they are doing it right. Listening for cues on what’s working and what is not.

Not Zuko. Nope. He knows exactly what he’s doing with his mouth. Very much so.

Each lick and taste are calculated.

And I hate it as much as I love it.

I hate that I am in bed with this man.

That I am enjoying every second of this with him.

And I love that I’m feeling every single part of me come alive.

Asshole.

His tongue is slow and deliberate, building up pace in the exact right spot. Just as I start to move my hips, I feel something hard at my entrance, but I can’t lift my head to check. He’s right. He will make me come. I feel it already.

The only thing that can make me come is my vibrator, and I love her a lot, that is until she stopped making me come.

Lick, stroke.

Lick, stroke.

That’s his rhythm, and he doesn’t speed up as my hips start thrusting to meet him stroke for stroke, lick for lick. He doesn’t stop. No, his other hand comes down on my lower belly, holding me there as he continues his torture. And what a wonderful torture it is.

My hands replace my hair, and they start to pull handfuls of my locks from all the sensations running through me.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I hear his manic laugh as I squeeze my eyes shut, and when I come, he slows down even further and continues doing what he’s doing as I ride the wave.

He made me come.

With his mouth.

And I didn’t have to fake it.

He pulls his mouth away and stands, but I still feel him in me. I’m confused, and when I sit up and check between my legs, I see the sharp end of the knife and the handle inside me.

“I’d suggest you don’t move,” he drawls as he slides on a condom. His crystal green eyes replace mine as he crawls back onto the bed, his hand pushing his hair back that has fallen into his eyes as he does. He lifts my chin, bends down, then kisses my lips, softly. “Told you I could make you come.”

I don’t say a word.

Fuck, I don’t move.

I stay still as a statue.

“Now I plan to make you scream,” he says as he reaches between my legs and slides out the knife, blade first so that means the handle was inside of me. He smirks while holding the handle, which is covered in my juices and locks his eyes on mine. “What’s up, Trouble? Cat got your sweet tongue?”

I move back on the bed, scooting to the other side.

He grips the knife in his hand, and I wonder what the fuck I’m doing.

Am I that fucked-up that I replace this sexy as fuck? Yes. The answer is yes.

But there is a small part in my brain that knows this is all kinds of wrong, and that this man in front of me is not right.

I should run.

Fuck it! That’s what I intend to do as I reach for the bedsheet, gripping and pulling it from the mattress, then tying it around myself.

“Trouble?” he asks in a manic voice as he steps around the bed to me. I jump onto the bed, holding the sheet tight reaching for what clothes I can, as well as my bag, then bolt for the door.

As soon as I pull it open, I run, sheet and clothes in hand, not worrying about anything but getting away.

That’s the smart thing to do, but no one said I was a smart woman. I never claimed to be, but right now, I know I have to run.

The doorman of the hotel looks at me, shocked. So I pull the sheet tighter around me and get into the taxi that’s waiting out front, thankfully.

I rattle off my address and don’t dare look back.