Pushing Her Limits (Masters of Adrenaline 3)

“Good.” He grabbed the biggest knife and held it up as though he was inspecting it. Mila whined quietly, and the sound went straight to his dick.

Smiling enigmatically, or possibly manically, he laid the biggest knife aside. It was too big to be very functional, other than as a threat, and it had already served that purpose. He chose one a few sizes smaller that was quite sharp. He turned back to her with it, twirling it in his hand. When they were teenagers, and Konstantin was still around, they used to play with knives a lot. He’d been raised to knife handling like a circus performer. Mila’s mouth made a small O as she watched him play with the knife one-handed. He tossed it end over end and caught it by the handle, and she shrieked.

“Shhh,” he admonished, pressing a hand over her mouth. “Your neighbors are going to call the cops on us. I don’t think you want to explain this to anyone.”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment then nodded, drawing a long breath in through her nose. He let go of her mouth.

“Are you going to need a gag?”

Shaking, she licked her lips. “No, sir.”

“Good girl. You be quiet now, and lie very still, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you need to say ‘chicken’?”

“Fuck no, sir.”

He chuckled. “That’s my good little pervert.”

The scoop neck of her T-shirt was nice and low, and he pulled the edge of the neckline upward, and made the first slice. The knife parted the thin fabric like butter. He stopped only about an inch down, and checked Mila’s expression. It was rapt. Her nipples were rock hard and poking distracting tents in her shirt. Turning the blade on its side, he brought it down to slide flat on her right nipple.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, holding very still. He teased the peak with it for several minutes, thoroughly enjoying the way it made her gasp and shudder. When her fear started to wane, he put the knife down beside her on the table and went to the counter to get scissors.

“That’s it?” she asked, craning her head to see what he was doing.

“You wish.”

He went back to her with a pair of ridiculously large shears. She eyed the scissors warily, and when he tugged at her nipple with his fingers her gaze kept returning to his other hand, as though she harbored a fear he’d cut her nipple off. Soon, his fingers had her moaning and gasping, arching up to follow each tug and squeeze. He caught her nipple in a cruel pinch, and her mouth opened in a silent yowl. When he eased up enough for her to shrink back against the table, he kept hold of her shirt and cut the tip of the fabric off well away from her body. She gasped, and her brow furrowed. As he let the fabric fall back into place, her nipple and areola poked through the hole in the fabric.

She made a sound of fake indignation.

The other side he did much faster. She swore like a sailor.

When he put the scissors down, he tucked a thick cookbook under the oven mitt he’d cushi

oned her head with. It was no fun if she couldn’t watch what he was doing. He picked up the knife again, and her breath came in shallow pants before he’d even laid a hand on her.

He ran the flat of the blade over her bare stomach, and the muscles there twitched and undulated, trying to escape either the cold or the anticipated pain. Just above her navel, he sliced the bottom of the shirt upward a few inches, baring more of her smooth flesh. He brought the knife back to her bared nipples, and rubbed the cold blade over each side until she trembled for him. When she closed her eyes, he swapped the sharp knife for a butter knife and pressed the back of it to her throat.

“Don’t move.” He brought his mouth down on her nipple, sucking the hard peak into his mouth, then worrying at it with his teeth. A strangled sound of fright and pleasure escaped her lips.

“Oh god, Atlas, move the knife away from my throat. I can’t hold still when you’re doing that.”

He ignored her, and moved his mouth to her other nipple. She squirmed in her bonds, but only her hips. She kept her neck very still.

“Please, sir, I can’t take any more.”

Although he put down the butter knife then, her eyes were glassy and half panicked and she didn’t seem to notice his bait and switch game. He rubbed the pad of his thumb back and forth over her lower lip, shushing her gently. She caught his thumb between her lips and sucked the end of it into her mouth as if she’d die if he took it away. Her whole body shuddered.

“You can’t take any more?” he asked. “Not even a little?”

“No,” she whimpered.

“Not even to make me happy?”

She paused, looking thoughtful and somewhat guilty.