“Oh my God.” Sloane’s scrambling to sit upright on the bed, but a scenario plays out in my head and has me aching in two seconds flat. I place a hand on her stomach to stop her.

“Lie back down.”

“But—”

I harden my gaze, sending her the message loud and clear. If she wants to make me happy, she’s going about it the wrong way. The indecision in her eyes is interesting. The internal battle she wages lasts ten long, drawn out seconds. She finally eases back onto the bed, observing the couple in the doorway warily.

“Sit down on the sofa. And no touching,” I tell them. “Not until my friend says you can.” I give Sloane this piece of freedom because I know she needs it right now. She visibly relaxes on the bed, although she still shrinks in on herself a little when the couple enter the room and sit down on the two-seater hidden behind me against the wall. I turn my focus back to Sloane.

“Where were we?”

She whimpers, but takes the hint and starts touching herself again. She doesn’t know it yet, but she is perfect for this. Perfect for me and my dark and nasty desires. I run my hands up the insides of her legs, stopping just shy of her pussy, and she rocks her pelvis up in the most inviting gesture. Not yet, sweetheart. Not yet.

Despite the wide eyes and the hesitancy, she’s so turned on I can smell it pouring from her. Her pussy is wetter than wet and I haven’t even touched her yet. She slips a finger inside of herself and stutters out a moan, and I hear the woman behind us suck in a sharp breath. I can’t blame her—she can see what I see over my shoulder and it’s a fucking hot sight to behold. I hear the soft rustle of material as my guests start to move. That’s okay, totally allowed. I’ll put a show on for them the likes of which they’ve never seen before.

“Take off your panties,” I demand. Sloane responds straight away this time, shimmying them off her hips and kicking them to the floor. Her eyes are closed again, which is fine for now, but that can’t last forever. “Open your legs.”

With her legs spread wide, my cock is straining against my pants, begging to be set free. I’m surprised I’m not light headed with how much blood is being diverted to my dick right now. It’s time for the bag. I get up, heading for the door, pausing when I see that our visitors are already thoroughly enjoying themselves; the woman’s dress is up around her waist, and the guy’s fingers are buried deep inside her. His dick is out of his pants, and he’s stroking it slowly, leaning casually back against the chair.

Sloane makes a muffled sighing sound—she’s dared to peek and has seen what they’re up to…and she doesn’t seem as freaked out as I would have thought. Such a good girl. I grab the bag and hurry back to the bed, need finally taking over. I take out the items I require, four heavy leather cuffs, and I see recognition flash in Sloane’s eyes when she sees them. Yeah, she knows these are the very same cuffs I used to tie her up with last time. She’s very well behaved when I fasten them around her ankles and her wrists, securing her to the bed. There’s a certain level of panicked trust in her eyes, which makes my stomach roll. God knows what I’ve done to deserve that, but it shouldn’t be there.

The woman on the couch moans softly, and Sloane turns to watch. The guy has pushed back his tiger mask and is on his knees, going to town between her legs. She’s palming her own tits, which is kinda hot, her eyes fixed firmly on Sloane’s prone body. I know what this chick is into, know what she wants—I just don’t know if Sloane’s going to extend the invitation. I plunge my hand into my bag and pull out the one thing I’ve been waiting to use since I met her. The one thing I had to fight to put away last time: my knife. Blondie moans again when she sees it, but Sloane goes deadly still on the bed.

“Remember how this works?” I ask her.

She nods just once. “Stay still,” she whispers. This is going to be too perfect, I can already tell. Most girls would start screaming around about now, but Sloane seems ready to accept what I’m about to do. I’ve waited long enough, so I get rid of my shoes, suit pants, and my boxers, and I stand completely naked by the bed. I palm my dick, squeezing it—that feels fucking good—and Blondie grinds her hips into her partner’s face, mouth gaped open in desire. Sloane’s torn between staring at the contents of both my hands—my dick and my knife, like she’s not sure which one to be more scared of. I give her my most brutal grin, and then climb up onto the bed. Her body quivers when I set the sharp edge of the hunting blade to her skin.

“Zeth,” she whispers.

Names aren’t a part of this game; I give her a warning look. She bites her bottom lip, nodding her head to let me know she understands her mistake. I never promised her that I wasn’t going to hurt her, but I try to at least soften my eyes so that she knows no harm is going to come to her. No real harm.

She watches me closely as I trail the sharpened steel over her body. Her breasts, her nipples, down her sides, over her thighs. She’s shaking so hard I have to be careful not to cut her. The woman on the couch starts to cry out as I’m doing this. She’s on the edge, close to coming…and Sloane seems torn between watching that and paying attention to where I’m applying my knife. I flip the thing over in my hand so that I’m palming the blade, and I close my fingers around the ferociously sharp edge. A familiar, blazing slice of pain tears through my skin, and I grin. With the weapon now handle first toward her, I guide it down between her legs.