Sam couldn't explain it, but holding the knives in her hand and catching the tone of his voice as he said he knew how to use them turned her on.
"Show me," she said, flipping the Bowie in her hand so she could hand it to him handle first. "Teach me something."
Maybe Micah could show her how to disembowel someone. That way, if Steve ever did find her, she could have some fun. The thought immediately filled her with guilt. Could she really do that to someone? Even an abusive ass like Steve? Put a bullet between his eyes, maybe, but cutting him up like she was Jack the Ripper? Okay, so under the right circumstances, she probably could. Better to be prepared if it happened.
Micah's gaze shot to hers and he reached out almost tentatively to take the knife. It was as if he wasn't sure he should.
"Oh, go on," she said. "I won't hurt you."
With a smirk, he took the knife and flipped it around, the blade shimmering as it danced in the light. He tossed and sliced it through the air then grabbed it backhand and lunged for her, pushing the blade toward her throat and stopping a couple of feet away. She barely flinched, knowing in her heart that he would never hurt her. Their eyes met and he seemed almost as breathless as she felt, and not from exertion.
Biting her lip, she clutched the Big Brother with the same grip he was using on the Bowie.
"Like this?" She batted his arm away and surged toward him.
He fell to his back as she cut the knife through the air and stopped within inches of his throat. She loomed over him, feeling her pulse quicken as his eyes smoldered up at her.
"Where were you a few days ago?" he said, his voice deep and seductive.
"Apparently waiting to rescue you." She barely pressed the edge of the blade to his skin, biting her lip, liking the thrill she got from the look in his eye. It was a mix of fear and lust, the way she imagined a cuffed masochist looked as he prepared for his master to flog him.
"Any regrets?" he asked.
She shook her head, heat pooling like warm honey low in her belly and between her legs. "No."
Sam felt him relinquish himself as the Bowie thudded to the floor. His free arm swooped around her and pulled her on top of him. She had to swing her leg out from under the covers, but with the knife still held to his throat, she straddled his hips and skimmed her other hand over his smooth, bare chest, as surprised at her reaction to him as he was.
"Tell me you're not using some mind trick on me to make me feel this way," she said.
His hands crept up her bare thighs and inside the legs of her shorts. "I'm not compelling you, if that's what you mean."
Raking her blunt nails across his pec, she smiled as he hissed and pushed his chest toward her hand. He looked good, still thin but more puffed up, like someone had hooked him up to a hose and blown air into what had looked like a deflated body the other night.
"You look better, by the way. The other night you looked like you needed a couple or a dozen sandwiches."
"Oh?" His hands pushed further inside her shorts and she shifted her weight so he could explore further if he wanted to, but he only went so far before pulling his hands back out to continue exploring her elsewhere.
Sam hadn't reacted to a man like this in a long time. Actually, she had never reacted to a man like this. Was it just the danger Micah represented, or how safe she felt with him despite all the peripheral shit she still wasn't sure she had wrapped her head around? Or was it the knife at his throat, or just the fact that she had been through a lot in the last twelve hours and simply needed an outlet for all that unspent adrenaline? Maybe it was a combination of everything. Who knew? What she did know was that her body craved his in a way that felt almost criminal.
Shifting her hold on the knife, she dragged the tip of the blade lightly over his skin, to the hollow of his throat, down his sternum, and over to one dark, gathered, quarter-sized nipple.
Normally so straight-laced and proper, Sam wanted nothing of either right now. Some would say that after so long without, her body now felt the need to make up for lost time, spilling over with arousal. A dark, mysterious man, possibly – probably – a vampire, lay under her, bent to her will as she flicked the tip of the knife across the puckered hardness of his nipple.
"Aren't you scared?" She bent forward so that her face was directly over his and her hips rose from him. His hands skated up the sides of her legs and into her shirt to blister her skin with desire.
"I'm scared you'll stop." His hips thrust upward to keep the connection between their lower bodies, and his hardness pressed against her.
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