Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
“What if I don’t want to learn?”
“There are other ways to pass the time.”
She clicks her tongue, and I know I have her. She wants to know what happens next. In a world filled with many dull moments and even duller people, curiosity is our greatest weakness.
Come, I gesture to her. “The training area is this way.”
“Like this?” She gestures to her bare legs. She looks fantastic in my shirt, the tails just covering her soft backside and the tops of her thighs.
“I’ll give you more to wear if you are good.”
She scoffs and tosses her hair over her shoulder.
I lead her to the door with the hallway, and her breath catches. The hall is long and dim, lined with locked doors. I can sense her calculating her chances of escape.
“I thought you’d take me back to the dungeon.”
“No more dungeon.” I underscore this with a No signal. “You’ve earned a reward. New living quarters.” I spread my hands. “And a live-in chef.”
Her eyes narrow. She’s gripping the knife hard enough to whiten her knuckles.
I jerk up my chin. “Toss it at me.” Come, my fingers say.
She looks startled. I spread my arms wider, presenting a bigger target. Her gaze lingers on the ridges and contour of my chest, and her breath comes faster. Imagining fucking or killing me?
Probably both. She’s the only person in the world who wants to please and hurt me in equal measure.
I feel the same about her.
The minute stretches on. “Let me see how you throw.”
She grips the knife tighter. She doesn’t want to lose it.
“We’re not sparring?”
“I’d rather you not risk fighting in hand-to-hand combat.”
“Because I’m a woman?”
“There are advantages to being smaller and lighter, but only if you’re faster.”
She smirks. “I’m only fast when I’m eating pastries.”
I’m about to command her again when her arm snaps back, and she whips the knife in my direction.
I catch it easily. It was a sloppy throw, angling towards the floor. With my right hand, I toss it up and down, catching it each time. With my free hand, I reach out to a panel on the wall and punch a few buttons. At the end of a hall, a ceiling panel retracts, and a large wooden target lowers. I pace closer and point to where I want her to stand. After a pause, she follows and obeys.
“Stand here. Like this.” I put her through her paces, running my hands down her legs so she shifts into the proper stance, cupping her hips and angling them. Pulling back her hair and pressing a kiss to her shoulder. She shudders but gives me a glare that makes me glad I have the knife.
Then I stand behind her, pressed to her back as I move her arm with mine to mimic the proper throwing technique. With her naked, there’s nothing between her curvy ass and my groin but the thin fabric of my slacks. The more we move together, the more unsteady her breath. She tries to hide it, but I know her. Every rise and fall of her glorious breasts. The furrow in her forehead as she tries to master the movement.
My cock is hard and throbbing, poking into her lower back. I take a moment to push against her, burying my face in her hair to inhale her scent.
She waits, tense, for me to breathe in my full.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Killing with a gun is easy but killing with a knife?” I flip the dagger so the handle is at my lips, and the blade digs into my palm. “It is much more. . . satisfying.”
She shakes her head slightly, making her hair fall against my shoulder. “Psycho.”
“No, that’s like this.” I mime the overhand strike Norman Bates used.
“Ha. Ha.”
I catch her hand and press the knife into it, continuing my instruction. “Now.” I move her arm until she’s loose and limber, then coach her through a throw. “All the way through. As if you’re slashing someone.” The knife smacks the target, but the tip doesn’t catch, so it clatters to the floor.
“Again.” I trace a circle with my pointer finger, then pat her ass until she heads down the hall to retrieve the weapon. The sight of her swaying away from me has my groin tightening. Her bare body is a thing of beauty, but the bruises from her last session have faded. I’ll have to do something about that later.
I make her throw again and again, driving through the motion until her right arm falters. Then I teach her a left-handed throw. Her chest is heaving, her golden skin slick from exertion.
At last, the knife thunks into the wood, right through a seam. I go to fetch it and touch the tip protruding from the other side. “It went through. Well done, Lula.”
She comes to examine it herself. She’s breathing hard but glowing, her eyes lit with a triumphant light.