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Here is the Knife Play scene that I LOVED, but didn't make it into the final copy of Beg for Daddy.




Closed, the knife is as long as my palm. I open the blade with a snap. 


Her eyes go round. If I were a true predator I’d be able to smell her fear. 


When she’s dazed from play and orgasms, her eyes go deep dark shades of blue that are nearly purple. Right now they’re like glittering amethysts. I skim the knife up her one calf, past her knee to where her thighs are bound together.


With one swift yank, I sever the cloth.


She jumps, clutching my shoulders like she may pass out. 


“You don’t think I would cut you, do you, baggage?”


She shakes her head, but her eyes are still big and luminous with fright. I nudge her feet apart and scrape the very tip of the blade along the fleshy bit where her thigh meets groin. 


Her nails dig little crescent moon indents on my shoulders. 


“Oh no, you’re not scared at all,” I tease. I skim the blade through the moisture at her apex and enjoy the way her breath hitches. I lightly nudge her clit forward with the tip of the blade, and her eyes scrunch shut. Every muscle in her body is tense. Coiled and waiting. I doubt she breathes.


“Look at me.”


One eye peeks open. I have to bite back my grin. Both eyes open and her gaze falls on me, vulnerable and intense.


“Watch me, Paige. Watch me like you used to when I played with other women and pretended they were you.” 


She sucks in her lower lip, eyes glittering as I hold her clit in place with the tip of the blade and flick my tongue over the bundle. 


A strangled sound gurgles out of her, so I do it a few more times before I draw the knife away.


As she watches I lick the blade clean of her honey, then fold it closed. 


Tension leaves her body like a balloon losing air. Her shoulders drop and she wobbles unsteadily for a moment.


I love that I can do that to her. I love that she trusts me but still coils tight with apprehension when I play with her. So many masochists I’ve played with fake their fear. Fake the desire for anything more than what I can give them. 


There’s no artifice in Paige’s responses. Even when she’s trying to hide how much I effect her. 


Just another reason she’s perfect.   


I kiss her thigh. “I love your thighs,” I tell her. The skin is soft. “I love them splayed open for me, or tied together, or gripping my waist.” I nuzzle her damp curls. “I love your scent and your sweet taste.” I spread her further, loving her inverted knees, and tilt her towards my mouth. “I love the way your body responds to me and only me. I love—


I smother the rest of my words in her hot cunt. I nip and suck at her clit until she’s fisting my hair and grinding against me. When her thighs tremble and a flood of heat coats my tongue, I gentle my touch.


She doesn’t fully orgasm and I want to keep her like that. In want of more.


Always more. 

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