Primal Pursuit - Page 141

“You tell me why you have me here.”

I flick my wrist and cut into her, on her left hip. She doesn’t move or flinch. It’s like she hardly feels it.

I run my finger along the line of blood then smear it on her lips. I run my tongue over them and lift my head. “You know why.”

“No, I don’t. What the hell’s going on?”

“You had a knife at my throat. And don’t you fucking dare say it was part of our game. I want to know who the fuck you are and what your game’s about.”

“You know who I am.”

“Do I?”

“Poppy Moore. And it’s a game.”

I nod. “Here’s the fucking deal, Poppy Moore. You tell me the truth—the real truth—and you get to walk. You don’t, and I’ll fucking cut you into shreds until you talk.” I shrug. “We’ll see how much blood it takes for you to bleed out. So. Who are you?”

She doesn’t say a word.

And it pisses me the fuck off. Penelope needs to understand who’s in charge here.

I bring the knife down to her cunt. “Every lie, every nonresponse will get you fucking cut. Get it?”

“Go to hell.”

I think about my next move. And I smile. “Okay.”

Slowly I press the knife into her just above her clit, on that soft, exquisite mound of flesh. I bring the knife down in a straight line. It’s deep enough to scar.

Rabbit doesn’t cry out.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Poppy.”

This time I make a curved cut. The letter D.

“Gonna carve my initials into you, sweet little rabbit liar.”

“Do whatever the fuck you want.” There’s a shake to her voice, a breathy little wobble and…oh, fuck. She’s turned on. I can smell it on her.

I start the slant for the letter A. My middle name’s Alexander. “D. A. St?—”

“Fuck you, Stark.”

I grin, finish the A, and a soft moan slips free from her. There’s a trickle of cunt juice that slides down her fucking thigh. I want to lick that, and her blood, and then stick my tongue down her throat.

“That’s another thing.” I start on the S. “My name. I never told you.”

“Someone—”

“Bullshit, Poppy. No one other than the Elite know my fucking name. Well, my tattoo artist, but he doesn’t count. How the fuck do you know it?”

Her chin rises. “Osmosis.”

The threadiness grows. My rabbit’s dialed up and turned all the fucking way on.

I carve the middle part of the S.