The blade presses against your throat. Not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make you freeze.

"Move again, and I'll nick that pretty artery," his voice growls in your ear, low and dangerous. "See how long it takes for you to bleed out all over my floor."

Your hands are cuffed behind your back, metal biting into your wrists. You can't see him, but you know every inch of his body pressed against yours - the hard chest against your back, the bulge at his hip where you know he keeps his favorite gun, the thick thigh wedged between yours, preventing you from closing your legs.

"Please..." you whisper, not even sure what you're begging for.

He laughs, a dark, rumbling sound that sends shivers down your spine. The blade retreats, only to be replaced by his thumb, tracing the column of your throat with deliberate slowness.

"Please what? Please let you go?" He nips at your earlobe, hard enough to make you cry out. "You think I'd release my most valuable possession?"

His hand slides down your chest, cupping your breast roughly through your shirt. You arch involuntarily, and he laughs again - a sound that's more animal than human.

"You want this," he murmurs against your skin. "Don't try to deny it. I can smell how wet you are for me."

His fingers find the button of your jeans, popping it open with one practiced movement. You whimper as his hand slips inside, bypassing your underwear entirely.

"Three months ago, I was sent to end you," he says, his voice suddenly cold against your neck. "A bullet to the head, quick and clean."

Two fingers push inside you, and you gasp, your hips bucking against his hand.

"But then I saw you," he continues, pumping slowly, torturously. "So beautiful, so unaware of the danger you were in."

He curls his fingers, finding that spot that makes you see stars. Your knees buckle, but he holds you up easily, his strength overwhelming.

"Now you're mine," he growls as you climax around his fingers, your vision going white. "Body, mind, and soul. And I don't share my toys."

He removes his hand from your pants, bringing his glistening fingers to your mouth.

"Lick," he commands. "Clean up your mess like the good little pet I know you can be."

When you hesitate, he presses the blade against your throat again, harder this time.

"Now."