Edge of Her
He heard her before he saw her.
The sound of boots on concrete. Slow. Deliberate. Then—click—the unmistakable sound of a knife opening.
She stepped out of the shadows. Tank top, black jeans, eyes sharp and unreadable. Folding blade in hand. She looked at him like she already owned him.
“You into edge play?” she asked, voice low.
He swallowed. “Yeah.”
“You ever bottomed for it?”
He hesitated. “Not really.”
She stepped in close. Close enough for him to feel the tension coming off her skin. Not nervous. Coiled. Ready.
“I don’t play soft,” she said. “I don’t play stupid. I want answers before we start.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“Blood?”
“If you want it.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere but my face.”
“Choking?”
“Yes.”
“Spitting?”
He blinked. “Yes.”
“Slapping?”
“Fuck yes.”
She smirked. “Safe word?”
“Velvet.”
She tucked the knife under his chin. “Say it if you need out. Otherwise—you’re mine until I say otherwise.”
He nodded.
“No,” she said. “Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
She kissed him hard. Bit his lower lip. Then stepped back and pointed at his shirt.
“Off.”
He obeyed.
She circled him. Ran the blade down his back, slow, grazing—not cutting. Yet. He shivered.
“You scared?”
“A little.”
“Good. Hold still.”
She made the first cut across his shoulder blades. Shallow. Precise. His breath hitched. She pressed her free hand to his lower back, keeping him steady.
Another cut. Just enough sting to make him feel. She watched his body twitch under her touch.
“You like it?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I fucking like it.”
She undid his belt, slid his pants down. No teasing. Just fingers in his mouth as she reached around and stroked him once, slow.
“You hard already?” she whispered. “From a knife?”
He couldn’t speak. Just moaned against her fingers.
She dragged the tip of the blade down his inner thigh. Dangerous. Delicate. He stayed still. Barely breathed.
“Beg.”
He turned, eyes blown wide. “Please.”
“For what?”
“Cut me. Use me. Fuck me.”
She shoved him against the wall. Dropped the knife. Bit his neck. Spit in his mouth.
Then grabbed his cock, stroked him once, and dropped to her knees.
He came fast—too fast—but she didn’t stop. Just grinned up at him like she’d won.
Because she had.
When she stood, she kissed his mouth like it belonged to her. And it did.
“You did good,” she said.
“Yeah?”
She ran the flat of the knife down his sternum again, slow and possessive. “Next time, I’ll go deeper.”
He smiled. “Please do.”