~LIAM.
Moving toward the table of tools, my fingers curled around the handle of a knife. When I turned, her eyes followed the blade, not with fear, not even hesitation. No, what I saw was hunger. Anticipation. Trust.
"Don’t move," I said. Not like she could.
I stepped up to her, close enough to feel the tremble in her breath. With one careful hand, I lifted the edge of her bra. The knife followed.
The lace gave way without resistance; a clean slice through one cup, then the other. Her breasts spilled free, chest rising and falling like she couldn’t get enough air.
But I wasn’t done.
The garter belt was next. I slid the blade under the strap at her hip and cut. One side. Then the other. The soft snap of elastic tearing was the only sound.
Then I slipped the blade beneath the waistband of her thong and paused.
"Remember, if it’s too much, you say the word. Got it?"
She nodded, whispering a quiet, breathle
