I'm nodding before I even process the question. And I realize I do. At least with this—my body and the sexual things.
"Good." Then, he presses the knife against my throat.
I go completely still.
The steel barely tickles my skin, but my heart slams against my ribs, wild and frantic. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip as he watches me, studying every flicker of my reaction, before he carefully lifts the knife away. "Good wife. You do trust me."
Then he turns the blade to the neckline of my dress, and with a loud, crinkling tear, he slices it open from neck to hem, the fabric splitting like a shirt to reveal my lace bra and panties.
He smirks as he drinks me in. "Pretty," he hums, before getting to work tearing through the armholes until every bit of the ragged material is peeled away from my body.
