Dragging his palm roughly down my dress, he gropes my breast over my dress, and groans deeply, his focus slicing back to between my legs. Then with one large palm, he pins me to the table. I feel the cold, hard edge before I realize what it is: The dagger’s handle sliding between my slit, my wet arousal making it glide effortlessly up and down. There’s an arrogant kind of victory to his expression when he slowly pushes the tip of the handle into my entrance, my back arching with the sensation.
