~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 boobs ...