Page 143 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter

Please note: ass is definitely not one of those places.

All other holes are fair game, as long as there’s no stripping, squatting, and coughing involved.

The handle is baby blue, the blade is extra sharp. He stopped me from pricking my finger on it, insisting that the first blood draw should be someone other than its owner.

I didn’t want to cut him, though.

The person sneaking into my room, I’m assuming Penn, toes off their shoes and shuts the window again. He creeps forward and stands over me. Waiting.

I’m a great faker. I hope.

Eventually, he moves again. He slowly peels the blanket down, off me entirely, and rolls me over with gentle pressure on my hip bone. It’s either roll onto my back or resist him, and I can’t give up the ruse. Not when the folded knife is tucked in my palm, my fingers curled over to conceal it. It’s in position to flip open with my thumb.

My head lolls to the side, and he exhales.

Oops. Pretty sure Carter left a mark there earlier.

“Sydney,” Penn whispers.

When I don’t respond, he nudges my legs apart and climbs over me. To give him credit, the bed barely tilts. I’m not sure how he has the ninja abilities of a freaking cat.

Must be that same skill that helps him excel in the crease.

Anyway.

He’s hovering over me, his tops of his thighs brushing the insides of mine.

Naked, then.

The worst part is keeping my eyes closed and my body relaxed, because I really just want to fucking stab him. Not really, but… you know.

He pushes my shirt up.

Goosebumps cover my skin, the room chilled from the brief time the window was open. My nipples tighten, but he doesn’t go far enough to expose the cut.

He shifts my panties aside. It seems he still doesn’t give a shit about my period, although he makes no move to pull out my tampon.

There’s one more thing Carter taught me.

He made me practice it on him until I could do it smoothly. And while he allowed that if he’s expecting it, he can resist the motion, I will hopefully take Penn by surprise.

I recall exactly how Carter positioned my hands, the way I need to thrust up with my hips and drag my leg to knock him off-balance. I mentally arrange my limbs, plan out exactly where everything needs to be placed.

One-two-three-GO.

I grab Penn in a flurry of motion and manage to roll us—right off the bed. My surprise is only overshadowed by his.

We land hard on our sides, and I keep the momentum going. He lands on his back, and before he can twist us again, I flip the knife open and press it to his throat. Just under his chin. The bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows forces his skin into the blade.

It cuts him. A drop of blood rolls down.

“Stop moving,” I snap. “I told you I’d cut your balls off if I saw you tonight.”

He just looks at me. And looks and looks and looks.

“Say something.”

“I’m waiting for you to make good on that.” He leans up, and the blade sinks into his skin more. He lets out a hiss of pain, but he doesn’t back away. “Hmm, princess? A little lower, though.”