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Summary
Grinning wide, Jack slowly raised one translucent, triumphant hand – and a naked sort of terror crawled its way across Rhys’ face as his own, mechanical hand lifted too.
It settled heavy on his collarbone, cold fingertips grazing the softness of his neck just enough for him to feel his own pulse racing below fragile skin. “I can rip your throat out for real, now, princess,” Jack whispered, teeth bared into something too hungry, too animal to be described as a smile, voice a low rumble. “Isn’t that fun?”
(In which Rhys gets threatened, gets choked, and gets himself off. in no particular order; or, rather, somewhat simultaneously.)