"Come here, toy. Let's play one more round."
The invitation was a velvet-wrapped guillotine. Camille didn't wait for Yanna to crawl the remaining inches. She closed the distance herself, her hand— he bandaged one, the one that smelled of iodine and violence snapping around Yanna's throat.
It wasn't a warning squeeze. It was an immediate occlusion.
Yanna's breath hitched, trapped behind the wall of Camille's knuckles. Her eyes widened, the pupils blowing out as the oxygen supply was throttled. In the dim, amber light of the master suite, Camille looked like a deity of war. Her hair was a disheveled platinum halo, her chest heaving with the exertion of the previous hour, her skin slick with a mixture of sweat and the fluids she had drawn from Yanna's body.
Physics, Yanna's brain fired, the scholar trying to catalogue the sensation even as the animal began to panic. Pressure equals force over area. The carotid arteries are being compressed. The vagus nerve is being stimulated.
