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“Roman.” I slam my fists onto his back. “Let me go.”
He delivers a hard spank to my ass.
My legs stiffen. “Ouch! Stop.”
“That’s what you get for being a brat,” he says.
I wait for him to give me the option of walking to the pool house like an adult or being carried, but he strides into a gentleman’s study lined with mahogany bookshelves and continues toward a set of French doors.
He crosses a huge patio and walks down the garden path toward the pool and the stone building where Cesare had that naked woman tied up.
Shudders run down my spine. It looks like I’m about to find out exactly why he brought me to his home. Roman probably interpreted my forwardness at the club as a request to play in his dungeon, and now he’s going to give me exactly what he thinks I want.
Sunlight lashes my back, and birds chirp from distant trees, adding to my sense of dis-coordination. My stomach heaves at the mingled scents of juniper and chlorine as we reach the pool. If I don’t do something right now, I might not survive the bondage and torture.
“Safe word,” I say, my mind dredging through everything I know about BDSM. “This isn’t safe. This isn’t sane. And I don’t consent.”
When that doesn’t work, I wriggle in his grasp, but that only earns me another hard spank.
He steps through the pool house doors and into the shade, casting my mind into despair. Tears gather at the corners of my eyes and slide up my forehead into my hairline. I didn’t escape the clutches of one violent psychopath to end up tied to the bondage chair of another.
“Stop.” My screams echo off the walls. “This is serious. Stop!”
Roman sets me down on a rug, and I scramble to my feet, ignoring the sudden head rush that fills my vision with stars.
When I blink them away, there’s no sign of the sofas and dining table I saw the day before. Instead, there are wooden tables laden with art supplies I can barely afford, along with different sized easels, studio lights, and two chairs.
My jaw drops. Roman has created an artist studio. All those worries about bondage were just in my head.
No.
I know what I saw.
And I remember those guards laughing as I ran to the other side of the pool. They even told me that the man inside was the youngest Montesano brother, Cesare, who was into kinky shit.
I turn to meet Roman’s unsmiling face.
“Isn’t this a playroom?” I ask, my voice wavering.
His lips tighten. “The space in the back was another guest room when I lived here. I didn’t know my little brother used it for BDSM.”
“Where’s all his equipment and toys?”
“Gone.”
“And the dark-haired woman?”
“Home,” Roman says in a tone that warns me to mind my own business.
I walk to the door and push it open, finding a bedroom along with one of the cream sofas I saw the day before. Everything is decorated in warm shades of white, like a blank canvas waiting for love.
“Is all this for me?” I ask, my voice breathy.
“There aren’t any other artists living under my roof,” he replies. “But if you’re not happy here, you can leave.”
I whirl around, my head spinning. “Roman…This is so generous. Thank you.”
He only taps his unmarked cheek with his index finger, and I walk to him on trembling legs. Why is he so calm after I destroyed his property and damaged his beautiful skin?
