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“Please,” I whisper, between kisses, “please don’t send me back into that room.” He silences me with his mouth again until my lungs ache.
My breaths heave when the kiss finally breaks. Salvatore strokes his fingers against my cheek sending shivers down my spine and warmth into my stomach. He looks at me as if everything is right in the world now, like he was never afraid of losing me.
Like he enjoyed the hunt, my instincts whisper, the same part of me that treacherously enjoyed the chase.
My relief turns brittle as Salvatore laughs. I’ve never heard that sound before. A mirthless, cruel noise that makes me second-guess the elation in my veins.
“Why would I send you back there, Contessa? A room with a view. Regular meals. All the clothes and makeup and whatever else you asked for.”
“I’m not—I’m not ungrateful,” I say, feeling mad for saying those words to my own kidnapper, “but you can’t just keep me in there—”
His wild strength pins my hands above my head, toys with the sheer threat of our size difference. If only it made me afraid instead of achingly aroused.
“I could have you tied down and strung out every day,” he says lowly, “I could make it so you don’t even remember who you are. I know how to take someone’s life without killing them.
Is that what you want, Contessa? There are places on this property you can’t imagine. No light, no warmth, no beds. A place where people rot before they’re dead. If you don’t want your room, I have other places for you.”
The threat hangs over us, the moment bristling like lightning is about to strike this very spot.
“That’s not what you want,” I say, flipping the threat around on him. “You told me your plans for me. If you wanted me to be just another prisoner, I already would be. Locking me up in some dungeon, that’s not getting your way. That’s just settling. And you said it yourself—you always get what you want. I believe that.”
Salvatore is unreadable as I use his own words against him. All at once I am back in that parlor room, playing poker, staring down my opponent and guessing at his cards. But I’m certain that Salvatore doesn’t threaten. When he barks, he barks. When he bites, he bites. If he was going to throw me in some dark pit for the rest of eternity, he’d already be dragging me there now.
He tastes my trembling lips again.
“…Maybe you’re not as stupid as all this bullshit makes you seem,” he says, the backhanded compliment stinging and making my cheeks red, as surely as the real thing. “Did you scheme to throw a little tantrum so I’d come and make you quiet with my hands between your legs again?
I have no smart retort for that. I’m afraid my voice will betray that it’s exactly what I want in this position now, trapped and breathless under him.
“Is that what this is? A cry for daddy’s attention? You can’t even make it 48 hours without coming for me? So spoiled,” he accuses and dips his hand into my tight jeans. My pulse races in a frenzy of fear and longing.
I arch against his touch. I don’t want it to be true, but it is, in its own sick way. I missed him. His touch, his voice, his moody silence. I missed my routine, the dark hush of his bedroom, and the anticipation that grew in my belly when the plates were almost empty.
I whisper my agreement as if it’s a secret I can entrust only to him.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his own wanting seeming to run up against his desire to punish me.
“Roll over for me. Let me have you.”
I twist beneath him eagerly, stretching out on my hands and knees as he drags my jeans down around my thighs, right here on the ground like an animal. I don’t care. It’s him, and we’re not in that awful room, and he doesn’t seem bored with me at all—
His open palms clap hard against my ass. I cry out at the sudden pain, unprepared for the sharp, heavy sting. Salvatore gets down on one knee and effortlessly hangs me over his other. He bends me across his leg, my bare ass up in the air. With his other arm, he leverages me against his broad muscles.
“Did you really think you’d spread those legs and get out of being punished?” He asks lowly, his voice hot and dark. Another heavy-handed slap falls against my ass. The force of it ripples. I lurch forward, my hair a curtain that hides my pained expression from him. A throbbing ache blossoms under his palm.
“Do you think you deserve to come, after what you did?”
Faster strikes follow, the quick barrage of his hand laying one stinging pain on top of the last. The hurt builds and builds, until it has me trembling, a cry falling from my lips.
The next heavy strike makes me cry out, shuddering and twitching against him as if I can escape it.
Suddenly, he slides his fingers between my legs. He massages comfort into my cunt, a blissful distraction that compliments the pain. I rock against his touch, chasing the pleasure like it’s a salve for the stinging heat pulsing in my skin. I open myself wider for his fingers, begging to have that sensation of taking him inside me again. Instead, he levels a firm smack against my over-sensitive pussy. It jolts through me.
I lurch and cry out, betrayed. I squirm against him, but each hit sends a quake of pleasure through my belly. My body cries no while my mind whispers harder.
“Tell me what you were going to do.”
I shake my head until he spanks me again, as if I am winning the pain. My whimper is almost, dangerously, a moan. I dig my fingers into his arm, legs trembling, thighs quaking with every hit as the pleasure and pain build together, inextricable from each other.
