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I swallowed hard. Get yourself together, Ayla. Don’t let him affect you.
I grasped the hand that was still touching my thigh and pushed it away from me. His eyes widened slightly in shock at my bold action and he raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“Don’t touch me. I’m not like…those women,” I said through my heavy breathing as I gasped each word.
“Like who?” he asked, sounding amused. He knew very well what I meant but as always, he loved torturing the answer out of me.
“Like that woman. I’m not like her. Don’t treat me…like one,” I squeaked, pushing at his chest again, but he was unmoving.
“You mean, you are not a whore?” he asked, his voice hard.
I flinched at the word and closed my eyes tightly as painful memories assailed me.
Look at her. Broken down, lying on the floor, our come dripping from her. Exactly like a whore.
That’s what you are, Ayla. Never forget it. You hear me?
I felt a hand on my cheek. My mind was reeling as I was brought back into the present. I hated that word. Alberto called me that more than he said my name.
“Ayla, I never said you were one,” I heard Alessio saying. His voice was surprisingly soft. “If I thought you were a whore, then I would have sent you to one of my prostitution rings. But I didn’t, did I?”
I never said you were one.
His words kept repeating over and over in my head. He didn’t think I was a whore. He didn’t call me such cruel words.
My heart stuttered when his thumb caressed my cheek. “Okay?”
I didn’t answer.
He sighed and then slid his hand down until it rested at the base of my neck. “Fine, I won’t touch you,” he declared, moving his hand away from my neck.
I was shocked at his admission and stared at him suspiciously.
“I won’t touch you. Not until you ask me to,” he clarified, slightly bending his knees so that we were at eye level.
Well, that wouldn’t happen. Ever. Which meant he would never touch me. My muscles relaxed in relief, but I was still filled with suspicion.
For now, I would take him at his word.
“Okay?”
I nodded and then swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. Were we done? I hoped we were, because if he kept playing with my mind like that, I would break down. And I couldn’t let that happen.
I nodded again.
A small laugh rumbled from his chest. He moved against me, and that was when I realized his body was still plastered against mine.
I looked down and then back up at his face. He was staring at me amusingly. Clearing my throat, I tried to push him again and this time he slightly moved away. But he was still crowding my space, still trapping me against the door with his body.
“You…you said you wouldn’t touch me,” I stammered. Closing my mouth with a snap, I took a deep breath in and then continued. “But you are touching me right now.”
“Am I?”
Was that even a question? His body was practically covering mine.
“You are,” I said.
“Okay, then.” Alessio stepped away from me and glided his fingers through his hair, ruffling it in the process.
He was about to say something but his phone rang. His forehead creased in frustration and he quickly pulled his phone from his pocket. With his eyes still on me, he answered the call.
“Yeah?” He was silent for a few seconds. “Okay. I’m coming,” he said, his voice cold and deadly. Alessio put his phone away and walked toward me. I quickly stepped away from the door to give him access. I kept my head down, refusing to look at him.
I heard the door open but there was no sound of it closing. Confused, I was about to turn around when I felt a hot breath at the back of my neck. My body froze in panic. When I heard Alessio’s voice, my muscles slightly relaxed.
“I won’t touch you. Not until you beg me to.”
His words made me tense. And my heartbeat quickened.
With that, I heard him walk away again and the door closed behind him.
Bringing a shaky hand to my chest, I breathed deeply.
Beg him?
Scoffing at his assumption, I walked over to my bed and laid down on my back. That was never going to happen.
Chapter 19
Alessio (seven years old)
My mommy sat on the big sofa chair with a book on her big round belly. She looked so comfortable and she had a small smile on her face. From where I was sitting on the floor, while arranging my puzzles, I saw her slowly rubbing circles over her stomach.
My baby sister was in there. Papa and Mommy called her a princess. Why didn’t they call me a prince? I wanted to be a prince!
But Mommy called me her sweet boy, so that was okay.
