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Continuing my punishment, I raise my hand to strike her bottom one more time but stop when I notice the arousal seep from between her thighs. I stare at her for a moment, her sweet little pussy lips pressed tightly together from how hard she’s holding her legs together.
“Topolino, non smetti mai di stupirmi,” I groan. Little mouse, you never cease to amaze me.
I run the pad of my thumb over her lips, scooping her honey up in one go. Suddenly, she jumps, completely caught off guard by the change in pace. Using my tongue to clean her juices from my finger, I peer down at her, gripping my cock through my pants.
“You like being spanked, don’t you?”
She doesn’t answer me, so I slap her ass so hard she has no choice but to react. Maybe not with words, but her body says it all.
“Yeah, you like it. Is that why you’ve done a piss poor job of hiding? You were hoping I found you.”
“Fuck you,” she seethes, her words muffled through the blanket.
Smack.
I expect her to squirm some more, to run, to cry out, but she doesn’t. Instead, she squeezes her thighs together and attempts to hide the moan that escapes her. Tracing her lips again, I part her slowly, watching her expression closely. When I press against her entrance, she shudders, and I get to see just how turned on she is.
I don’t give her what she wants, though. Instead of slipping my finger into her cunt, I trail her moisture up to her ass and rub it around her puckered hole. Siân tenses up, and a laugh builds in my chest.
“The next time I tell you not to do something, you listen, or it’ll be this tight little ass I punish next.”
She tightens up at my threat, but her disappointing sigh gets my attention. So fucking greedy for pleasure even when she should hate me. I back away and find my shirt at the foot of the bed and slip it on. Siân lies still for a beat, not budging until her breath normalizes. She’s embarrassed, and I can bet she’s hoping I leave so she doesn’t have to face me.
Think again, sweetheart. I want to see every ounce of dread and be present the moment she realizes that the rest of her life belongs to me.
“It’s time for breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry.” She sits up and redresses herself, but she doesn’t look at me. She can’t. Her cheeks are flushed, a deep shade of red painting her skin.
“Do I need to spank your ass again?” I ask without looking at her as I straighten out the hem of my shirt.
Siân remains still, her features twisted in a mixture of things—hate, fear, and even disgust. She wants to challenge this, but somewhere in her mind, she knows that would be a bad idea. And I have to admit, this feistiness is a side of her I’m not used to. After what I’ve witnessed with Kyla and Taj, she’s always been somewhat of a pushover.
With them, she allowed them to walk all over her, something I will never understand because she is the daughter of a mafia king. His reign may have ended fifteen years ago, but his name still carries weight in Milan. Marco was just as ruthless as my father and made lessons out of anyone who crossed him. I may have been only a boy at the time, but I’ve heard the tales, witnessed the war that brewed between our families, and saw the bloodshed. A legacy like that doesn’t just go away. It’s ingrained in the blood of the daughters and the sons, generations after generations. How she could allow those people to get away with the disloyalty and betrayal disturbs me.
One way or another, she’s going to become the queen she’s always been meant to be. Even if it means she’ll hate me for the rest of our lives together. People can call it what they want, but the truth is, there is a paper-thin line between love and hate, and the sex is amazing either way.
When Siân doesn’t move, I stalk forward, pull her to his feet, and aggressively fix her clothes on her body. She’s a disheveled mess but gorgeous nonetheless. She’s stubborn or at least attempting to be.
I drag her by her arm to the locked door and knock three times before finally, we hear the latch release. On the other side is Helga, our maid. She steps aside for Siân and me to exit the room, and from my peripheral, I notice the pleading glance Siân gives to her. It’s pointless. In this house, no one questions me or dares to interfere. So any hope Siân has for escaping me will get her nowhere.
Siân continues to tussle with me, working overtime to get free, but my grip is tight. We reach the kitchen and are immediately met with the aroma of breakfast. This is something I’m excited about, considering how much I’ve missed Italian cuisine. The kitchen is empty except for the chef, who’s wiping down the counters and clearing dirty dishes.
