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"I think you are mighty frustrated, is what."

"Can we get this over with so we can head back to Palermo?"

"Thought you wanted me to fuck you?" I retort.

"That was before—" She hesitates.

"Before?"

"Before I found out what a callous, cruel, brutal… fiend you are."

"I believe the word you are looking for is sadist." I smirk.

She whips her head around in my direction. "Thought you were an exhibitionist?"

"And a sadist," I clarify.

The color rises in her cheeks.

"Does that turn you on?"

She flips her hair over her shoulder. "Of course not."

I laugh. "Just remember one thing. When I decide to fuck you, no one can stop me, especially not you. When I decide to fuck you, it will be on my terms, on my schedule, and you’ll throw yourself at me and beg me to show you no mercy."

Jeanne

I glance around the room he led me to before vanishing down the corridor. I’d expected him to bring me to a hotel, but instead, we’ve come to what he called a safe house. A gorgeous two-story building built in a Moorish architectural style, which I’m guessing must be typical for this region. From what I recall of my history lessons, Malta has Italian and Moorish influences.

He'd told me to freshen up and get dressed.Dressed. Dressed in what?

Before I could ask him the question, he turned and left.

Now, I cross the floor to the closet in the corner and throw it open. My breath whooshes out. Whoa! There’s a full-length white dress on a hanger, complete with silver stilettos, and a hat box on the floor next to it. I reach for the hat box, lift it up, and open it to find a veil. I place the hat box on the bed, then take the hanger with the white dress, and walking over to the mirror, hold it up in front of me. It’s a simple design. Sleeveless, then cut so it falls in a straight line to my toes. It seems shapeless, but the material is so light, it feels like I’m holding a cloud in my arms.

How did he have time to arrange all of this? Did he know we were coming here today? Did he plan all of this in advance? Was he so sure I’d leave with him? What if I’d said no? The questions swirling in my head almost cause me to hyperventilate again.

Instead, I lay the dress out on the bed and walk toward the bathroom. A quick shower later, I wrap the towel around myself and walk out. Then freeze. There on the bed, next to the dress, is a matching bra and panties set. It’s brand-new, judging by the folds in the fabric, and clearly, my size. I glance around the room, then back at the lingerie. It feels as soft as butterfly wings. I shrug into the under clothes, then survey myself in the mirror.

The panties are simple white silk and cut high on the hips. The bra cups my breasts and lifts them, with the lace straps giving them a faintly S&M feel. What? Of course, I know about S&M. I’ve read about it. And I confess, I readFifty Shades of Grey, in between the pages of my university text books. How else could you read it?

Did he choose this himself? Did he run his fingers over the undergarments before setting them down?

I step into the dress. It drapes over my shoulders, clings to my bust line, nips in at the waist, then flows to my feet. It’s simple, elegant, and understated, except for the bodice, which has beads sewn into it. I turn this way and that, and the light from the spotlight in the ceiling bounces off the lattice work.

It’s so beautiful; so perfect. How could he have guessed my style? More importantly, how did he guess my size? And have this stitched and delivered so quickly? I hold my hair away from my face, when there’s a knock on the door. A woman pops her head around the door.

I blink. "Penny?" I yell. "Penny!" I pivot around, and in two strides, I meet her halfway across the floor. "What are you doing here?" I fling my arms open, but she holds her palms up, face forward.

"You look beautiful, and I don’t want to spoil your wedding dress."

"You won’t!" I throw my arms around her and hug her, and that tight sensation around my chest eases. How had he known I’d want to see a familiar face? I hadn’t realized it myself until just now, seeing Penny.

"I’m not alone," she whispers.

"Wait, what?"

Another woman walks through the doorway.

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