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I secured a leather cuff around her trapped ankle, then grabbed the spreader bar. The cuff was attached to one end of the bar, and now that I had her secured, I could move her where I wished. I lowered her bound foot to the tiles, pushing her legs wider apart. The second cuff was around her other anklewithin seconds, forcing her to remain open for me. Completely vulnerable to anything I wanted to do to her.
I skimmed my hands up to the backs of her knees, my fingertips teasing into her inner thighs. She whined and writhed, making music with the chains. I stared up at her from where I knelt between her feet, a position of supplication where in reality, I held all the power.
Her lovely eyes glittered, and her chin quivered before she quickly bit her lower lip.
So, my pretty wife didn’t want to cry for me.
That wasn’t her decision to make. I wanted her tears. I wanted her to come completely undone and cling to me—the only person who could put her back together again once she shattered.
I leaned forward and ghosted a kiss over her clit, feeling the tight bud through the barely-there panties I’d bought for her. She gasped and tried to rock her hips away from me, but she had nowhere to go. Reveling in her helplessness, I tongued her clit, teasing her. A ragged scream tore through the room, a sound of pure frustration and rage.
It went straight to my head, and I laughed as pleasure swept through me. My cock stiffened, but that desire was secondary to my craving for her submission. I could take her body when she was truly mine, once she gave herself to me fully and eagerly. Until then, I would find my own twisted release in tormenting her, dominating her.
“Stop,” she groaned, jerking against her bonds but unable to move away from my mouth.
I pressed one final kiss to her cunt and relented. There would be time to make her come later.
“You haven’t earned an orgasm yet,” I told her, getting to my feet.
Her eyes burned into mine. “I don’t want an orgasm, you sick bastard. I want you to let me go.”
“I’m not nearly finished with you, pet.” I patted her cheek, and she snapped at my fingers as I quickly pulled them out of range.
I grinned. She was delightful.
And she was all mine. This wouldn’t end until she admitted that absolute truth.
Chapter 16
Nora
Ahumiliating sound like a whimper escaped my clamped lips when Dante ripped away the lace robe that provided me with a scrap of modesty. He tore the delicate material with swift jerks of his big fists, stripping me with brutal efficiency. When the remnants of the robe fell away, he made quick work of destroying the lewd panties he’d forced me to wear for him.
I wanted to rail at him for being a sick, twisted bastard, but beneath my incandescent ire, I was terrified. Dante was unlike any man I’d ever encountered before. He was tormenting me, but this wasn’t a punishment. Not like when he’d bent me over the dining table and swatted me with the newspaper. Not like how Luca had spanked me when he’d first kidnapped me. Not even like when my father’s guards had slapped me when I stepped out of line.
Those were all consequences for my actions. Justified or not, there was a clear reason for my suffering in those instances.
I had no frame of reference for whatever game Dante was playing with me now, and that scared me even more viscerally than his pursuit through the woods. I’d thought I had a chanceof escaping him then. Now, I was bound and naked, completely at his mercy.
But he had none. I’d been right when I’d said he wasn’t capable of it. Looking into his glittering green eyes, all I saw was selfish desire and twisted triumph.
He liked my fear and my pain. This was what Luca had meant when he’d warned me that Dante was a sadist.
Luca.I longed for my husband to come and save me from this monster. It’d been nearly twenty-four hours since Dante had taken me from my father’s house. Surely, Luca would come for me soon.
But not soon enough. Not before Dante made me suffer for his pleasure.
Satisfied at my nakedness, he stepped away and crossed the room, approaching the horrific wall of torture implements. He tapped one long finger against his chin, rubbing it over the stubble that darkened his sharp jaw. Even in profile, he was heartbreakingly beautiful, a fallen angel with those high cheekbones and dark curls: the Devil himself.
He cocked his head, then reached for a whip with dozens of long, thick leather falls. I shuddered as he grasped the handle with something like reverence, his elegant fingers trailing over the polished wood. He turned his wrist, testing the weight and balance of the flogger. With a short, satisfied hum, he turned back to me.
Fear gripped my muscles tight, and the chains jangled as I twisted against my restraints. His full lips spread in a slow smile as he approached me, those vibrant eyes sparkling with anticipation.
“Please,” I begged, my rage smothered by terror. “You don’t have to hurt me.”
He touched the whip beneath my chin, lifting my face to his where he towered over my much smaller frame. “Oh, little bird.I know I don’t have to. Iwantto hurt you. And you scream so beautifully.” He leaned in close, brushing his cheek along mine so that he could whisper in my ear like a lover. “If you just let go and embrace the pain, I’ll help you fly.”
“I don’t want to be in pain,” I whispered back, my throat too tight to speak more assertively. “Please, Dante, I—”
