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“Riley, I…” I have no words. She wouldn’t understand the darkness of my world or the threat of the people in it, and I’m not ready to tell her the real reason I told Samuele that she was my whore. I’m not even ready to admit that to myself yet.
“Raphael, I want to leave,” she repeats, keeping her jaw tight and her eyes focused forward. Just her thinking she has the right to speak to me like that makes my cock restless and my palm twitchy.
“We just got here. I can’t leave yet.” I take her wrist in my hand and press my fingers deep into her skin. I hope they bruise. She needs a reminder that her lack of respect won’t be tolerated.
“There are still people I need to speak to before I can leave,” I whisper harshly.
“Then go speak to your people, but if it’s okay with you, this whore would prefer to wait in the car.” She stands up and somehow tugs herself free from me. She doesn’t even make a step clear of me before I rip her back, twisting her body and wrapping my arms tight around her waist. I hold her firm, pinning her head to my chest with my chin.
She struggles against me, but she’s not strong enough to create a scene, and the position I’m holding her in looks much more like an embrace than a restrictive hold.
“You do as I say, Riley. I didn’t bring you here to sit in the car.”
“Then why did you bring me here?” She uses all her strength to shove me in the chest and pull her head back up. “To humiliate me, to treat me like a whore in front of your friends?” Her hurt-filled eyes sink right into the cavity of my chest.
There’s only one version of me. I’ve never attempted to be a good man, and I have no idea how to deal with the feelings that Riley puts inside me.
But I do know how to break a woman’s spirit, and every time she opens her damn mouth, she pushes me closer to crushing hers.
“I brought you here because I thought it would be nice for you to leave the house,” I hiss through my teeth. She’ll get no more weakness out of me.
“Well, do me a favor, Raphael Verretti…” She says my name in such a condescending voice that I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from sinking my teeth into her. “Never do anything nice for me again.” She struggles to move away, but I refuse to let go, keeping her stomach pressed into mine.
“You know what…” The sadness in her eyes quickly singes to hate. “I think I preferred you when you were raping my throat,” she tells me bitterly.
Her words spark something animalistic inside me, and it causes me to grasp that delicate little throat in the arch of my hand and use it to throw her back onto the couch. I don’t even give a shit if anyone sees as I lean my body over hers.
Finally, I see it. That fear I’ve been wondering if she possesses. Her body cowers beneath mine, and her pretty eyes blink nervously. Strangely, I get no pleasure out of seeing her like it, but I’m not about to let her know that.
“I should beat you black and blue for that accusation,” I speak to her through my teeth. “You forget that you asked for my cock in your mouth, Riley. What I gave you was nothing that you didn’t beg for.” I curl my lip at her, furious that she’d suggest I forced anything on her.
“Now, are you going to be a good little girl and do as I tell you, or do I have to drag you back into that hall, rip this dress from your body and fuck you in the other hole you begged me to take, in front of everyone here?”
The hateful look and her silence are all the answers I need, and I tap my fingers against her cheek before I stand up and find some composure. Riley, looking a little shaken, eventually rises to her feet and pushes her dress down her legs to hide the tops of her thighs.
On the inside, I’m feeling like a cunt, but on the outside, I show her no emotion. I take her hand in mine and lead her back toward the party, where I’ll parade her like a pretty little doll. One that’s to be seen and not heard.
Riley plays the role perfectly. I’ve scared her enough to make sure of it, and I can only think of one time in my life when I’ve ever felt worse than I do right now.
It’s official. I hate Raphael Verretti.
I smile sweetly beside him as he charms the people in the room. He doesn’t even show me the courtesy of an introduction when he talks among his friends and colleagues, which is rude but better than being presented as a whore.
I don’t know at what point I let myself believe that whatever this is, was becoming something. I was kidnapped by a pedophile and gifted like a toy. Rafe had made me feel cared for, and now I just feel foolish and degraded.
Despite all my hate for him, I do as I’m told, staying quiet until Rafe decides he’s had enough and it’s time for us to leave. Ricardo smirks at me as he opens the car door for us. It’s the same cocky smirk he’d given me when Raphael called me a whore in front of his friend. I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction as I duck my head into the car and sit in silence.
The journey back to the house seems so much longer than it did on the way to the party, and I sit as far away from Rafe as I can get. It’s hard to believe that the last time we were sharing this space, I was on my knees in front of him, watching him pleasure himself. The son of a bitch had been right about something, I’ve been able to taste him in my mouth and the back of my throat for the entire party, even after the two glasses of champagne he so generously permitted me.
Rafe makes no attempt to speak to me, and the atmosphere between us is so tense the air feels stuffy. I stare at his hand through the reflection of the car window, recalling the way it had touched me before we were interrupted. It felt every bit as good as I’d imagined it would. I just wish I could stop craving it again.
He pulls out his phone when it vibrates, and I watch him smirk as he looks at the screen. I wonder if it’s the woman whose party we’ve just left. She blatantly wants to fuck him, that’s if he hasn’t had her already.
He quickly fires a text back to whoever it is, making a quick glance at me before sliding the phone back into the inside pocket of his tux.
When we arrive at the house, Raphael opens the car door to get out, and I refuse the hand he offers me. He shrugs as if he’s not bothered and heads inside, but I don’t follow him. Instead, I march around the side of the house and toward the lake. I need fresh air and space to get my head around the actual situation I’m in because tonight has proved I can’t even trust my own instincts.
If I’m Raphael’s whore, why hasn’t he fucked me? Why does it feel like he’s constantly holding back with me? When we were living on the streets, Liam would pull magazines out of people’s trash for me to read. The problem pages were always my favorite. I’d laugh at what some people considered a problem while I was starving and sleeping in the cold. But through those pages, I’d learned that a man’s cock can fuck a lot more than a woman’s pussy. That it can make women feel things that aren’t there and make them obsessive.
