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The idea and his touch cause my body to go to war with itself. Fear and adrenaline unite, wrapping around my spine. At the same time, dampness creeps between my thighs.
He continues, breath hot on my skin. “You’re going to turn around and run home. We’ll follow you in our car to be sure you get home safely. And don’t let me find you out here again.” His hand moves from my breast, slowly palming my belly, my hip.
He turns me slightly and snakes his arm around my waist, grabbing half my ass in his hand. A gasp, sharp and shocked, comes from me as he clutches my curves, the tips of his fingers pressing into my crack, one wandering middle finger pressing hard against my rear entrance.
This stranger has his finger pressing into my asshole…
His intrusion makes me shoot up on the balls of my feet, my fingers clutching at the forearm of the hand that holds my neck. His touch becomes more aggressive, his finger pushing harder through the spandex of my shorts.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
His words tear me from my cloud of shock. “I don’t ever want you on this road alone again. Do you understand?” His finger pushes harder through my clothing. The unspoken threat of where he’d punish me if he found me out here again hangs between us in the air, heavy and cold as a block of ice.
His fingers tighten around my nipple till I squeal. “If you understand, say ‘yes, sir.’”
Should I try to kick him, stomp on his foot, run away? I look to the SUV. The door in the back is open. He has a driver, so at least one other man is with him.
What can I do other than obey?
I force the shameful words from my mouth. “Yes, sir.”
He gives another groan like when my ass rubbed against him. He likes that. When I call him sir, when I obey.
“Now run home to daddy and tell him what you’ve done.”
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Felicity
I’ve dreamedof my wedding day since I was a little girl. I knew I would wear a white dress with longs sleeves and a full skirt. I would dance with my father to his favorite song,Figlia Mia: My Daughter,and I would carry a bouquet of deep red roses.
And my groom—my prince charming, my knight in shining armor—I didn’t know who he would be, but I knewwhathe would be. A warm, funny man with a crooked smile and an easy laugh. One that would hold me tight, kiss my forehead, shower me with his love.
A kind man. A gentle man.
Now, as strangers surround me, preparing me for what should be the happiest day of my life, I find myself swallowing back bitter tears. I watch them in the mirror as they curl my dark hair, blush my cheeks, and pin my veil into place, smiling and laughing with one another as they work.
After all, a wedding in the family is a joyous occasion.
I take in my reflection. Other than the flashing terror behind my hazel eyes, I’m the picture perfect bride. They’ve thought of everything, no detail has been overlooked.
He’sthought of everything.
My keeper, my dark king. And by the end of this day, my husband.
I will be his.
His will be done.
The youngest member of his staff, seventeen year old Esme, hovers at my side. She’s eight years my junior, impulsive and flighty, but there’s a deep wisdom that resides within her. With her light hair and contrasting dark eyes, they call herperla neara, the black pearl. She longs to please, to prove her place in the ranks. She can read this unhappiness in my face and she fears she’s the one who’s put it there.
Placing a birdlike, fluttering hand on my shoulder, she says, “Miss Felicity? Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Catching her worried eyes in the mirror, I try to reassure her with a smile. It comes out forced and tight. My voice breaks as I speak. “No, my darling. You’ve done everything perfectly. Thank you.”
Her face etched with concern, she gives me a timid nod. I’ve noticed she can be a bit distracted and seems somewhat boy crazy, but now, sensing my need to be alone, she gathers the other women, shooing them out the door. For someone so young, she’s extremely perceptive and helpful.
