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As soon as Dom left, I could breathe again. The minute the door closed, I sank back against the marble wall of the shower and let the breath I was holding out in a sigh of relief.
What was I thinking back there?
I wanted him so badly I was prepared to step away from my principles and let him control me. Own me and dominate me. My mind is fucked because I don’t recognize myself anymore.
Since I arrived, this is the first moment I’ve had to catch a breath and take stock of my situation and as I step from the shower and wrap myself in a large fluffy towel, I sit on the bench and consider my options and arrive at only one conclusion.
I need to escape, and fast but how? This place is a fortress. I’ve lived in one most of my life and know how it works. I will only leave if he says so, and from the look in his eyes when he casts them over me, I’m going nowhere.
He wants Diana, not me, and I must keep reminding myself of that. However, when he gazes at me with a lazy, lustful intent, it’s hard to remember that. When his rough fingers drag across my skin and his loaded gaze falls on me, I push away the knowledge it’s another woman he sees.
How can I want a man like that? Where is my self-respect? Now he is away from me, the fog clears and reminds me how serious this situation is. The man I came here with is dead—murdered after being publicly escorted from the premises and sent home in disgrace. A home he never made it back to.
Then I was forced into committing a serious crime, hell fraud and stealing my own sister’s millions from under her nose. In less than twenty-four hours I have sunk as low as a person can and loved every second of it. It excites me. The danger, the thrill and the adrenalin rush, and I want more. More of this life and more of him. The man who encouraged me to step outside my comfort zone and fly.
As I glance at the bathroom door leading into the bedroom, I picture him sitting there waiting for me. Is this it? Will he expect me to open my legs and allow him inside? Is he about to drive the final nail into my coffin and ruin me forever?
For some inexplicable reason, I hope I’m right and with a sigh, I step across to the mirror and regard the conflicted woman staring back at me. I am fucked whatever happens, so I suppose I may as well have some fun along the way. Ironic really to think of this as fun when it really is the opposite of that. I am being held here as a cruel man’s prisoner and I should be fucking terrified.
With a deep sigh, I reach for a toothbrush in the cupboard behind the mirror and clean my teeth, loving the freshness that lingers in my mouth as I anticipate the next step.
As I finish up and take a deep breath, I head for the door, clutching the towel as a flimsy defense against a man who I know could eat me alive.
However, as I step through the door, I immediately note the room is empty and I’m not sure if it’s relief or disappointment that I’m experiencing now.
As I glance around, I wonder if he’s lurking somewhere in the shadows, watching me, preparing to pounce when I least expect it. However, on further investigation I can tell I’m alone and I should be happy about that but strangely, I’m not. Where is he?
I’m uncertain what to do now and just perch on the edge of the bed and figure out my choices. It doesn’t take me long to realize I have none and so, with a sigh, I stand and head to the other door in the room that I believe leads to his closet.
As I walk inside, the scent of leather and sandalwood hits me and I take a deep breath. It smells like him. Strong, powerful and sexy; all the qualities I should turn away from and head toward kindness, respectability and ordinary.
I already know I’m screwed when that thought terrifies me and as I filter through his shirts, I love the soft fabric, imagining it caressing my naked body.
The towel drops as I give into temptation and as the folds of the material close around my body, I picture the man himself in its place. How I long to experience what it would be like with him. Domenico Ortega. Possibly the sexiest man I have ever laid eyes on, but definitely not the most frightening one. No, that honor is reserved for Mario Bachini, the most abhorrent human being on the planet and so rather than test the door to freedom, I reapply my chains and wait for the man who holds the key.
Footsteps head toward the door and I begin to shake. My head throbs with pressure as I lie naked on the bed that consists of only a silk covered mattress. Panic surrounds me; swirls around me like an avenging angel as I consider my position. Why are they doing this—to me?
The footsteps stop outside the door and my throat dries. I can’t even swallow in case I choke on the bile that’s never far away. I shiver as the breeze from the fan above my head chases the heat of oppression away and, if anything, I hope it will be quick and there are no others to take his place.
The door edges open and a low laugh makes my skin crawl.
“Well, what do we have here?”
The accent is a slow drawl, Texan perhaps. I’ve heard them all this past year and I wonder why I’m so interested.
I remain still and focus on the fan spinning around, just like the nerves inside my body.
I hear a belt ripped from pants and the heavy breathing of a man who is intent on only one thing. Me.
The sound of fabric hitting the floor and a zipper unfastening. That’s what I focus on to drive away the fear that threatens to end my life in a heart attack.
“Good girl.” The slightly slurred drawl of a man who is about to ruin me makes my skin crawl and my heart begins to thump as if it’s attempting to run from the situation. I’m no stranger to this, hell I wish I was, but every time it happens, the fear only gets more intense.
The man stands at the foot of the bed, and I try not to look. It’s easier that way and as he grips my ankles and pulls my legs wider, I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, trying to retreat to the happy place in my mind. Sad to know that happy place is a mafia mansion surrounded by men disguised by shade. At least I was safe there, or so I believed.
“Perfect.” His excited whisper makes my skin crawl and as the bed dips, I pray this won’t take long. It doesn’t.
He wastes no time in enjoying what he paid for. Ripping through my body with no regard for my comfort. The bed banging against the wall as he destroys what is left of my soul.
