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As his eyes flicker with what feels like madness, I’m not certain he’ll stop if I ask. I need to know. I can’t afford to be broken—more broken. Not now.
I swallow hard. “Red.” The word emerges loud and unequivocal, and I wait on tenterhooks, to see what he does.
He unfurls his hand in slow motion, releasing the grip on my hair, and steps back. His brow is furrowed. “Talk to me,” he whispers.
I stagger back and blow out a breath caught in my chest, blinking away a tear or two.He stopped.“I know I’m not supposed to—that I agreed not to use the word unless my mind started to go somewhere that was too scary.”
“Did it?” he asks, studying me carefully.
“No. But you seemed—possessed.” I press my lips together. “I don’t know a better way to describe it. I wasn’t sure if you were in control of what was happening. Or if you’d stop.”
“Were you afraid, or were you testing me?” His expression is neutral, as though it doesn’t matter what I say, as long as it’s honest.
I wasn’t actually afraid—not at that moment. “I was testing you.”
He nods. “It’s fair,” he says, cradling my jaw. “You’re inexperienced. And I’m a ruthless bastard who wants to ruin you with every fiber of my being. I am possessed. You do that to me,” he adds, in a whisper.
The world stops as Antonio peers into my eyes, rifling through the private layers of turmoil and grief, mourning my lost innocence. I don’t cower or lower my gaze as he rummages. I peer right back, straight into his soul, searching for the light I know is there.I’ve seen it.A protective beacon, an unmovable force.
The man is danger personified. There’s no denying it. Yet, when I’m with him, I feel safe. Maybe safer than I’ve ever felt. He won’t destroy me.Not intentionally. He’s already proved that.
“But you need to know,” he continues, as though the world is still turning, “the power of the safeword is diminished when you abuse it. Don’t throw it around carelessly.”
“I—”
He holds a finger to my lips to shush me. “You didn’t abuse it. But I want you to understand how it works. I trust you to use the safeword before you’re traumatized, and you trust me to stop when you use the safeword. It’s a trust that goes both ways. It has to. Otherwise, it doesn’t work.”
Trust. Is that what we’re building? Something that firmly roots, and is unshakeable even during a virulent storm? Like my parents had. Or is it the kind of trust reserved only for playtime? The kind that evaporates as soon as the orgasmic glow fades?
“Do you always use safewords?” I ask, looking for answers to satisfy my heart—or maybe to strengthen the fortress that protects it.Am I the only one?That’s the question I really want to ask, but I’m not sure I’m prepared for his answer. So I dance around it, probing at the edges, where I can back off at the first sign of heartache.
“Always?” He shakes his head. “No. But I have. Although not normally outside of a club.”
“A club?”
“That’s a discussion for another time,Princesa. Right now, I want you on that bed, on your back. Legs spread nice and wide for me, so I can see your pretty little cunt.”
His eyes are flaring, daring me to defy him. And I don’t. But first, I cross the room and lock the door.
17
DANIELA
“Close your eyes,” he instructs in that buttery voice that’s deceptively calming. “Raise your arms above your head. Just like that,Princesa,” he murmurs. “Keep them right there, or I’ll bind you to the bed.”
The thought of being bound to the bed is at once frightening and exhilarating, making my pussy clench in response to the warning.
I don’t hear him leave, but I hear sounds coming from the bathroom. The creak of a cabinet door, and some rustling. I don’t hear him return, either, and I flinch when I feel his warm breath on my belly. Then his lips.
His tongue traces the waistband of my panties, before moving to the lace that encircles my legs. With the utmost patience, he pulls aside the gusset, and licks the exposed flesh. I ball my hands into tight fists, above my head, and gasp, fighting to keep my legs open. Struggling not to wriggle as every slash of his tongue sends a new zing of pleasure.
It’s becoming more difficult by the second to keep my legs spread as he enjoys me. They begin inching together, trembling in a slow slide.
Antonio doesn’t issue a single warning, and he doesn’t say a word before his hand comes down on my inner thigh. I hear theslap, even before I feel the sting that makes my back arch off the mattress.
“Keep still,” he growls.
I’m trying, but you’re making it so hard.
