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CALLIOPE
Five days. That’s how long I’ve been locked up in this mansion. Made to eat all of my meals with Raniero and listen to him wax poetically about the life we’re going to lead after we’re married. I go between anger and hope; torn between excitement and fear.
If Raniero allowed me to roam freely, perhaps I’d have more time to get to know him. But Sampson drops by my room every few hours to check on me and he’s evasive when I ask for his boss.WouldI have more time to get to know Raniero? Or is he leaving during the hours that he’s not with me?
Our time spent together is strained. He refuses to take back the collar he placed around my neck and threatened me if I removed it. The leather is soft against my skin, but what it represents makes my stomach churn.
I only take it off to shower and in those few minutes, I feel like myself again. With the waterfall showerhead bathing me in freedom, I close my eyes and pretend I’m anywhere except this ornate, comfortable prison.
The little voice in my head is constantly reminding me that this is better than the streets. The fact that I can control the air conditioning is better than roasting alive under the Kansas sun while humidity sucks every drop of hydration from my body. But the little voice goes suspiciously dormant when I ask how I’m supposed to enjoy my surroundings when they’re also the walls keeping me captive.
If I’m being honest, and I’m only honest with myself in the middle of the night when the little voice is asleep, this isn’t that bad. Raniero feeds me and takes care of me. Like the dog that I am to him, he walks me every day. The thin, strappy leash that he keeps wrapped around his fist has become the stuff of my nightmares. Once, just a couple of days before, we walked the grounds during sunset and he held me while we stood in front of the garden.
I could almost forget that he pulled a gun on me and forced me into his car. I could almost forget that first night that he made me crawl on my hands and knees and sit by his side like a begging puppy. I could almost forget the taste of his spunk on my tongue when he came in my mouth.
Almost.
With his strong arms wrapped around my waist, I almost felt safe. Until he slapped the thin leather leash against the palm of his hand and chuckled in my ear. “I wonder if it would make the same sound on your ass.”
A shiver raced down my spine and a lump formed in my throat. He wanted to hit me. He wanted to hurt me. He wanted to—
“Pain can be pleasurable,” he added a few seconds later as if he could read my thoughts. “In fact, if done right, you can even orgasm from it.”
I wiggled out of his grasp and almost fell into the fountain. As I was twisting and turning trying to escape from his sensual whispers, the back of my leg buckled against the concrete bench that encircled the fountain. I flailed backward until Raniero’s grip on the leash tugged me forward into his arms.
Trapped once more, heart racing, I looked up at him. “Come, little dove,” he smirked, “let’s go to bed.”
I was afraid of what he meant by those words. Every step we took back toward his ostentatious mansion filled me with dread. Was he going to touch me when we got back to my room? Was he going to strip me down and force me to my knees again? And why was the little voice in my head suddenly cheering him on?
But all Raniero did was press his lips to mine before locking me in my cozy prison cell. “You’ll come to crave me one day, like water on a hot day. And I’ll always be around to quench your thirst.”
Today my lunch was served to me by Sampson. I readied myself to go downstairs to eat with Raniero, but I was met by his bodyguard at our usual dining time. “A summer salad, miss.” He brings the tray into my room and sets it down on the desk near the door. “And a delicious butternut squash soup.” He leaves without telling me why I’m eating alone.
The cook, Grace, asked me a few nights ago what my dining preferences were. I looked at Raniero as if silently asking for permission to answer her. He nodded his head with a benevolent smile and I told her what I knew. No, I’d never had seafood. Yes, I loved sweets. I had no allergies. I was willing to try anything once. I hated mayonnaise.
The salad she made for me today looks divine. There are bits of grilled chicken, strawberries, blueberries, and pecans doled out among the lettuce. A delicious poppy seed dressing with just a hint of sweetness coats everything. It’s simple and fresh and it tastes amazing.
The butternut squash soup is just as good. Toward the end of the bowl, I find myself picking it up and clanking my spoon against the ceramic to get out every last drop. The tray came with a snack size amount of buttery crackers, but I store them in my closet pantry for later, too stuffed to eat them now.
I waste the rest of the afternoon. Right after lunch, I take an hour-long nap. When Raniero still hasn’t arrived, I retire to the bathroom where I fill the tub with bubbles and sink down to my nose. You could say that I’m pampered here, but I am still a captive.
Once I feel clean and can’t stand the heat of the bath any longer, I dry off and plant myself on the window ledge with a book. A few minutes pass and the pages practically turn themselves as I’m pulled into a world of politics, lust, and intrigue. Then the door opens and I’m jarred from my place.
After missing lunch and leaving me to spend the afternoon entertaining myself, Raniero stands in the door frame with just a pair of jeans hanging around his hips. “Just what a man wants to come home to,” he says with a lascivious grin.
I try to tear my eyes off his body but it’s hopeless. What he’s done doesn’t matter when he looks like that. A patch of sparse curls on his chest, somehow emphasizing the muscles beneath. Hard, shapely abs line his stomach. There’s a prominent freckle above his right hip bone that begs me to run my fingers across it. “Raniero,” I try to say his name confidently, but it comes out in a half-stuttered mess.
He steps through the door and shoves it closed behind him. The wood makes a cracking sound beneath the weight. “Calliope,” he mimics, his voice sounding more at ease than mine.
I dog-ear the page of the book I’m on and set it in front of me on the windowsill. “Did you have a good lunch?” I could tell him about my day, but what’s there to say? Since I saw him at breakfast, I’ve done precious little.
Raniero doesn’t answer me. Instead, he crosses the room until he’s standing next to me. He stares down at me with his dark, forbidden gaze and waits for me to look up at him. He’s quiet and it makes my heart pound in my chest.
When I finally gather the courage to look up at him, he licks his bottom lip. Then Raniero puts his hand out to me and I know that I have no choice but to take it. “That’s a good girl,” he praises as he pulls me to my feet. “Do you know that I can smell your arousal?” He takes me in his arms. “There’s a trickle of sweat between your breasts that tells me you’re afraid of what that means, but don’t be alarmed, little dove. I only mean to make you feel very,verygood.”
I open my mouth to protest and he cuts me off with a kiss. I’m taken aback as he forces his tongue into my mouth. He explores me in the most intimate way and it leaves me breathless.
Raniero’s hands chart a new course over my curves. He drags his fingers over a sensitive patch of skin near my hip and it causes me to shudder. All the while, he keeps me trapped between his body and the windowsill. There is nowhere for me to go; I am forced to submit to his desires.
