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I practically am. This man is incredibly dangerous and he’s shown me that, time and time again, but I’m willing to risk the danger. If it means getting closer to escaping, if it means getting this stupid urge to have him out of my body so that I can finally think clearly and not like a hormonal teenager.
“What do you want, Lori?” He growls, an animal in the wild.
I hesitate, swallowing the lump of nerves in my throat as I look at him. It’s now or never. This may be the only time that I have him while his wall is partially down. I have to take this chance before I don’t have any chances left.
“You. I want you to be my first,” I say, the words leaving my mouth on a gasp.
* * *
Marco
Her little breathless whisper has my cock hardening to granite, not to mention the soft, feminine grip that she has on my arms. I look into her wide hazel eyes. They are brighter today, almost green as they gaze back at me with genuine curiosity and blatant fucking desire. Her breasts are nearly falling out of the large tank top that she’s wearing, her nipples hard like strawberry diamonds. It takes every bit of restraint that I have in my body not to lean forward and lick them.
I want you to be my first.
Of course, she’s a fucking virgin. She’s a pure, untouched woman and for some sadistic reason, she wants me to be the one to defile her. She wants the monster to take away her innocence and replace it with greed. Because that is exactly what would happen if I took her. I would be a greedy, unforgiving bastard and there would be nothing she could do to stop that. Just like she can’t do anything to stop me now.
I grab her by the throat and push her back onto the bed, her legs trapped between my knees. She looks frightened for a moment, until my free hand yanks down the rest of her tank top, exposing her luscious breasts as the beast within me growls loudly. It is then, that an overwhelming lust fills her eyes and heats her skin with the most delicious blush, making the beast inside of me roar wildly before I descend and capture her mouth in an all-consuming kiss.
I bite at her lips and groan when she arches her back, my hand still wrapped around her throat. I move my hand from her torso and pin her hands above her head, biting at her ear before I swirl my tongue around it, the sweetest groan tearing from her throat and vibrating against my palm. She starts to writhe beneath me, greedy in her own way as I go back to her mouth and suck at her tongue. She takes everything that I have to give and she takes it with excitement, sweet little whimpers sounding throughout the room as I devour her like the monster that I am.
Her words from before filling me, her admissions and stories of her life. The entire time I wanted to stop her, to silence her with my hand before I tie her back up and leave her to herself, but I couldn’t. For some strange, alarming reason, I wanted her to continue. I wanted to know more and that... that is the most dangerous thing that I’ve come across in quite some time. Wanting to know more about the enemy’s daughter is more dangerous than any thug and gun combined. It’s almost a damnation to hell itself.
And as I kiss this woman, as I lick and suck and bite at her swollen mouth, I can’t help but wonder if there's a motive behind this. If she’s trying to trick me, to soften me into thinking that maybe she’s worthy of release. Like maybe she’s sacrificing herself for her family. I mean, she’s a Saracino after all. She bears the blood of the most cold, evil man in existence. She bears the blood of the man that killed my father. The man that has caused this rage inside of me to swell for a decade.
That simple reminder has me pulling away from her. I keep her pinned by the throat and use my other hand to release her wrists, wiping her kiss away from my mouth as I stare down at her in fury.
“Marco, what are you doing? Why’d you stop—”
I slap my hand over her mouth in an instant, the sound echoing across the room as she stares at me with wide, alarmed eyes.
“That’s enough. You’ve had your fun,” I bark, grabbing the rope from the bed before I tie her back to the headboard.
I get up from the mattress, cursing as I run my fingers through my hair. I don’t turn around when I speak to her. I find that I can’t even look at her now. She’s a liar, just like her father.
“You think you’re smart, don’t you, Lori? You think you can seduce me into releasing you? Into saving your sorry excuse of a family from their fate?” I hiss and when she doesn’t respond, it confirms that I was right after all.
She doesn’t want me. She just wants to escape.
“Well, princess. I hate to break it to you,” I say, turning to look into her tear-filled eyes before I leave the room.
“You just finalized your own death sentence, as well as theirs,” I spit out, turning and walking out of the room before I slam the door, her cries sounding behind it.
CHAPTERNINE
Lori
I cry for what feels like an eternity, my eyes now swollen and achy. I try to move my arms, but my tied wrists are losing sensation again, and my joints are in agony. I can’t wipe my face. I probably look like the biggest, most vulnerable mess, but at this point I really couldn’t care less. My heart weighs heavy in my chest and all I want to do is scream. I want to verbally attack Marco, to lash out at him for treating me the way that he has been. My fists ball and clench against the headboard, the need for violence surging through me. I have never felt like this before in my life. I am usually a passive, sweet girl. I never have had anger fill me to the point of creating rage... violent rage.
But this is what Marco does. He builds me up high with pleasure that I crave and then tears me down with his words and violence. He strips me bare and watches me suffer, all with a smile on his face. Once again, I’m laying here feeling like a fool, feeling like an imposter for trying to seduce a man who only wants to harm me. A man who only wants me to suffer. A man that I should hate, but somehow can’t because all I want is to feel his skin on mine. I want his lips all over my body, his hands to roam every bit of flesh that I have while I whisper his name into his ear. I want to wrap my legs around his waist, run my fingers down his back and beg him like the sorry excuse of a woman that I am. I want to beg him to take that special part of me that I’ve been saving for my future prince. How twisted is that? A victim pining for her abuser. I’m the perfect case for some of the top therapists in the world, I’m sure.
I sigh and shift my restless, sore body, staring at the door as my heart thumps and begs for him to come back. I want him to walk in here so that I can tell him the truth. While a small part of me hoped that I could crack his hard exterior and unveil a softer, more compassionate side to him, a bigger part just wanted to feel him. I just wanted to know what it’s like to make love to someone, to share the most intimate part of myself with a man that my mind can’t stop thinking of. I want him to come back here and tell me that he was wrong, that he was sorry and all he too can think of is making love to me. But alas, that is an ideal world and at this point in my life, I now know that my world is anything but ideal. It’s nothing but wishful thinking.
Time passes and as my eyes begin to droop with exhaustion, the door opens. Mariella walks in, her presence immediately warming me, but I don't smile this timebecause my heart is sore and beaten down. No instead, I cry. I cry like a baby and she rushes over to me, wiping the tears from my face before she unties my hands and pulls me into her arms. She rocks me quietly, her warm hands rubbing comfortable circles against my back as I weep softly into her shoulder, letting it all out. I’ve never had a mother, she died when I was very young. All I’ve had is my father and my brothers and while I have always loved their comfort, they did not provide me with the maternal feeling that I’ve always craved. Mariella gives that to me now and then some. She kisses my hair and strokes my skin, rocks me until I’m all cried out. When the tears subside, she goes to the bathroom and wets a washcloth for me, sitting on the bed and wiping my face with care as she shushes me into silence, caring for me in a way that I have always longed for. When she’s done cleaning me and time has seemed to stretch, she finally speaks.
“Would you like to talk about it, child?” she asks softly, her accent thick and gentle sounding.
I shake my head, unsure of what even to say. How can I tell the woman, the mother of my sworn enemy, that I lust for her son? That I long for the man that has held me captive and tortured me? What kind of woman would that make me?
