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“Kitten, I plan to torture you with pleasure,” he says, a devious smirk playing on his lips.
“What?” The word escapes my lips, a mix of disbelief and anticipation.
“Oh, I think you heard me,” he retorts, the intensity in his eyes undeniable.
I heard him loud and clear. “You aren’t going to kill me?” I blink at him, confusion rushing through me until a flurry of emotions bubbles at the surface.
Desmond’s gaze softens slightly, and he brushes his thumb over my cheek. “No, kitten. I’m not going to kill you, but I will make you question everything you’ve ever known.”
The conflicting emotions inside me are a whirlpool threatening to pull me under. Fear, arousal, confusion, and curiosity wrestle for dominance. This is a game I never signed up for, a realm of darkness that I never anticipated being a part of, but here I am, caught in the web of this man’s secrets, my own secrets unraveling at his touch.
“Desmond, I—”
“Shh,” he interrupts, leaning in close. “No more words. Let me show you what pleasure can truly be.”
The room seems to shrink as he steps closer, and I’m left with no choice but to face the twisted dance that awaits. I brace myself for the storm, for the unknown, as the darkness of this dungeon consumes us both.
“I would never hurt you,” he whispers, the intensity in his gaze unwavering. He leans in to kiss me, a fleeting touch of his lips against mine, before he pulls away, leaving me wanting more. “But we do need to talk.”
“This isn’t how normal people talk,” I manage to say, my eyes darting to his lips, then up to his eyes. My mind blanks as the fear I had washes away, leaving me…curious.
“Watch her stitches.” Lyric’s voice comes through the intercom, reminding me of the pain in my finger. The fact that he remembered makes me feel cared for, a strange and conflicting emotion in this unsettling moment.
“Why bring me in here?” I ask, trying to focus on something beyond my rising agitation and the peculiar situation.
“Because my room is in the middle of renovations,” Desmond explains, stepping back to drop the knife on the counter. “I set this up last night after finding my file gone.” He glances back at me with a sly smile as he steps toward something on the far wall, something I can’t quite see. “Now, tell me what the problem is.”
“What the problem is?” Despite my naked state and the fact that I’m strapped to a cross, my aggravation at him rises to the forefront. “You knew and chose not to tell me. Apparently, your mother already had us married off. Did she think that by choosing me, she’d have an in with my sperm donor, and thus the retired head of the Bonanno family?” All of my words rush out in one long, run-on sentence.
The venom in my words is impossible to hide. Every piece of resentment, every hidden fear, and every ounce of confusion lashes out in my tirade. The room seems to pulse with the raw energy of our confrontation. Desmond, though still unsettlingly composed, can’t fully mask the flicker of vulnerability that crosses his face. I’ve called him out and exposed the tangled web of manipulations and secrets. Now, it’s his move.
Desmond steps into view, glancing briefly at the Hayes brothers. “I see our princesses gave you background information,” he remarks, his gaze fixed on me. I see Matty wince slightly, but only just so. Desmond steps into view, a chain dangling from his fingertip with two clamps on the end.
“What’s that?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
He steps closer to me, his eyes on my chest, causing my nipples to harden into stiff little peaks. Taking one clamp, he attaches it to the base of my nipple without saying a damn word.
Pain and pleasure zing through me, and I can’t rub my legs together. I can’t twitch. All I can do is moan and drop my head as he attaches the other. The sensation is intense, a strange mix of agony and ecstasy that ignites a fire within me, drowning my thoughts and pushing everything else aside.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, running his finger over a nipple. Pleasure courses through me, making it hard to contain a scream.
“Fuck,” I mumble, unable to tear my gaze away from his firm finger, each touch sending shivers down my spine.
“Good girl. Now, please tell me what the fuck is going on in that pretty head of yours,” Desmond demands, his voice firm and insistent. The pleasure and authority in his tone is a maddening contradiction that leaves me both frustrated and yearning for more.
As the clamps send shocks of sensation through me, my mind races to find coherent thoughts. It’s like trying to navigate through a tempest of pleasure and pain. “I was scared,” I confess, the admission ripped from my throat.
“Scared?” he repeats, his eyes locking onto mine, searching for something beyond fear. “Scared of what, Charlotte?”
“Of everything!” I burst out, the intensity of the moment breaking down my walls. “Of the unknown, of being a pawn in a game I didn’t sign up for. Of being caught between your secrets and my past. I’m scared of losing myself in this chaos.” My voice trembles, but I hold his gaze, determined to confront this darkness head-on.
My body coils with unfulfilled desire, and the rest of my words die in my mouth.
My silence goes on for too long, and Desmond backs away, turning to my blind spot. I try to turn my head, but I can’t see. When he steps back, he’s holding a device that looks like a hand mixer, but the end is bulbous.
He doesn’t step in front of me this time, he steps to the side, his eyes bright as he spares the others a quick glance then turns back to me. “Is that all, Charlotte?”
I swallow, my eyes on the thing in his hand.
