Corsican Crime Lord: The Complete Series

Chapter 29

TWENTY-NINE

Sabella

The woman has a professional air, but I sense kindness too. I address her rather than Angelo. I have a better chance of finding sympathy with her than with my husband. “I don’t want to.”

If I thought she’d show me compassion, I was mistaken. She irons out the white towel on the bed as if she hasn’t heard me.

It becomes clear what she—or rather, Angelo—has planned when I take in the preparations on the nightstand. Wax is heating in a bowl over a tea light candle. A pair of scissors and tubes of cream are set out next to it.

“Gloria is very good,” Angelo says to my back. “You can trust her.”

I don’t move an inch. My muscles tense, everything inside me begging for violence. I want to hurt him, and the sentiment scares me. The person I don’t like, the one who rears her head whenever Angelo is around, is becoming a little stronger with every minute I’m in his presence. I’m yet to deal with what I almost did, what I would’ve done if the gun was loaded. I hate who that makes me. I can’t even face myself right now. I don’t want to be that woman, but I already am. Losing myself frightens me more than life as my husband’s prisoner.

Brushing my hair over my shoulder, Angelo presses a kiss on my neck before saying softly in my ear, “I can always strip you and tie you up.”

It’s futile to resist. My arguments don’t matter to him. What I want is of no consequence. I learned that the hard way. I have no doubt he’ll humiliate me in front of the woman by executing his threat.

Escaping his touch, I walk to the bed and start removing my clothes. Gloria takes every item as it comes off and lays it on a bench in front of a dresser. When it comes to my underwear, I refuse to hand it to her. I place them on top of the pile of clothes, my cheeks burning as I stand naked in front of her while Angelo bears witness.

“Here,” she says, taking my hand and helping me onto the bed. “You can lie down.”

I stare at the ceiling as I obey, hating them both even though she’s very gentle. I’m grateful for the folded towel she drapes over my upper body, leaving me naked from the waist down.

Angelo pulls a chair up to the end of the bed and makes himself comfortable while the woman busies herself with stirring the wax. He leans his arms on the padded armrests and stretches out his legs in front of him.

I clench my teeth. “Getting ready for the show?”

He smiles. “I wasn’t seeing it like that, but if that’s what you want, I’m happy to oblige.”

Asshole. “If you’re not watching like the pervert you are, then why are you here?”

His tone remains reasonable. “To make sure you’re treated as I instructed.”

“Being tortured?”

He seems amused. “Pampered.”

I snort. “Right.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Have you ever been waxed?” I ask, letting my gaze drop to his groin. “Down there?”

He raises an eyebrow while suppressing a smile I wish I could slap off his face. The minute I thought about inflicting that violence, disappointment bleeds through my chest. I hate him for getting a rise out of me. I hate that his reactions affect me.

“No,” he deadpans. “Have you?”

I haven’t, but I don’t bother to reply.

“Gloria assured me it doesn’t hurt,” he says. “You should only feel mild discomfort.”

Right.

“Are you cold?” the woman asks. “Would you like me to turn up the temperature?”

My manner is curt. “No.”

Coming from summer, the night here is freezing, but the cabin is warm.

“What would you like?” she asks, directing her smile at me. “Just a bit of tidying up or the full monty?”

I quickly look at Angelo. He’s giving me an option?

As if reading my mind, he says, “The choice is yours.”

“Then why are we doing this?”

His voice is low and soft. “Why do you think, cara?”

“To see your mark,” I say with the anger I didn’t want to show bubbling to the surface again.

“You already understand me so well.”

I’m not sure if he’s teasing or mocking me, but I’m not taking the bait this time.

Addressing Gloria, I say, “As little as necessary.”

“Okay.” She pats my thigh. “Just relax. Like your husband said, it’s not as bad as it seems.”

I swallow the retort on the tip of my tongue.

After fitting surgical gloves, she spreads my legs a little and gets to work. First, she trims my curls and lathers my skin with a soapy liquid, and then she pats it dry and applies talc.

“I hope you’re enjoying this,” I tell my husband in a biting tone as Gloria tests the temperature of the wax before applying it.

I think up a hundred insults to hurl at Angelo, but my thoughts are interrupted abruptly when, a short while later, Gloria rips off a strip of wax. It doesn’t hurt as much as I expected it to, but it’s not comfortable either. Closing my eyes, I shut out the man in the chair and the unwanted ministrations, wishing it was over already.

After what feels like hours, she says, “All done. What do you think?”

I lift my head and look down. My curls are trimmed into a neat triangle that will allow me to wear a bikini. The mark Angelo branded on my skin is visible at the top.

He gets up and walks to the edge of the bed, inspecting the junction of my legs. “Very pretty. This’ll do nicely.” He slides his gaze to mine. “I like your pussy naked, but this look is hot on you too. No? What do you think, bella?”

Blood rushes to my cheeks. I glance at Gloria, but she’s packing away the wax, not showing any reaction to Angelo’s crass remark. “What I think doesn’t matter, so why do you ask?”

“It was your choice,” he says, brushing his fingers over his mark. “If your opinion didn’t matter, I would’ve just told her what I wanted done.”

“May I use the bathroom to wash my hands?” Gloria asks, removing the gloves and discarding them in the trashcan.

Angelo indicates a door on the side. “Go ahead.”

Silence stretches between us as she disappears into the adjoining room. I immediately regret her absence. I haven’t realized what a buffer she’s been. Closing my legs, I try to sit up, but Angelo prevents me with a hand on my shoulder.

“We’re not done,” he says.

Alarm quickens my breathing. “What do you mean we’re not done? What else do you want to do? Wax my—” I bite off my words, not wanting to give him ideas.

Gloria steps out, cutting our unpleasant exchange short, and comes back to the bed. When she starts fitting a new pair of surgical gloves, I shoot upright.

Angelo stops her with a hand on her arm. “I’ve got it from here. You can go.”

Offering me a warm greeting, she packs up the rest of her equipment, minus the tubes of cream, and leaves.

“What are you doing?” I ask, leaning on my elbows as Angelo uncaps a tube.

“Stop fussing.” He squirts a blob on his finger. “It’s an antiseptic lotion to prevent infection.”

“I can do that.”

“Be still.”

I jerk when he rubs the lotion over the top of my pelvis, outlining his mark before tracing a line to the seam of my inner thigh.

“I’m already doing it,” he continues.

I relax only marginally. I don’t want him to touch me, especially not like this. It’s too intimate. Too caring. And he doesn’t care about me. The only thing that matters to him is the business deal our marriage sealed.

The light brush of his fingertips over the sensitive areas between my legs makes my stomach contract with a flutter. It’s an involuntary reaction, but it’s no less potent. His touch is like poison, a very sweet poison that’s both deadly and alluring. I can’t help but feel it where it matters, all the way to my core and deeper, right in the bruise that grows in my heart.

The most disturbing fact is that the reaction isn’t only physical. A part of me needs the meticulous gentleness he administers. I need it to compensate for the brutality of his intentions, yet I can’t allow myself to derive comfort from him. That would be a mistake. He’s a hardened murderer, a selfish criminal only interested in furthering his own agenda.

A voice in the back of my head says my silence made me an accomplice to murder, that we’re cut from the same cloth, but I don’t allow that thought to linger.

Steeling myself, I push his hand away. “That’s enough. You covered everything.”

He grins. “Not by a long shot. Turn over.”

My fake show of confidence slips. “What?”

He caps the tube and opens the second. Arnica. “Turn on your stomach.”

“I don’t need arnica.”

“Don’t tell me my belt hasn’t left welts.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Come on, wisecrack. Don’t test me.” He lifts the towel from my breasts. “I’m not in the mood to repeat the lesson of earlier.”

Gritting my teeth, I do as he says while watching him from over my shoulder.

He warms the lotion in his palms before massaging it into my globes. He’s careful to keep his touch light.

When he’s done, he instructs me to stay while he washes his hands. Bending my elbows and resting my cheek on my forearm, I watch him through the open door of the bathroom as he dries his hands and folds back his sleeves. He flicks off the light before returning, only leaving the dim ceiling lights in the cabin on.

“Gloria was supposed to give you a massage,” he says, stopping at the side of the bed. “I decided it would be more fun to do it myself.”

I tense all over again. “I don’t need a massage.”

“It’ll help you relax.”

“I don’t need to relax.”

He chuckles. “Stop being so obstinate. You’ll make things easier for yourself if you learn to cooperate.”

“If I obey, you mean.”

He takes a bottle from the nightstand and pours oil into his palm. “That’s what you promised. Must I remind you? I can have your vow framed and hung above our bed.”

“Fuck you,” I say, making to get up, but he pushes me down with a hand on my lower back.

“Keep still. You’ll get oil on the sheets.”

“Not my problem.”

“That mouth of yours.” He shakes his head. “It is very pretty. Can’t say the same for the words coming out of it. I can always find a better use for those luscious lips.”

I bite my tongue to prevent myself from replying.

“However,” he says, “I’m glad you recovered your spirit.”

The reference to my earlier meltdown makes my spine goes rigid. I don’t relax when he brushes my hair aside and rubs the oil over my shoulders. The oriental fragrance of ylang ylang fills my nostrils. It’s strange that he chose an oil known for its aphrodisiac properties when his goal is to relax me.

I remain on edge even as he kneads my muscles with firm but gentle pressure. He’s thorough, covering every inch of my skin as he works his way down to my lower back. I groan when he presses on sensitive points at the base of my spine. Skipping my globes, he pays attention to my thighs and calves and finally to my feet. When he gets to my toes, it feels so good I close my eyes.

He slaps my ass playfully. “On your hands and knees.”

“Why?” I ask, quickly opening my eyes again.

Instead of waiting for me to comply, he grips my hips and pulls me into a kneeling position. Then he flattens his palms on my inner thighs and pushes my legs apart. “Stay like that.”

“Why?” I ask again, watching him as he takes his phone from his pocket and puts it on the nightstand before unbuttoning his shirt and pulling the tail ends from his pants.

The black ink that covers half of his chest captures my attention. No matter how many times I see it, every time feels like the first time. The artwork fascinates me. It’s a replica of the mark branded on my skin, just much bigger, the detail more intricate. I both admire the work of art and loathe it.

My gaze snaps to the word inked above the line of his waistband when he unbuckles his belt.

Resilience.

He pulls down his zipper. “You pointed a gun at me today.”

“So did you,” I exclaim, trying to sit back on my heels, but the slap he delivers with a flat hand on my ass cheek stings so much that I freeze in place.

“If you move, you’ll get another lashing tonight.”

“You’re such a damn hypocrite.”

“I didn’t point a gun at you to shoot you.” He pushes down his briefs and pants. “That was to teach you a lesson. You, however, pulled the trigger.”

The reminder tightens my chest. I don’t want to think about it. I can’t. I can’t admit what that means.

“I’m going to punish you, bella, like you deserve, but if you relax, you may love it more than hate it.”

My mind races ahead, trying to figure out what he has in mind. Not another lashing. Something different. Yet if he went to the lengths of massaging me to coax my muscles into softening, what he has in store for me can only be bad. I’m tense again in an instant, all his effort to relax me for nothing.

I swallow. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I’m afraid I must.” His voice doesn’t hold an ounce of regret. “What kind of husband will I be if I let you believe you can get away with killing me?”

Before I have time to formulate a reply, he cups my sex and rubs his fingers over my clit. My body responds in an instant, my muscles tightening.

“I wasn’t going to do this,” he says, rubbing oil over his cock. “Not tonight.”

The warning registers too late. I feel his intention when he presses the head of his cock on the wrong hole and breaches it with a punch of his hips. My scream bounces off the walls. My first reaction is to crawl away from him, but he digs his fingers into my hips and holds me in place.

“Relax,” he says, breathing hard. “It’ll make it easier to take me.”

Reaching behind me, I grab his wrist, not sure if I’m pushing him away or holding on. “I can’t.”

“You can, and you will. You will take all of me in your tight little ass.”

As if to prove his point, he shoves deeper. It hurts too much.

“You’ll tear me,” I shout, not caring who hears.

“I won’t.” He rubs his hands up my sides and closes his fingers around my breasts. “Just work with me.”

My breath catches when he moves. He’s too thick, too long. “I don’t have to do anything for you.”

“It’s not for my sake. I’m already enjoying this. It’s entirely for yours.”

He punches his hips, making me yelp.

“Play with yourself,” he orders, his cock sinking deeper. “It’ll help.”

He can’t know that it will. He doesn’t feel what I’m feeling. A part of me doesn’t want to make this easier on myself. I want to remember that he’s cruel and unfeeling, and he’s proving it so effectively.

When I don’t oblige, he lets go of one breast and slips his hands around my waist and between my legs. In this, he’s a fast learner, knowing exactly how to touch me to wrench pleasure from my body. The signals are mixed. It feels as if he’ll tear me apart even as the slow build of an orgasm contracts my core. The overbearing sensations increase when he parts my folds and sinks a finger inside. I’m too full. Too close.

He finds purchase on my hip again while pumping his finger. My inner muscles clench around the intrusion. My pleasure spikes. It’s not that I don’t feel the discomfort. It’s just muddled in the haze of my need. It’s absorbed in the explosion of unbearable pleasure that destroys me like a bomb would flatten a landscape. It happens as fast as it’s intense, leaving me legless in seconds. It’s only Angelo’s grip on my hip that keeps me on my knees.

The moment my muscles give and my body softens, he buries his whole length inside me. I don’t have to look to know. I feel. The pummeling of his groin against my ass is almost too much to bear, but I don’t have the energy or the will to stop it. I can only take it, half sagging and half choking as he beats out a rhythm that leaves me raw. I’m down and I can’t get up, not when a pleasure much darker and deeper ravages the wreckage he’s made of my body, making me clench around his cock.

He groans and curses and then doubles his onslaught.

I lose all sense of time and place. The pleasure pebbles out again but differently this time. With too much force. I jerk when something makes contact with my oversensitive clit. His hand, I think. I couldn’t care. I can’t focus. Can’t move. Can’t distinguish one sensation from another. Everything is pleasure. Everything is pain.

“Fuck,” he utters, his voice strangled as he slams his groin against my ass and stills.

Warmth bathes me inside. The sting follows a second later.

“Fuck, Sabella.”

Another curse aimed at himself or me, I can’t be sure.

He bends over me, chasing me down as he finally allows my body to collapse on the mattress.

“You’re so fucking tight like this.” He pushes onto his elbows and kisses my neck. “The sight of your asshole swallowing my cock with those red welts painted over your ass made me lose my fucking mind.” He presses his chest against my back, covering my body with his, and nips my shoulder. “Stay.”

Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t move.

He gets off me, pulls out. The burn flares.

The mattress dips, and then his heat is gone.

From the corner of my eye, I see him adjusting his clothes before walking to the bathroom.

I sink deeper into the mattress, letting it absorb my weight. When I was little, I fell off my bike while driving at full speed down the hill. I’ll never forget that feeling while I was lying on the ground. I couldn’t move. I registered the hurt, but I felt more paralyzed than I felt pain. This is the same. And I know from experience when my limbs regain their ability to move, I’ll be worse for it. The adrenaline numbs the intensity. It’s the scrapes and burns that linger.

Angelo returns with a wet facecloth and carefully cleans me. In my semi-lucid state, I’m aware that the only consequence he suffers in the aftermath of our sex is pleasure. I suppose it’s one of the advantages of being a man.

I watch him through my lashes as he discards the cloth on the nightstand and undresses, letting his clothes fall in a heap on the floor. When he’s naked, he lies down beside me. Brushing the hair from my face, he presses a tender kiss on my lips. “Do you need a painkiller? Water?”

I close my eyes. I want nothing from him.

“Come here,” he says, dragging me against him before removing the towel from under my body and pulling the comforter over us.

We’re laying face to face, his breath fanning over my lips. I don’t open my eyes for fear that I’ll cry. I didn’t think it was possible for him to ruin me more than he already has. With every passing moment, I hate him more passionately.

He kisses my temple. “Try to rest. We have a long journey ahead tomorrow.”

When I strain in his grip, trying to roll onto my side, he tightens his arms around me.

“And if you ever point a gun at me again,” he continues in a soft, deep voice, “I’ll do a lot more than come in your ass.”

The threat makes my eyes fly open, but I immediately regret it. His dark gaze burns on my face with so much heat and possession that my heart falters in its beat.

I bite down hard on my tongue, willing myself not to speak, but I’m a damn masochist, because the question tumbles from my lips anyway. “What will you do, Angelo? Define a lot more. Kill me?”

“Kill you?” His smile is brutal even as he traces the seam of my lips with a fingertip. “No, cara. That’s too easy. I’ll shackle you in irons and whip you so hard you’ll beg me to rather take my cock in your ass.”

My chest deflates, the air in my lungs escaping with a gasp, because I believe him. If there’s one thing Angelo Russo taught me, it’s that he never makes idle threats.

“Now, sleep.” He kisses me again. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Rebellious emotions rise inside me. I always knew Angelo could be devious, but he’s even more inhumane and savage now than when we lost our virginity together.

I’m swallowing down my bitterness when a hard knock falls on the door.

Angelo stiffens. “I said I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Sorry, sir.” It sounds like the captain. “We have a problem.”

Cursing, Angelo gets from the bed and pulls on his pants. He makes sure I’m covered up to my chin before he almost yanks the door off its hinges. “Can’t you handle it?”

The captain, a middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper beard, shifts his weight. “I’m truly sorry for the interruption.” He makes a point of not looking at me even though Angelo blocks the view with his body. “The gendarmerie is here. They want to come aboard and search the yacht.”

Angelo mutters a string of curses as he picks his shirt up from the floor. His voice is strained. “I’ll be right there.”

The captain doesn’t budge.

“Was there anything else?” Angelo asks, fitting the shirt with jerky movements.

“They asked to see Mrs. Russo.” He dares a glance in my direction, but at the growl that reverberates in Angelo’s chest, he lowers his gaze. “Apparently, they need to ask her some questions.”