Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
SIENNA
Sleep is eluding me, and it’s all Alessandro’s fault.
God, I hate him.
So much.
But my body doesn’t seem to get the memo.
I angrily fluff my pillow and lie down again, forcing my eyes to shut. But the memories afflict me, and it’s almost like I can hear his words vibrating right in my ear.
You know what I wish? That we finish what we started that first night. You on my bed as I sink my cock into you. Filling your stubborn mouth with my cum and watching you swallow with tears in your eyes. Then you'll thank me for letting you worship me like that.
Is he insane?
Yes, he has to be insane.
I’m not letting him within two feet of me anymore, let alone thanking him for letting him touch me. Is he stupid? In what world would that be possible?
First off, I think I’m way better than him. If anyone should be thanking the other, it’s him. He should thank me for letting him breathe the same air as me.
I turn again, slinging an arm over my eyes with a frustrated groan. It must be past midnight and I desperately need to sleep.
I sit up, take several deep breaths in the dark, and finally lie back down. But the second my head hits the pillow, memory strikes.
Tonight, I want you to masturbate. And you're going to do it thinking of me, the man who now owns your life.
“Fuck!”
I sit up abruptly, hating how easily the curse word slips out of my mouth. I try so hard not to cuss, but Alessandro ticks me off in the absolute worst way.
Then, I feel it. A familiar, heavy warmth pooling between my legs, and I almost can’t believe it. I reach down under the covers, slipping my hand beneath my silk nightgown to touch myself.
Yes. I’m wet. Completely soaked at the mere thought of Alessandro.
Maybe my father is right and I am a slut. There’s a desperate hunger inside me that I need to put out, a demanding ache that I just know is the real reason I haven’t been able to sleep. If I don’t take care of this right now, I’m going to be up until morning.
But I can’t stomach the fact that I feel this way because of Alessandro. Because I remember his dirty words. Because I remember exactly how his hot breath felt on my neck, against my ear. His punishing grip on my hair. The shameless way his hand roamed my body like I was already his.
Bastard.
I can feel my body shaking with pure need.
With shaky legs, I climb off the bed and pad to my dresser, feeling my way through the pitch black. I don’t turn on any lights. I’m already so deeply ashamed of what I’m about to do, and I don't need the light to witness my own degradation.
I pull open my bottom drawer, burying my hand underneath layers of clothes until my fingers wrap around the smooth plastic of my vibrator. Taking it out, I hurry back to the bed, a burning, humiliating heat climbing up my cheeks.
I should not be doing this. Especially not, knowing exactly who will be occupying my mind while I chase my satisfaction.
He told me to do this. He commanded it. If I give in now, it means I’m surrendering to his depraved desires.
I’m giving him exactly what he wants, and every ounce of my pride screams against it.
I clutch the device tightly as I lie back down against the pillows. No one knows I have this. I hid it away because the mere existence of it felt like a secret indecency.
I bought it during my time with Domenico, back when I first started to explore my sexuality with him. My encounters with Domenico always left me wanting. He was never able to satisfy my hunger, and I just assumed that was how sex was supposed to be.
So after Domenico got off and left, I would come home to my room and use it.
It worked. It was mechanical, but it worked.
I shut my eyes tightly in the dark, a bitter laugh caught in my throat.
Just a few minutes of Alessandro’s tongue on that fateful night had given me a bigger, more shattering orgasm than this piece of plastic ever could.
My legs had shaken the entire way home that night, and even now, memory alone is enough to make my thighs tremble.
I press the button, and the low, quiet hum of the vibrator fills the silent room.
I slide it under the covers, biting down hard on my bottom lip as the pulsing plastic brushes against my inner thigh.
I drag it slowly up my skin, heading toward the ache between my legs.
But just before it touches my clit, a sudden wave of revulsion hits me.
I snap it off and fling it across the mattress, throwing it away from me like it burned.
I’m disgusted with myself. Utterly disgusted.
Why am I doing this? Why would I touch myself while fantasizing about a monster like Alessandro?
I should hate him. I do hate him.
God, I hate him.
I yank the pillow over my face and groan loudly into the empty room, wishing I could press a button and wipe his smug, dangerous face from my memory entirely.
Thunk!
I freeze beneath the pillow, my breath hitching. A strange, heavy sound just rattled against my patio door. At first, I tell myself it’s just my hyperactive imagination because I seem to be doing a lot of that tonight. But then, it happens again. A distinct, metallic scrape.
I throw the pillow off my face and sit up, my gaze locking onto the glass doors leading to my balcony. They are locked tight, and the heavy, dark curtains covering them block out the night, but I know I didn't imagine it this time.
I slip out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floorboards as my heart begins to thud frantically against my ribs.
We have never been attacked on this estate.
My father takes our safety deadly seriously, updating the security measures twice a year to ensure the perimeter is an impenetrable fortress. It is safe here. I am certain of it.
Maybe it’s just a bird; I've noticed a couple of nests tucked into the corners of the patio roof.
Creeping slowly toward the glass, I reach out with a trembling hand and yank the curtains aside.
A massive, imposing shadow is silhouetted against the moonlight. A terrified scream rises in my throat, but it dies there before it can escape, because through the glass, I recognize the sharp, lethal contours of his face.
It’s Alessandro.
He is drenched in blood, his chest heaving, and his hand is clamped tightly over his opposite forearm, dark fluid seeping through his fingers. He’s bleeding.
Before my brain can fully process the sheer stupidity of what I am doing, I unlatch the lock and slide the heavy glass door open. The cool night air rushes in, and Alessandro stumbles past me into the room, his balance uncharacteristically off.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper-yell, my hands hovering in the air between us, terrified to touch him.
He manages to flash me a faint, wicked smile. Through the narrow slit of moonlight streaming in behind him, his intense grey eyes wash over me, tracking down the length of my body. The look is so heavy, so inherently possessive, that my body responds with a delicious, betraying shudder.
“You like silk,” he mumbles, his voice rough and gravelly as his eyes linger on my emerald nightgown.
I suddenly become acutely conscious of how thin the fabric is. To my absolute mortification, I feel my nipples harden under his intense gaze, pushing taut against the silk.
I cross my arms over my chest, trying to shield myself from him. “Leave right now, Alessandro, or I’ll scream. I swear to God I will call the guards. And my father.”
He rolls his eyes, a low, exhausted grunt escaping him. “You wouldn’t have unlocked the door if you were going to scream, sweetheart.”
Frustrated and desperate to break the spell of the darkness, I stumble over to the bedside table and flick on the lamp. The sudden burst of warm light floods the bedroom.
Alessandro groans, shielding his eyes with a bloody hand as he staggers blindly toward my bed. He collapses onto the edge of the mattress, and my stomach drops when a bright streak of crimson rubs off his clothes, staining my pristine white sheets.
“I'll ask you one more time,” I say, my voice shaking as I stare at the pooling blood. “What are you doing here?”
“I need help,” he mutters, his jaw clenched tight as he finally pulls his hand away from his arm, revealing a deep, jagged gash that is actively pouring blood. “I need stitches.”
I gape at him, horrified. “And how did you know I would be able to help you with that?”
He rolls his eyes again, his pale face tight with pain. “I guessed. It was either this, or I bleed to death on your floor. Pick one. Choose wisely.”
I hesitate, a million reasons why I should let him bleed screaming through my head. But when I look down at the sheer amount of blood soaking into my carpet, panic wins. I head straight for the bedroom door. The main house first aid kit is kept in the storage closet one floor down.
I’ve just reached the doorway when a familiar, suspicious buzzing sound cuts through the quiet room.
My heart slams into my throat. A wave of scorching embarrassment completely envelopes me. I whirl around, my eyes wide.
Alessandro is leaning back against my pillows, holding my vibrator up with his good hand. The small device is vibrating steadily, and there is a brilliant, entirely unhinged intensity dancing in his grey eyes.
I march right back over to the bed, my face on fire, and launch myself at him to grab it. But despite his severe injuries, his reflexes are entirely intact. He easily swerves his hand out of my reach, using his size to block me.
“Give it to me!” I snap, reaching over his chest.
Instead of handing it over, he shakes his head, a dark smirk playing on his lips. Before I can pull away, he brings the vibrating tip of the plastic down, pressing it directly against the apex of my breast.
The shocking, intense sensation zaps straight to my hardened nipple, and I have to swallow a sudden moan, violently swatting his arm away to break the contact.
Alessandro doesn't break character. He locks his dark gaze onto mine, his voice dropping into a dangerous, smug purr.