9. Waking
Chapter nine
Waking
(Nico)
I have no idea how long I’ve been here, how many ruined orgasms have dripped from my sad dick in silence as the innkeeper went about her day, painting and stretching, and whatever other shit she does.
She doesn’t even know I’ve been watching her, studying her routine.
My eyes look closed, but just a faint slither is enough for me to see everything—especially the way she looks at my naked body like she wants to do more than just feed me soup.
Nobody has come for me yet. Which is good. But I know my luck won’t last forever.
If my mother was alive, she would’ve found me ages ago already. That bitch was far cleverer than any of them, especially my slimy little brother.
But it’s been more than a year since we found her lifeless body floating face down in the pool surrounded by a sea of pretty red. Death was a good look on her. Nobody shed a tear for that whore except Ricardo.
I felt no loss; she was never a mother to me. Nannies raised us. My mother was always busy with something else. I was 11 when she told me she never wanted us, never even wanted my father.
An arranged marriage to bring peace and power to the two rival crime families. We were merely for show. She pushed out an heir and a backup for the Don as per her contractual duty, and that was that.
That woman didn’t have a maternal instinct in her body. Her only response to her young children crying was to threaten to give us something to cry about.
The scar under my eye is a testament to her idea of motherhood. It reminds me that love is a currency and everyone has an agenda.
I was only seven when I got that scar.
In a fit of unprovoked rage, my mother hit me across the face with her wine glass, breaking it to pieces against my skin.
The cruel bitch just laughed at my hysteric crying and forced me to clean my blood off the floor myself.
She didn’t even bother to look whether the profusely bleeding cut under my eye was serious. She didn’t care.
The crisscrossing scars on my back were from the belt buckle, but that was my dad’s doing. He was hardly any better than her.
But none of that matters now.
What matters is my throne and taking back what’s mine . I’ve put up with their cruel ways my whole life, for 28 years, holding onto the thought that the empire would be mine one day.
Only to have it stolen from me at the last minute.
How did it all go wrong?
I had it all planned out. The poison would’ve given me the perfect alibi. I would act so shocked when they phoned me with the news that my father suddenly died. I’d step up like the loyal son, swearing to avenge my father as I took my rightful seat at the head of the table.
It was supposed to be a smooth transition.
But that’s not how it went down.
Not at all.
What a fucking mess.
My skin itches with impatience. My future beckons; I can’t stay here.
But my body is too weak to beat the restraints. All this time in bed has drained the power from my muscles.
At least my shoulder healed somewhat. It no longer aches in the night.
Though Kiah has retrained my wrists again, making my life much harder. They are tied together, crossed over my stomach, with more duct tape than I could ever break.
Her cautious ways are annoying the shit out of me.
It’s painfully obvious that I’m not getting out of here by force. I’ll have to catch some flies with honey, or however the saying goes.
Charm it is.
The fog encapsulating my brain has finally lifted enough for me to start scheming.
I wait until the innkeeper sits down to wash me before I stutter a dramatic breath, fluttering my eyes open like a soldier coming out of a coma—dazed, lost.
It takes what little energy I have to channel my most non-threatening side, acting so docile it makes me want to puke. But I know it’s the only way. If I want any chance of being cut loose, Kiah will have to trust me first.
“Where am I?” I ask in a raspy voice, looking at her with innocent eyes like I’m a little boy instead of a monster.
“Nico.” She smiles but quickly wipes it from her face again, locking a neutral expression in place.
This bitch is good. What is her story? Innkeepers are not supposed to know skills like sewing people up or overpowering crime lords. Her moves were calculated as much as they were desperate.
“You tried to kill me,” I say in an accusatory tone, hoping to pull on some guilt strings.
“You weren’t exactly an exemplary house guest,” she replies simply, putting down the washcloth, her hardened face unchanged.
“I’m sorry.” I hate those words. “ Never apologiz e.” But I know that’s what she wants to hear. People always want you to beg, to grovel. It makes them feel powerful.
Kiah doesn’t reply, just gets up and heads to the kitchen to stir some shit on the stove—lunch, I presume.
I have to be careful; I can’t rush this.
If I move too soon, I’ll blow my chance.
Patience, Domenico.
***
The next day, Kiah brings me solid food. A fucking relief after all those damn soups. I never thought I’d be so happy for a simple toasted cheese sandwich. She even buttered the corners, how thorough.
I say nothing other than “ thank you ,” watching her intently as she heads out, leaving me alone in the cabin.
She’s been going out more and more.
Judging from the slow, bustling outside that’s increasingly festive, my guess is that the tourists are finally returning to the island.
There should be flights out of here by now.
That’s good.
I just need to figure out how to fucking get to them. That and where she’s hidden my duffel bag with the money. I don’t exactly have a gun anymore to force a pilot to take me, but I doubt anyone would argue with that amount of cash. It has to be here somewhere…
“Where are you going?” I ask on the third day after my miraculous recovery .
“I need to get ready for the guests,” Kiah says simply like I know what day it is, what month even.
It must be November by now. But who can be sure?
“Do you need help?” I ask like I give a fuck.
She scoffs, pausing with her hand on the open door. “From you? No thanks. You don’t look like the helping kind.”
“I think we got off on the wrong foot.” I put all my effort into giving her an uncharacteristic toothy smile, one packed with all my sweetest charm.
“Oh? You don’t normally violate people’s personal boundaries in the most fucked up way?” Her voice is dripping with poison; it reaches all the way to her fiery eyes.
“Normally, no,” I lie. She wouldn’t be able to handle what my life was like normally. I bet Miss Kiah had a nice cushy upbringing, retiring early to this lovely slice of paradise. What could she possibly know about the darkness of my world?
The first time I broke a man's fingers, I was fourteen. Father said it would make me a man. All it did was make me numb. And that was just the beginning…
“I don’t trust you,” she says simply but remains in the doorway.
The innkeeper trails her gaze over my bound naked body, and my dick instantly jumps to attention—well, as far as he has to grow in this stupid cage. He likes the way she looks at him.
She bites her lip like it doesn’t give away her intentions, like her lust isn’t written on her rosy cheeks in capital letters. But I know what wanting looks like, real wanting. It’s one of the few emotions I understand.
“Let me help. Make it up to you.”
“Abso-fucking-lutely not.” Kiah crosses her arms over her chest. Despite the resounding no, I can see her calculating in her mind, weighing up her options.
“You can’t keep me locked up like this forever!” I can’t help it, I snap, my voice rising to dangerously aggressive levels.
Kiah closes the door behind her and walks over to the bed. Towering over me with her hands on her hips, her scowl is as menacing as her posture.
“That is the last thing I plan on doing. My happily ever after doesn’t include spoiled brats who can’t keep their dicks in their pants.”
She smacks my caged cock with her backhand, and I instantly winch in pain, swearing under my breath in Italian.
My body fucking betrays me, though, and her mere touch makes my dick needy, pressing against the edges of its confines, desperate for more—a reaction that doesn’t escape her notice.
The innkeeper arches an eyebrow, an amused smirk falling over her pretty face.
Up close, the little lines around her eyes are more noticeable, the grey streaking her hair in highlights. But it only makes her look even more attractive. She almost reminds me of my Spanish tutor I had as a kid.
Though my Spanish tutor never put my dick in a chastity cage.
And she definitely wasn’t the one keeping me tied up in the middle of nowhere as she poked her slender fingers into my cage, burning my skin with even the slightest contact.
I gasp involuntarily, every sense, every nerve-ending focused on the hand wrapping around my dick, tugging at the cage ever so slightly, just enough to be painfully pleasurable.
“Let me go, you bitch,” I spit before I can stop myself.
“I think you misunderstand who has control here.” Her voice is but a seductive whisper, a contrast to the cruel sneer on her face. Still, it doesn’t deter my arousal, not in the slightest.
Fire builds in my loins as the innkeeper traces the outline of the metal cage like she’s following a map, barely touching me at all but enough to drive me insane.
Why does this crazy woman have this effect on me? I'm not even fucking her, but I'm more turned on than I've ever been.
A grunt escapes my lips before I can swallow it back, feeling even less in control.
She has me right where she wants me, a little desperate bird in her hand.
But I don’t even care.
I’d do anything for her to keep touching me, to make me come.
But as quickly as she starts, Kiah drops my cock and walks away, leaving me desperate, on the edge, and so needy to finish.
This time, I can’t do anything about it. My hands are tied—literally and figuratively.
An anguished cry erupts from deep inside my belly, forcing my tormentor to look back on more time before leaving me to my misery.
“I’m in charge now, you little brat. It would serve you well to remember that.”
“I need to come. Please. Just finish it. You can’t leave me like this.” I sound pathetic, but I don’t even care. Who can be calm and calculated when your dick is burning with uncomfortable need?
“Watch me,” Kiah says, slamming the door in my face.
I shout curses after her in all the languages I know, but the door remains closed, my dick painfully ripe.
Squirming, I try to find some relief, some friction, but there’s none.
“You’ll pay for this!” I vow to the empty room. But it changes nothing about my situation.
I should never have come to this stupid island.