Chapter 15 – Amanda #2
Even if I could speak, I wouldn’t be able to. Because he was right, the bastard. I wouldn’t hate it if he made me beg. Not right now, in the moment. Later? Maybe, but it wouldn’t be directed at him so much as at myself.
“If it feels like surrender, that’s because it is.” He leaned over me and inhaled deeply against my neck. “Fuck, cara, you changed everything in your life except that scent.”
My brain scrambled to process that, but he was already tearing open the thin satin robe. His hard touch traced down the center of the bustier, gaze hardening as he looked at it.
“This never belonged to him,” he growled, voice dripping with venom. “Or any other man.”
I had to fight not to squeeze my legs tight as both hands wrapped around my ribs.
His voice grew husky. “It’s always been mine. By your own admission, it belongs to me.”
With that came a distant memory rising from the tombs of the dead and buried things.
I stared hard at the man before me, trying to reconcile the past with the present.
But it hurt too badly. Like everything in my life, there was only agony and struggle. It was easier to forget. To face each day with ambition and throw myself into the next goal—and the next after that.
His gaze cut to mine. A frantic desperation wanted me to see something that might not be there.
If it was, if this was him, would I still fight?
My heart thumped against the walls I built to protect myself. It didn’t matter. If it was just a nameless monster behind the mask, or a man I used to know, the beast towering above me was a stranger.
Skating his hand over my breast, he didn’t break eye contact as he peeled back the fabric. The air cooled my burning skin, and a rush of electricity whispered over my sensitive nipple. It was replaced a moment later by the hard pinch of his fingers.
“I dreamed of punishing you, cara mia. The sins of your father require nothing less,” he snarled.
There was so much hatred, but behind the horrifying declaration was a pent-up frustration.
Many people wanted my father dead, so it was no surprise that this was part of our twisted situation.
I latched onto that detail like a lifeline.
If it was a choice between death or something else, I would choose the latter, even knowing there were worse things than death.
“I should hate you, too, but I can’t. You’re safe with me.” He pinched the nipple hard enough for a tear to leak from my eyes. “I’ll never hurt you if it can be avoided. I’ll just have to fuck you harder when I’m angry.”
The toxic, self-destructive she-demon in my mind preened at the idea of being used.
I was broken. So broken that no wholesome relationship was going to fix me. My only hope was to embrace the dark offering this monster gave and pray it was enough to sustain me.
Gripping the bustier in both hands, he tore the metal fastenings open. Hooks and eyes bent under his will, and in some places the threads holding them to the material popped.
I lay still, completely transfixed by the brutal show of force. In this moment, I was the prey, and there was nothing to do but wait for the taste of his anger, knowing I might not be strong enough to survive it.
His touch scorched my skin as he drew both hands down my chest, skimming my breasts and dragging his fingers across my ribs. Those hands were large against my slim frame. It was painfully obvious that he could crush me if he squeezed.
An ache formed in my chest as he bent over me. Because there was gentleness in his touch as he reached between my legs to stroke me. It contradicted the danger radiating from his straining frame.
It’s like he can’t hurt me. Even if he wanted to.
I inched my legs open.
His laugh was harsh. “So…you do remember how to beg.”
Again! That repetitive hint.
Either he was a complete psychopath, or the impossible was happening right before my eyes.
“Take off the mask,” I hissed, but the words stuck in the gag and were muffled by the tape.
He leaned in close, eyes flickering like black glass right above me. “No.”
It had to be. That was the only logical conclusion. My body responded to this man, not because I was some messed-up, high powered woman who needed dark romance for escape—although that was definitely part of it—but because on some primitive, unknown level, I knew this man.
Vincenzo. The name whispered through my mind like a breath of fresh air.
It was possible, though not plausible. The mobster was out of prison, and we’d briefly seen one another two Christmases ago.
But why the wait? If this was his endgame, messing with my life, why hadn’t he come sooner?
As the puzzle swirled around my mind, his fingers dipped lower.
I arched under his touch, and he lazily palmed my breast to bring my attention back to the present.
Caught between mental insanity and unearthly pleasure, I succumbed to the better of the two choices, embracing the latter with every fiber of my being.
“That’s it,” he whispered roughly. “Give yourself to me.”
Pleasure trickled down my spine. It centered in my throbbing pussy, where he offered just enough attention to create a low thrum of relief.
But just as the muscles deep inside coiled tight, the hard touch faded away.
I squirmed vigorously, chasing his touch.
Hard hands planted on my thighs, pinning me to the bed as he knelt between my legs. His hot breath fanned from behind the mask, a pitiful relief for the aching flesh.
“Do you feel this?” He pushed his fingers deep into my channel without warning, making my back bow off the mattress. “No other man has the power to make you this wet.”
He pulled them out, holding up his gloved hands before dragging them down my bare stomach. Pleasure sparked anew, and before I knew it, he bent, fidgeted with his mask, and drew his tongue through my soaked center.
The feeling was indescribable. Violent. Explosive. I couldn’t pick one. Euphoria rolled through me as he sucked and licked me in turn. Desperate, short breaths huffed from my nose as I struggled to stay conscious. He sent me racing back to the edge, climbing the peaks of pleasure.
If he denied me now, I didn’t think I would survive another edging.
His smile formed against my pussy. “Don’t worry, Mandy. Tonight, I want you to come all over my face.”
I sobbed with relief. My body trembled and shuddered. Every thought was overshadowed by the terrible need. Mind, heart, and maybe even my dead and buried soul were so focused that I missed a detail I should have picked up on.
I clenched my legs hard around his head, rocking my hips against his mouth. Right there, just a little more. I screamed loudly as my muscles coiled tight. Pleasure crashed into me, and on the next firm stroke of his tongue, I shattered.
The release was the opening of pent-up frustration that took years to build. I hadn’t come this hard in my entire life. Like a switch, the pleasure and bliss melted into something truly horrifying.
I began to cry.
Tears streamed from my eyes. There was no holding them back. My chest heaved with terrifying force, shuddering as my core still convulsed with ebbing spasms. Legs that were suddenly weakened fell open.
The masked man crawled up, features once more concealed. Those glittering midnight eyes stared down at me, and I couldn’t read what they said if I tried. Strength, the ability to fight, the ambition to hold onto my life, left me. My body shuddered with sobs.
“Sshhh, ragazza mia, that’s it,” he murmured, cupping my face. His thumb swiped at my tears. “I want everything you have to give, Mandy. Your pleasure belongs to me, as does your sorrow. Your pain, and your joy. I’m here now; I’m taking it back.”
There was that detail again.
But I was too far gone to care what it meant.
His touch lingered on my face, possessive and unyielding. I gave myself over to the tears, letting him have them.
“This is what happens when you don’t give way to your emotions. I know you. I know you’ve been bottling this up—probably for years.” His voice turned into a growl. “One release triggers the rest.”
I nodded, guessing he was probably right.
“I wish I could tell you it was going to get better, Mandy, but it’s not.” The sound of those words was soft, almost like an intimate caress.
It was the deep, primitive lizard brain that raised the alarm, sensing something that my overworked rational mind was unable to process under the weight of the buried emotions. There was a pinch at my neck.
My eyes snapped open wide, and I tried to scream. But the world faded quickly to black, exhaustion pulling me under to the inevitable tug of sleep. The last thing I saw was two pinpricks of darkness, glittering down at me with a terrible promise that all was not forgiven.