14. Mia
FOURTEEN
The sun filtersthrough the sheer curtains, casting a diluted glow across the hardwood floors of my room. We didn’t return to the estate until a few hours ago, and I spent the morning trying not to think about last night.
Bored within my confinement, I move with purpose, fluffing pillows and straightening picture frames, each task a pitiful attempt to expel the memories threatening to consume me.
The ones of him last night as we danced—how his scent held me captive, or his moves swayed me in perfect rhythm, or even when my version of self-love found him invading those moments. The way his lips felt against mine for our fake kiss that was anything but sparked me wanting even more of him.
My mind whirls, but my hands steadily clean, organize, and rearrange. These mundane acts are my temporary balm, a weak barricade against the chaos Dario DeLuca has brought into my world.
I catch my reflection in the mirror. My usually careful hairstyle is now a tousled mane, evidence of restless fingers searching for solace. I look away, unable to confront the flushed cheeks that betray the heat his name kindles within me.
With a huff, I abandon the battle with the past and decide to wage a new war—one where my body leads and my mind hopefully follows suit, subdued. After brushing my hair back into a ponytail, I change into my workout clothes and head to a place for release.
The gym”s sterile scent greets me, antiseptic mingling with the subtle musk of citrus fragrance. I step onto the treadmill, the rhythmic thud of my sneakers grounding me. I increase the pace, pushing myself harder.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him—Dario—a specter in the doorway. His presence is a gravitational pull I”m desperate to escape, yet circles helplessly. His stillness contradicts my frantic motion. His dark eyes lock on me with an intensity that feels both invasive and intimate. I won”t let him unravel me. Not here. Not now.
He goes to the weight bench, his muscles flexing as he gets into position. With each pump of iron, I watch, almost fixated on his strength. Then I’m reminded of how easily he threw my size eighteen frame over his shoulder.
Sweat gathers on his brow, tracing lines down the landscape of his body, mapping the contours of his broad shoulders and abs. His soft grunts beckon to my core as I recall my self-care session last night. Erasing those thoughts, I appeal to him one last time.
Though he pretends to focus on his workout, there”s no mistaking the watchful predator in him, tracking my every step, every rise and fall of my chest.
The weights clink as he sets them down, and I seize the moment—the lull in the noise of clashing wills. My breath steadies, and I approach him, the words teetering on the tip of my tongue.
“Hey, have you given any more thought about replacing my phone? I know you have your team posting on my blog and other socials, and while I am appreciative, I really think I should get back to some form of normalcy. After all, you said there isn’t any more threat.”
He looks up with a semblance of a smile that doesn”t quite reach his eyes. There’s no kindness there but something far more complex, a tapestry woven with threads of curiosity and raw, unspoken promises.
“True, but we still need to be cautious.” He returns to his workout, not giving me any more attention.
”Dario.” His name spills from my mouth, loud and demanding. My gaze locks with his, wanting an answer. The air is filled with the musk of exertion that clings to us both.
But Dario”s response slices through the air, thick with implication. ”You know, I like the sound of my name on your lips better when you”re coming. It”s sexier.”
Heat climbs my neck, painting my cheeks in shameful crimson. My heart stutters, caught between anger and something far more primitive. His words coil around me, serpentine and slick.
”What?” My voice cracks; it”s a feeble echo of outrage, an attempt to regain footing on this slippery slope he”s laid out before me.
”Yeah. It”s almost as sexy as watching you rub your clit through your shorts. Or how you play with your nipples as you arch your back when you reach your peak. Tell me, Bella, do you rub your finger between those slick folds for lube? Let me know if you need one of those rose things or other devices to help.”
The world narrows to the two of us, his voice a velvet darkness caressing my skin. But then, the realization hits, cold and unwelcome.
He watched.
“I hate you.”
Dario sits up. His eyes burn into mine, reflecting a challenge, a dare to look away. But I can”t. I won”t.
”Really? You’re no walk in the park yourself. You’re spoiled, entitled, and bratty. Probably the most difficult woman I’ve ever met in my life.”
His words are a lash, each syllable a strike against my self-composure. I’m none of those things. Yet he doesn”t see all of me, just facets in the dim light of his prejudice.
”Difficult? How often do you kidnap women and have them too?”
“You can ask your daddy for that answer.”
”Fuck you. You disgust me,” my voice is a weapon, sharp and loaded.
”Thank you,” he spits, venom dripping from every letter.
”You’re a nasty mother fucker,” I say, the taste of the words bitter on my tongue.
”And you”re a fucking cunt.”
Rage surges within me. It propels my arm forward to wipe that smug certainty off his face. I make contact, the sting of the connection rippling through my hand. Dario”s reflexes react to my actions. His hand snaps out, capturing mine in an ironclad grip.
”What did I tell you about those hands?” The unbridled arousal is evident in his shorts.
His grip is my anchor, a reminder of his effortlessly wielding power. He stands from the bench, my wrist in his grasp, and backs me into the wall.
“I warned you about striking me again,” Dario”s hand moves, a silent command I can”t ignore.
He spins me around with deftness born from dark intent. My chest is now flush with the cool surface, and my heart races, each beat resonating against the wall that now supports my weight. The air between us crackles.
A gasp parts my lips, but the echo of the first slap to my ass swallows it. Pain blooms across my skin, a fierce blossom of red no doubt painting my flesh. It stings, yet the sting is sweet, awakening a hunger I”ve been desperate to deny.
”Ah,” escapes me, an involuntary surrender to the sharper, more insistent second spank.
My body betrays me, responding with a shameful rush of warmth. Even as my mind rails against this crude display of dominance, my curves yearn for his touch, craving the roughness only Dario can deliver.
He doesn”t hesitate, seizing control as confidently as one might claim their rightful throne. He draws me back from the wall in a fluid motion, turning me once more. His hands frame my face, and then his lips find mine—hard, demanding, a collision of need that scorches every reasoned thought from my mind. The taste of blood is evident from the force of his kiss.
Heat pools within me, a whirlpool centered at the very core of my being. It pulls me under, drowning me in sensation as our kiss deepens—a tangle of tongues and teeth, the sweet agony of giving in.
His left hand splays across the base of my neck, squeezing gently. His fingers hook into the waistband of my workout shorts with urgency, dragging them down with a zealousness that leaves me exposed and vulnerable.
There”s a brief chill of air against my heated skin before he lifts me and then slams into me without warning. I moan at his insertion, the lips of my pussy stretched open.
His grip on my neck tightens, angling my head to maintain eye contact as he drives deeper, harder, animalistic in his need for me.
My legs hook around his waist, and my hands find his back, nails digging into the skin. The beast within him roars to life with each violent thrust, leaving his ink-covered body slick with sweat that drips down like molten honey onto my quivering skin.
He grips my hips as if they were born to hold me like this - bruises blooming where his fingers press into my flesh. My cries echo off the weights and treadmills, an ebb and flow of pleasure mixed with pain that makes us both shudder.
With every thrust, he claims me as his own personal property. My walls clench and unclench around his length in a rhythm that matches his hips. I teeter on the edge, that wicked place where pain becomes pleasure. And then, like a volcano finally bursting forth after years of dormancy, I shatter beneath him.
It starts deep within—a shuddering quake that works its way up through every nerve ending until it explodes from between my legs in an audible gasp of release.
”Dario,” I mutter as he continues to plunge into me despite my orgasm.
I arch my back and feel his lips at my ear, his words hushed. ”That”s right... come for me.”
Dario”s teeth scrape down my neck as his free hand works between us, finding my throbbing clit and rubbing just right.
His scent envelops me, musky and masculine. The mix of soap and sweat is all too intoxicating. I bite my lip to stifle another moan, arching into him even more as I feel the walls start to close in on me.
The intensity of it all—his eyes devouring me, his hands possessing me, and his hardness pounding deep inside—overwhelms me with desire. The taste of him—the salt of his rough skin and hot sweat mixes with my own on his tongue as he kisses along my jawline.
The sound of our flesh slapping together resounds around us, muffled only by our harsh breathing and heavy panting. His mouth meets mine roughly, his tongue invading and claiming every part of me in a possessive kiss that leaves no questions unanswered about who owns whom at this moment.
He thursts, picking up speed until we”re moving as one. Soon, pleasure crashes over me again, a tidal wave that obliterates all else.
With one last powerful thrust, Dario”s eyes roll back in his head, and he releases himself into me while letting out the loudest groan I’ve ever heard from a man. It”s primal, raw—truly animalistic.
Our gazes lock once more before he pulls out of me and backs away. Not knowing what to say or do, I pull my shorts back up and head toward the door. Dario opens a cabinet and hands me a black box with a red ribbon. I open it and find a new phone inside.
“There are numbers preprogrammed that you are cleared to call. If the number is not on the phone, you can’t call it. Your internet usage is restricted to your social sites only.”
Control.
That is all this man is about. He rules based on fear. But I’m not afraid of him.
“You can never touch me again,” I remark with venom on my tongue.
“Don’t worry, Princessa. Like I told you before, you’ll beg me to fuck you.”