Chapter 19
PENELOPE
He released my arms from the cuffs, but my legs remained shackled.
“Milaya,” he murmured, a growl that seemed to vibrate through the room, “do you want me to stop because you hate me... or because you’re ashamed of this body, laid bare before me?”
His eyes burned into mine, stripping me as completely as his hands did, and with a deliberate tug, he pulled my top over my head, exposing my stomach.
“No!” I gasped, voice breaking, cheeks burning under the unforgiving chandelier light. My rolls, my stretch marks, every curve I had loathed—exposed and scrutinized.
“How long do you think you can hide from me?” His voice was soft now, dripping with possessive menace. “All of you—your flaws, your insecurities, every part of you—they belong to me. You are... my wife. Mine. And nothing will ever change that.”
He leaned down, lips grazing my navel, “This tummy...” His kiss was reverent. “It’s perfect. I could worship it all day.”
He traced the length of my stomach with careful lips, mapping every roll as if memorizing them. “Stop hiding, Penelope. Every inch of you belongs to me.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks, chest heaving with a mixture of shame and an ache I hated myself for.
His cruel gentleness, the way he adored what I despised in myself—it was torture. “You’re a monster,” I whispered, voice trembling.
Dmitri’s smirk cut deep. “Stop doubting yourself, milaya,” he said, mockery laced with earnest obsession. “You want this. I can see it, even when you think you hide it.”
I turned my head, fury burning, confused by the strange tenderness amid his punishment.
His face lowered again, breath fanning my core, sending shivers I couldn’t control. “So clean,” he murmured, obsession thick in his voice. “Your scent... it drives me insane.”
Then his lips found my clit, grazing it with agonizing slowness.
I bit down hard, muffling a moan, but the pleasure was relentless, building with every flick of his tongue.
He sucked harder, his teeth grazing the edges, driving me to the edge of madness.
“Dmitri!” I screamed, his name slipping out before I could stop it, my voice echoing in the room.
I didn’t care if Giovanni was nearby, if the walls themselves heard me. The intensity was too much, my body trembling.
His tongue slid inside me, exploring every inch with a hunger that felt like starvation.
My hips bucked involuntarily, the cuffs biting into my skin as pleasure coiled tighter, a pressure so intense it felt like I might shatter.
“Stop!” I cried, panic spiking as the sensation overwhelmed me. “I’ll... I’ll pee!” My voice broke, tears streaming as I fought to hold back, my body convulsing.
Dmitri chuckled against my core, the vibration sending another wave of heat through me. “Pee on me, milaya,” he taunted, his voice dark and teasing. “Let go.”
“No!” I sobbed, my hands instinctively reaching for his head, fingers tangling in his dark hair, urging him on even as I begged him to stop.
My body betrayed me, shuddering as the pressure broke, a wave of release crashing over me.
I gasped, my vision blurring, shame and pleasure tangling as I came undone, my body convulsing under his relentless touch.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his tongue lapping at me, licking every drop as if it were ambrosia. “It’s not pee, milaya. It’s your come, and it tastes as sweet as you.”
He kept going, drawing out every shudder until I was spent, gasping, my body trembling in the aftermath.
When he finally lifted his head, his lips glistened with my release, his devilish smile mocking my shame. “Want to taste how you feel on me?” he asked, his voice dripping with cruelty.
“No,” I spat, my voice weak but defiant. “Unleash me and go.”
“Is that what you want?” he asked, standing tall, his alpha presence towering despite the stitches straining at his side. “I could fuck you right now, milaya. You’d be my first, and I’d be yours. My cock aches for you.” His words were raw, almost pleading, but Dmitri didn’t beg—he commanded.
Yet there was a flicker in his eyes, a question, as if he wanted my consent despite his dominance.
“You’ve done enough,” I said, my shame easing but my defiance holding strong. “You got what you wanted.”
He smirked, “What? I haven’t done anything but make your secret fantasy come true, Penelope. You’ve always wanted this—wanted me.”
“No,” I lied, my voice trembling, but the truth burned in my chest. Before he’d become this monster, I’d dreamed of moments like this—his touch, his worship—but not like this, not bound and broken, not with my body laid bare and judged. “I didn’t want this.”
His gaze dropped to my thighs, lingering on the rolls and stretch marks I hated, and my shame surged, my legs aching to close but held open by the cuffs. “Say yes,” he said, his voice commanding. “Say yes, and I’ll fulfill every fantasy you’ve ever had.”
“Damn you,” I spat, my eyes locked on his.
I hated myself for it—for the way his hardness, straining against his trousers, thrilled me. He’d seen every flaw, every roll, and still wanted me. It was too much, the tears pricking my eyes again as I fought the pull of his obsession.
To my shock, he leaned down, his hands deftly unfastening the cuffs on my legs, first the right, then the left. My thighs snapped together, my body shrinking under the weight of my exposure.
I wanted him—God, I wanted him, this twisted psycho who’d broken me—but I hated him for it. Why was he letting me go? Was this another game?
I scrambled for the duvet beside the chaise, yanking it over my nakedness like a shield.
My heart pounded, my core still pulsing with need, but I clung to my defiance, glaring at him through tear-streaked eyes.
“Giovanni told me you wanted to dance with me,” Dmitri said, his voice obsessive. “Tomorrow night, we’re going to Lupo Nero. You’ll dance with me, milaya, and only me. Nine o’clock.” His words were a command, a vow, as if he’d chain me to him with every step on the dancefloor.
He turned toward the door, his boots heavy on the marble, and I opened my mouth, a desperate ‘Wait’ almost spilling out.
My body ached for him, my pussy throbbing, my need blinding me to the hatred I should feel. But the words died in my throat, and he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
I stared at the tattered remains of my jeans on the floor, the fabric a mirror of my fractured resolve.
I wanted to hate him, to rage at him for stripping me bare, for breaking me with his touch and his cruel games. But as I clutched the duvet tighter, my body still humming with the memory of his lips, I couldn’t summon the anger I needed.
The boy who’d promised me stars was gone, but the monster he’d become had claimed me—and some twisted part of me didn’t want to escape.
I slid off the chaise, my body trembling, each nerve alight from the memory of Dmitri’s touch, his scent clinging to me like a brand I couldn’t shake.
I stumbled toward a nearby wardrobe, dark wood carved with wolves whose unblinking eyes seemed to track me, judging me for my weakness.
Inside, I found a pile of Dmitri’s clothes, the faint musk of him still clinging to the fabric. My hands closed around an oversized black shirt, the hem brushing past my thighs, a fragile shield against exposure.
No pants, no underwear—just his shirt, both comfort and reminder of the monster who had undone me.
I tugged it close, my bare legs prickling with vulnerability, praying I wouldn’t run into Giovanni on my path back to my room.
The villa’s halls stretched endlessly.
My bare feet whispered across the stone as I moved, oversized shirt swaying, my heart hammering with every echo.
Dmitri’s words reverberated through my mind, paired with the lingering heat of his lips on my skin.
I rounded a corner, the corridor narrowing, and froze.
Whispers. Low, urgent voices floated from a shadowed alcove behind a tapestry of a snarling wolf, threads glinting in dim light.
The alcove was a forgotten corner of the villa, where old linens and broken relics gathered dust. Curiosity, reckless and sharp, pulled me closer. I pressed myself against the wall.
“You don’t get to look at my wife like that,” Dmitri’s voice cut through the quiet, possessive, each word a lash of alpha authority.
“I’ve been loyal to you since we were kids,” Giovanni’s tone was calm but edged with exasperation. “You think I’d have any thoughts about your wife? She’s not my type.”
I peeked around the tapestry, my breath caught in my throat. Dmitri’s broad shoulders were tense, blood-stained shirt clinging to the stitches on his side. Giovanni stood firm, scarred and composed, but his eyes were wary.
“What do you mean, ‘not your type’?” Dmitri’s voice was sharp, each syllable a warning.
Giovanni exhaled slowly, running a hand through his dark hair. “You’re letting jealousy cloud your judgment. She’s beautiful, yes—but I wasn’t looking at her. What you saw? Nothing but a misunderstanding. You know I would never betray you.”
Dmitri’s shoulders sagged slightly, a crack in the armor he always wore. “Everything I do is for her... and because of her,” he said, his voice low, threaded with an obsession that made my pulse spike and stomach churn.
“I know,” Giovanni said softly, almost pitying. “But her rebellion, her recklessness—it’s dangerous. She’s putting us at risk.”
Dmitri’s jaw tightened. “I know. Her father comes tomorrow. Marco might try to take her back. I need security around her—airtight.”
“I’ll handle it,” Giovanni said, firm and steady.
Dmitri nodded, his frame still tense, and as he turned toward the alcove’s entrance, I spun on my heel, heart hammering, and tiptoed down the corridor.
The oversized shirt flapped against my thighs, a fragile shield against the memory of his hands, his lips, his possession.
My bare feet whispered against the marble, but inside, my mind screamed.
Jealousy? Dmitri?
The man who had cuffed me, stripped me, claimed me with a cruelty that left me shivering didn’t seem capable of something so human. Yet his words—Everything I do is for her... and because of her—echoed in my chest like a bell tolling doom.
What did he mean by everything?
He hated me, yes, despised me for sins I didn’t understand, for debts my parents owed that I had never agreed to. And yet, that same obsession, that unrelenting need, felt like a chain I couldn’t escape—and part of me, the part I loathed most, didn’t want to.
I reached my room, the heavy oak door groaning as I slipped inside, heart ragged.
The four-poster bed loomed, its silk sheets a mockery, gleaming under the dim light.
I sank onto the edge, clutching Dmitri’s shirt to me, inhaling the scent that still lingered on the fabric like a warning.
My father was coming tomorrow—Marco Romano.
I had to see him, demand answers.
Why did Dmitri despise us? What had my parents done to turn the boy I’d loved into this vengeful, obsessive beast?
But how? The villa was a fortress, every corridor lined with guards, cameras capturing every heartbeat, every step.
Dmitri’s orders to Giovanni meant no room for error—security tighter than any prison I had imagined.
My stubbornness flared, a tiny defiant spark in the darkness. I would not let my father leave without me.
I’d find a way—steal a key, slip a note, anything. I needed to know the truth, to untangle the storm that had swallowed the boy I had loved, the boy he had once been.
I paced the room, the cool air brushing my bare legs, my chest tight with tension.
Tomorrow night, Dmitri would take me to Lupo Nero, and his possessive gaze would follow me through the crowded club.
Another cage, another game—but also a chance.
A fleeting window to slip away, to find my father, or to discover the truth he had buried so deep.
I clenched my fists, letting the ache of the boy I’d loved mix with the fire of the woman I had become.
I would be ready. Not submissive. Not broken. Defiant. Stubborn. And even if my heart shattered, even if I longed for the boy he’d killed, I would not vanish without a fight.