Chapter 47 #3
I don’t dare take my eyes off his face as I hear the sound of retreating footsteps. Whatever this is, whatever bargain I’m about to strike, I can only hope that future me can somehow reconcile herself with the sordid details.
His hand moves, it glides up my spine and my skin erupts into goosebumps at the contact.
“You want to be my concubine? My favourite, is that it?” He murmurs.
I nod quickly. It’s not like I have much choice, but if this is what I have to sell, then it’s not so big a bargain. After all he’s already used every part of me, can use every part, I might as well get something in return.
“Do you want that because you want me, or is it your fear of my other pets driving you to this?”
I open my mouth then shut it quickly. Antonio is smart. Too fucking smart. If I lie now, I know he’ll know. But if I speak the absolute truth, then what will that mean? Will he cast me off? Have me beaten because I don’t crave him the way he so obviously does me?
“Both.” I say, choosing the only option left.
“I fear them, I hate them, but that’s not the only reason I want to be here with you.
” My cheeks heat, my body trembles and a part of me is so ashamed as I speak the words, because some of it is true.
Antonio may be an absolute monster, and yet he did show kindness to me, he did…
I shake my head, wondering how much of his behaviour even now is simply manipulation?
Well, if he can play such cards, then why can’t I?
I’d need to be smart, bide my time. It could take months, years even, but I could do it. I know I could.
“Pup?” Antonio says in such an expectant tone, like he can read my mind, like he knows every conflicted thought.
“You bought me.” I whisper, “And you were kind to me when no one else was. At least let me show you my thanks for that.”
“It’s not your gratitude that I want.” He says.
“Then what is it? What more can I give you when you’ve taken everything from me already?”
His lips quirk as if I’ve made a joke. “Oh, Dumpling, there is so much more of you still to take.” He murmurs, and then his mouth crashes down on mine.
It’s not a kiss of affection or tenderness. It’s a conquest, it’s a punishment. His lips are hard and demanding, forcing mine apart. His tongue invades my mouth, and it’s a ruthless, claiming stroke that tastes of expensive coffee and pure, undiluted Antonio.
I gasp against him, my hands coming up to push against his chest, but the solid wall of muscle doesn’t budge. He swallows my protest, my anger, my fear, devouring it all.
I hate him. I hate his words, his control, His effortless ability to reduce me to this trembling, wanting thing.
But I want this. I want the anger, I want the fight. Somehow this makes it better in my head, somehow it makes me feel less like a whore.
I kiss him back because I have to. My tongue tangles with his in a fierce, battling dance. I bite his lower lip, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to make a point.
He groans, a sound of pure animal approval and his hand fists tighter in my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss even further. We are a clash of teeth, lips, and fury; a storm contained within the four walls of his civilized study.
He breaks the kiss as suddenly as he started it, both of us breathing heavily. His eyes are no longer ice. They are black fire, burning with a possessive hunger that steals the air from my lungs.
Without a word, he bends and hooks an arm under my bruised knees, the other around my back and lifts me as if I weigh nothing.
My sore muscles cry out at the sudden movement, but the sound is lost in the dizzying sensation of being carried.
He kicks open the study door and strides into the hallway, his footsteps echoing on the marble floor.
We climb the staircase, go up a level. I stare at the beautiful rug far beneath me as I’m taken past guard after guard. I knew this place was a fortress, but I didn’t realise Antonio had so many men around even his own quarters. Does he not get sick of being watched?
We walk through a wide opening, and I realise it’s the entryway to some sort of suite.
We pass some couches, and my eyes catch a glance of an open window and a sweeping lawn that trails off into the distance.
Then we’ve through, into a new room, a new space and I’m dumped onto a bed with such force I nearly bounce right back off.
I brush my hair off my face, turning enough to see Antonio shutting the doors before he pauses, resting his head against the polished wood like he’s saying some sort of prayer.
“Master?” I murmur.
He turns, his gaze fixed on me with that same look in his eyes that he has every time he wants to fuck me. “I don’t want your gratitude.” He snarls. “I don’t give a fuck about whether you’re grateful or not.”
“Then what do you want?” I practically beg. He must know I’ll do anything right now.
He draws in a long breath, one that feels weighted, like he’s about to reveal the most horrific of secrets. “I want your soul, Grace. I want your undying, unwavering fucking loyalty. I want your heart too. I want every piece of you. I want it all.”
I shrink back, scrambling away but he’s crossing the room, pinning me down onto the mattress, forcing me to look at him.
“You’re mine. All fucking mine. Every piece of you is mine. Every delicate freckle, and strand of hair, every conflicted thought in your head too. I own you, I’ve claimed you. You’re all fucking mine, do you understand?”
I nod, barely able to from the grip he has around my face. “Yours.” I murmur, hating the word, hating the syllables. Hating it all.
I’m not his. I’m not anybody’s but mine, but I have to play this game, I have to give in if I want to survive.
“Strip,” he commands, his voice gravelly and deep.
My fingers, trembling and clumsy, fumble with the dress. I can’t get it off. I’m shaking too hard.
He growls in impatience, grabs the neckline of the dress and pulls, hard. The sound of ripping fabric is obscenely loud in the quiet room. The dress tears open from neck to hem, baring me to his hungry gaze.
I am naked, laid bare before him while he is still dressed. I guess the inequality is the point, the vulnerability is too.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his eyes raking over my body, lingering on the diamonds glittering at my nipples and the matching one nestled in the hood of my clit. “My pretty, pierced whore. But want to know a secret?”
I gulp, feeling like right now I’d rather fucking not.
He twirls the bar through my left breast, then lowers his hand to touch the one that ruins me. “I was the one who asked for these little extras.” He reveals. “I ordered it.”
I can’t think. I can’t even process that.
A wave of anger takes over and all I can see is that moment, years ago when I was curled up on that bed, when I was so afraid that the Blake Brothers would be back. That they’d hurt me more, and Antonio had been there, he’d comforted me, he’d… it was a trick. Another fucking trick.
“You…” I snarl, then catch myself. This moment here is a trick too. A test. Antonio uses information like gold. He doesn’t reveal anything without having a very deliberate reason for it.
He wants to check my submission, he wants to see if I’m as willing to submit to him knowing what he did.
I draw in a long deep breath, reminding myself that I can do this. I can play just as well as him, and I have an advantage he doesn’t; I know he wants me. I know he’s desperate for me to play this part, to be his willing whore.
“How would you know you’d even get to see them, I was being auctioned…” I stop mid-sentence, realising then how fucking na?ve I’ve been. “You rigged it.” I whisper. “You got Conrad Blake to…” He smiles, a cruel, knowing curve of his scarred lips.
He’s played me this entire time. I shake my head, trying to compartmentalise because I know if I fuck up my reaction, Antonio will have me dragged from here, will have me locked back in the Doghouse and it’ll take me months for an opportunity to present itself again.
I let out a laugh that sounds so at odds with the swirling, twisted emotions inside me.
“You’re even more manipulative than I thought.” I say, but it’s not spoken like an accusation, it’s spoken like a compliment, a tease.
And it feels like those words, that tone sparks a match, sparks a fucking wildfire.
His mouth finds mine again in another brutal, claiming kiss. One hand fists in my hair, holding me still while the other travels down my body, rough and possessive. He gropes my breast, his thumb flicking harshly over the diamond piercing, sending a jolt of sharp pleasure-pain straight to my core.
I cry out into his mouth, my hips arching off the bed involuntarily.
“So responsive,” he mocks against my lips. “Such a good little slut for me. Is this what you wanted when you were grumbling in my study? You wanted me to remember you were there? To remind you of your purpose?”
His hand leaves my breast and slides down my stomach, his fingers digging into my hip for a moment before sliding through my wetness. I gasp, my head thrashing back on the pillow. He’s barely touching me, and I’m already on the edge.
“So wet,” he snarls, his voice thick with contempt and desire. “Soaked for me. Your body knows its Master, even if your mouth forgets.”
He plunges two fingers inside me without warning. I scream, my back bowing off the bed. It’s not gentle, it’s a claiming. A punishment.
I’m still so sore from how Felice brutality assaulted me with that candlestick, and yet the pain helps. On some level, the pain allows me to balance my guilt and shame.
He pumps his fingers in and out in a ruthless, driving rhythm that steals my breath. The heel of his palm grinds against my clit, the pressure against the delicate piercing an exquisite torture.
“You are mine, Pup,” he growls, his face inches from mine, his eyes holding me captive. “Every sigh, every moan, every orgasm; it all belongs to me. You belong to me.”