Chapter Three
T he water was warm, almost too warm.
Steam filled the bathroom, curling around her like a lover’s embrace, and Sarica leaned back against the tiled wall, her eyes closed as she let the heat seep into her bones. But she wasn’t alone.
Strong hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer, and she gasped as a body pressed against hers. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know who it was. The feel of him, the scent of him—it was all so familiar, so achingly right. Her hands slid up his chest, her fingers tracing the hard planes of muscle as she leaned in to kiss him, her lips parting under his.
“Giancarlo,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. “I’ve missed you.”
He didn’t answer, but his hands moved over her body with a possessiveness that left her trembling. His touch was everywhere, his mouth hot against her skin as he kissed her neck, her shoulders, her collarbone. She arched into him, her body responding to his every move, every touch, until she was trembling on the edge.
“Giancarlo,” she moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer. “Please...”
But something was wrong. The hands on her hips felt different—rougher, more demanding. The body pressed against hers was unfamiliar, the scent not his. Her eyes flew open, and her breath caught in her throat.
It wasn’t Giancarlo.
The man in the shower with her was a stranger, his face shadowed but his eyes burning with an intensity that made her stomach twist. She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, holding her in place as he leaned in to kiss her. She turned her head, but it was too late. His lips brushed against hers, and she felt a surge of something she didn’t want to feel—pleasure, hot and undeniable, coursing through her.
“No,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “This isn’t right...”
But her body betrayed her, arching into his touch as his hands moved lower, his fingers sliding between her legs. She gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders as the pleasure built inside her, hot and relentless. She tried to fight it, tried to pull away, but it was too much. The heat, the pressure, the way his body moved against hers—it was all too much.
“ Dauphin... ”
Excruciating agony ripped through Giancarlo at the sound of Sarica moaning another man's name. He lunged forward, but the chains binding his limbs held him back, and there was nothing he could do but watch in a mixture of rage and betrayal as Sarica’s moans filled the air.
No, stop, no!
Steam from the shower blocked his view as Sarica and her lover came together. He could no longer see anything but he could hear everything.
The couple's bodies slapping against each other—-
The breathless panting—-
And Sarica crying it out again—-
Dauphin.
It was the sound of a woman who was about to come.
GIANCARLO'S RAGGED breath destroyed the silence as soon as he was released from his nightmare.
Even though he knew now none of it was real—-
He was still unable to make himself forget.
And that was when he felt it.
Something that he hadn't felt since his father and grandfather were massacred.
Something he thought he had long taken control of.
Rage.
Because right or wrong—-
Sarica needed to pay for forgetting she belonged to him.
AN ELEVATOR RIDE TO a secret floor.
And at the end of the hallway, a luxurious room that was now a cage.
Her cage.
He stood in the doorway, his gaze brooding as he surveyed his prisoner.
Sarica .
Her posture was rigid with tension, her hands cuffed behind her back. The blindfold over her eyes was stark against her pale skin, and her violet hair fell in disheveled waves around her shoulders. She was still wearing the outfit she had been taken in—-a tight-fitted dark shirt that clung to the swell of her breasts, which were now noticeably and rapidly heaving.
Giancarlo had convinced himself three nights ago that keeping her trapped was for her protection. But that was a lie, of course. After finding out what she had been up to in the past three months?
Giancarlo knew she was scared, but he could not make himself regret this.
He wanted her scared.
Because fear would help Sarica remember the lesson he didn't want her to forget again.
She belonged to him.
And him alone.
Always.
He stepped into the room, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the thick rug. Sarica’s head snapped up at the noise, her body stiffening. She tilted her head as if trying to discern his presence. She was completely at his mercy, and a thrill of power rushed through his bloodstream at the knowledge.
He reached for her, his touch making Sarica flinch. She tried to recoil away but he gave her no chance to escape. Giancarlo pulled her to his feet, and even as guilt slashed at his conscience—-
I need you to remember you're mine, dolcezza.
He cupped her face in his hands and crushed his mouth to hers.
The kiss was fierce and desperate, a clash of teeth and tongues that left no room for gentleness. He only meant to punish her with a single kiss, but then something changed.
And his world turned upside down—-
Per che, dolcezza?
—-the moment she started kissing him back.
No. No. No.
He hated her for wanting him.
But at the same time, feeling her hunger for him fed his own desire.
Her lips were soft and yielding, and the taste of her intoxicating. Giancarlo groaned, his hands sliding down to her hips, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.
She started grinding her mound against him, and it was the last straw.
He carried her to the bed.
Tore her clothes off her body.
But still she didn't resist him.
In mere moments, she was completely bare to his gaze.
His beautiful Sarica.
Who should only be his.
So why, dolcezza?
Why?
He knew her first time should not be like this.
But he could no longer stop himself.
I'm sorry, my love.
Giancarlo knelt between her legs, his hands gripping her thighs as he spread them wider. She gasped, her body arching off the bed, but she didn’t resist. Her blindfolded face turned toward him, her lips parted in a silent plea, and Giancarlo felt a surge of possessiveness unlike anything he had ever known.
He leaned down, his breath hot against her skin, and pressed his mouth to her. She cried out, her hands twisting in the cuffs, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The taste of her was intoxicating, and the sounds she made—soft, desperate moans that sent shivers down his spine—only fueled his hunger. He licked and teased, his tongue working her until she was writhing beneath him, her body trembling on the edge of release.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please...”
Her plea was his undoing.
He increased the pressure, his hands gripping her hips as he drove her over the edge. Her body convulsed, her back arching off the bed, and she cried out, a sound so raw and primal it sent a jolt of pleasure through him. He didn’t stop until the last tremor had faded and she was lying limp and breathless beneath him.
For a moment, he just stared at her, his chest heaving, his mind reeling.
She was his.
Completely, utterly his.
And yet, as he looked at her—-blindfolded, bound, and trembling—-he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had crossed a line he could never come back from.