Owning Nicci

6. Nicci

6

NICCI

I t’s not until Savio closes the door behind him and locks it that I give in to the tremors that have been threatening to take my knees out from under me since my father walked in.

The moment I’m alone, I let myself collapse back against the bed, exhaustion washing over me, a tide of overwhelm threatening to drag me under. My clothes are gone. I’m alone. Savio’s instructions ring in my ears.

I can still taste him in the back of my throat, sharp and salty, my stomach churning. I have no idea if he’s going to feed me anything other than his cum today, but I do know that I don’t want to still be unshowered when he comes back. A flush creeps over my skin at the reminder that he won’t be bringing me any clothes, at least not until he decides there’s a good reason for it.

This is a different kind of humiliation than what I experienced at the club. This is methodical—planned. This feels like ownership in a way that nothing that the men who came to the Lily could ever make me feel, and I realize that all this time, I’ve been dealing with amateurs.

Savio is something else. Calculating. Dangerous. Professional. A flicker of fear trickles through me, and I know I need to be careful. My first impression of him as a wolf, as a predator, was right. If I’m not careful, he’ll eat me alive and throw away my corpse.

I’m nothing to him if I’m not useful. I shouldn’t expect sympathy or understanding. I’m here to answer his questions and provide him with pleasure, and if I fail at either of those, I won’t get what I want from him. What I’m realizing now that I need .

I hadn’t realized just how badly I needed it until it was said aloud. But now, the craving for revenge has burrowed into my bones. I’ve been hurting for so long, trapped and abused and used and manipulated. I want to take all of that pain and turn it outwards for the first time in my life. I want them to feel it, too.

Taking a deep breath, I start to head towards the bathroom. The wooden floor is cool under my bare feet, and I try to get used to the idea that I won’t be allowed clothing. Right now, it doesn’t feel so strange since I’m about to shower—but I’m sure it will.

The shower itself is a blissful relief. I turn the water on as hot as I can stand it and step under the spray, just standing there for a long time before I even start to make an attempt at washing myself. There are toiletries provided for me—shower gel and shampoo and conditioner—and I scrub myself until my skin is pink and raw, trying to get every bit of the club off of me. I don’t want anything left. I wash myself over and over, scrub my hair, until the heat burns away that sticky fake scent and all that’s left is the clean eucalyptus and jasmine scent of the soap.

I stay in the shower until the water runs cold and then finally get out, toweling myself dry. I’m tempted to wrap one of the huge, fluffy towels around myself in lieu of clothing, but I know better. A towel isn’t clothes, but I don’t think Savio will appreciate me testing the spirit of his instructions. He wants me naked until he deems otherwise, and I know that’s what this is about. Keeping me in my place. Vulnerable.

Stepping towards the fogged-over mirror, I wipe my hand across it, wincing as I see my reflection. With all of my makeup gone, the bruises across my face and body are easily visible. Some are darker than others—a few fading to yellow—but none of them can be hidden now. I don’t have anything to cover them with—no way to stop Savio from seeing them when he comes back to my room.

Maybe he won’t ask. It’s not as if he gives a shit about me. He’ll assume the bruises are from men at the club, and for some of them, he’ll even be right. I doubt he’ll care enough to even inquire, though.

I dig through the medicine and sink cabinets, looking to see what’s been provided for me. I find a hairbrush, a few packaged toothbrushes and toothpaste, mouthwash, and that’s it. No hairdryer—probably so I don’t electrocute myself as a way out of this—so I use a smaller towel to put my hair up on top of my head until it dries. I hate the feeling of wet hair clinging to my skin.

There’s nothing else to do but wait. As I walk back into the bedroom, the weight of what’s happened settles on my shoulders more heavily than before. There’s no television, no books. Someone came in while I was showering and changed the bedding, but other than that, nothing about the room is different, and it’s very bare. I wonder if Savio removed some things from the room, like a TV, to emphasize my captivity.

You belong to me now.

I’m still furious with him, but it feels different than it did before. I’m still locked in this room, and I’m still a captive, but I feel as if I’ve gotten a little of my power back. As long as I submit to Savio and follow his instructions, he’s agreed to help me. The fact that he was willing to entertain the idea at all gives me back some of my confidence.

And not only that. He’s agreed to teach me what I need to know in order to get my revenge. For now, I only intend to use it on the targets we’ve both agreed on, but when I’m finished? When he’s tired of me and no longer has any use for me?

Then what’s stopping me from turning on him?

He’s thought of that, too. He must have. Savio is arrogant and entitled, but I don’t think he’s stupid. He must know that any knife he hands me could end up buried in his back. So he’ll have contingencies against that, I’m sure, but still…

I’ll find a way. When I’m through with him, I’ll teach him what happens to men who think they can treat a woman like me as if she’s their slave. I’ll put him on his knees for me , and I’ll bathe in his blood.

And then, I’ll be free.

I’ll leave this city and never come back. I’ll find some other place, somewhere that has no bad memories for me, only possibilities. A fresh start. I’ll become someone else, and I’ll shed all of this misery like an old skin.

A laugh bubbles to my lips. Without realizing it, Savio has potentially given me a way out. In buying me, he might have handed me the keys to my freedom. I’ll need to figure out other obstacles, of course—like identification and money—the things that kept me from ever escaping my father’s clutches, but I’ll find a way. What matters is that Savio will have given me the one thing I couldn’t get before, while my father had me locked away in his mansion, under his thumb.

The ability to fight back…and my father dead, so that he can’t ever come after me.

And he still thinks he’s the one in control.

It’s a strange thing to think when I’m standing in a strange room naked, locked in with no clothes and nothing to do. But I feel a rush of something that feels like power.

I can’t let him see it, though. He wants my submission, my true submission, and I have to make him believe he has it. Otherwise, the deal is off.

I walk to the window, looking out over the view of the city. It’s beautiful, stretching out in a sea of skyscrapers all the way to the horizon, but I feel hollow as I look at it. There was a time when this city held a great deal of pleasure for me. A luxurious home, endless shopping, pampering whenever I wanted it, five-star meals, and plenty of parties. I was my father’s treasure, his beautiful daughter, a gorgeous ornament for him to display. He had plans for me, and I was happy to try to enact them. I was happy to marry who he told me to, the handsome Bratva heir, the eldest Yashkov son. I didn’t love my future fiance, but he was good-looking, and charming, and even if I could tell he despised me, I hoped that he might at least turn some of that hate into passion. It’s not as if I wasn’t beautiful and talented enough in bed to please him, even if he didn’t really want me .

But he hated me enough to spurn me. He never even fucked me—he kept giving me excuses, putting off the consummation of our relationship until the wedding night, as if traditions like that really mattered to him. I know for a fact they didn’t. And my failure to keep him snared was the beginning of the end.

Exhaustion sweeps over me, and I retreat to the bed, yanking the covers back and sliding under them. If Savio didn’t want me covered while I slept, he would have taken the bedding, so I have no worries about hiding under them. I wonder if he’ll bring me food at any point— or come back wanting me to get him off again—and my thoughts wander back to that moment when I sank down onto my knees for him, as willing as I could possibly be under the circumstances.

Would I want him if those circumstances were different?

I can’t say for sure. I don’t even know if I remember what it’s like to want someone, to really desire them. I wanted Dimitri, but I don’t remember what that felt like. It’s too obscured by everything that came after, all the hurt and abuse and violation.

I felt something in Savio when I touched him. Something strung taut and vibrating, on the verge of snapping, something he’s holding back. I’m afraid to find out what might happen if it did snap, and yet …

The memory of his hand knotted in my hair, holding my face against his heated skin as he came down my throat, sends a shudder through me. I hate him for using me like that, but my thighs squeeze together, unbidden, and I ball my hands into fists.

I don’t want to know if I’m wet. I don’t. I haven’t even touched myself in so long—and I haven’t given myself an orgasm in months. And there’s never been a man who was able to make me come.

Savio isn’t going to be the one to do it, even by proxy. I refuse to touch myself while thinking about him, and something tells me that if I reach down and slide my hand between my legs right now—if I find out if I’m wet, my clit swollen and pulsing with long-unfulfilled need—I’ll be thinking about his hand in my hair. About his thick length filling my throat. About how, even while he suffocated me on his cock, I felt something hot and needy stirring in my core, aching for something that I’ve forgotten.

It was the desire for revenge. The need to please him so that he’d give me what I want. That’s all.

I tell myself that as I roll over onto my stomach, ignoring the steady throb between my thighs. I close my eyes, and I’m asleep almost instantly, despite the bright daylight streaming into the room.

—

I sleep until evening, when I wake up to find that someone has left a tray of food just inside the door. There’s a piece of roasted duck breast with a berry reduction, honey carrots, and a salad with dried berries and a balsamic dressing, all neatly arranged on a porcelain tray sitting on the desk opposite my bed. I realize I must have been sleeping hard because I didn’t hear it brought in.

Well, at least he doesn’t intend to starve me. It feels strange, sitting down at the desk to eat naked—I feel more vulnerable and exposed than I ever have in my life—but I’m too hungry to let it bother me for long. I haven’t eaten since before I went to the club last night, and my stomach is growling loudly.

The food is delicious. I know Savio didn’t make it himself—either he has a cook, or he ordered it. A man like him doesn’t cook, not for himself and definitely not for a woman he’s bought as a plaything. But I don’t care. I eat every bite, savoring it, because I have no idea what kind of meal schedule he intends to keep me on.

Despite having slept all day, I’m still exhausted, and I fall back into bed as soon as I’m done eating. When I wake up in the morning, there’s a new tray on the desk—oatmeal with blueberries, a lemon yogurt, and a cup of hot tea—and no sign of Savio.

I eat it hungrily, remembering what he said about training. I wonder if he’ll bring me clothes or if he expects me to learn how to shoot and fight naked. Either way, I’ll need as much energy as I can manage, so I eat every bite of the food and sip the tea, looking out over the city skyline beyond the large window.

I hope he comes for me today, regardless of what he wants. Having slept more than enough, I can already feel myself getting restless, agitated by being kept here in this room like a cage. I shift uneasily in the chair, getting up to pace the room, feeling more and more aware of my nakedness and how completely exposed I am. I feel raw and bare and vulnerable, and when I hear the sound of the lock clicking open on the door, I have to resist the urge to fling up my arms to cover myself. If it’s Savio, I know he won’t appreciate it. He might even use it as a reason to break the tentative truce between us.

He steps into the room, fully dressed. I wonder if it’s another power play, a way to emphasize the difference between the two of us, because no one I know, not even my father, walks around his own home in a full suit. Savio’s is dark grey with a pale blue button-down beneath it, and he wears it well. Too well. I can’t ignore how attractive he is—more than attractive. He’s devastatingly gorgeous. The kind of handsome that’s impossible to ignore, even if I hate everything underneath the beautiful exterior.

His gaze sweeps over me, and I realize he’s holding something that looks like clothes in the crook of one arm. I feel a flicker of hope and swallow hard, trying not to stare at them for too long in case he decides to take them away.

“Did you sleep well?” Savio asks courteously, his tone flat. He looks at the tray on the desk. “You ate all your food. Good girl.”

“I slept fine.” I’m painfully conscious of his gaze sliding over me again, taking in every inch of my naked body.

“You showered?”

“Yes, sir.”

Savio nods, a pleased look on his face. “You’re a quick learner, principessa .” He steps forward, setting the clothes on the foot of the bed. “You’ll put these on to go to your training session with me this morning. When we come back, you’ll strip again and give me back the clothes. Do you understand?”

I nod again. “Yes, sir.”

A quick flick of my gaze downwards reveals just how turned on he is by my demure acquiescence. I can see his cock pressing against the front of his trousers, straining for attention, but Savio seems to be ignoring it. Whatever was trying to claw its way out of him yesterday, when I felt him struggling for control, it’s not there now. He’s composed and poised, the aloof, detached man who came to the Gilded Lily that first night that I met him.

And then, when I look back up, I see him staring at my face, as if he hadn’t fully looked at me since he walked in. His eyes narrow, and I know he sees the bruises there.

He twitches, almost as if he’s about to cross the space between us and come to me, and then I see his back stiffen, as if he’s holding himself in place. “Who did that to you?” he asks coldly, his eyes darkening with a possessive anger, and something hot curls through me, sparks skittering over my skin.

“That’s the first time anyone has asked,” I reply caustically, forcing every bit of resentment that I can into my tone. I’d rather he punish me than tell him the truth about some of these bruises.

“And I expect an answer.” His eyes are still roving over my face, down to my collarbone and breasts and ribs where more bruises are scattered, yellow and purple and green. There’s even one on my right hip, and some on my thighs. I covered them all with makeup for the club, thickly and efficiently enough that they couldn’t be seen. Savio couldn’t even see them last night, when he ordered me to strip for him.

“The men at the club,” I mutter, looking away from him. It’s a partial truth, but I don’t want him to realize that I’ve told him only half of it. If he tries to dig deeper, it won’t be good for either of us.

Savio is silent for a moment, his gaze sweeping over me again, taking in every inch of my naked body with a cold, slow appraisal that seems clinical this time instead of lustful. I’m not sure if he entirely believes me, but he seems satisfied with my answer.

What startles me is the jolt of disappointment that I feel. As if part of me hoped he would care enough to keep digging.

Why the hell would he do that? He wanted to know who damaged his purchase, that’s all. He doesn’t care about me , only that he was sold damaged goods.

“Your father should have informed me about the bruising before he named his price,” he says flatly a moment later, confirming my suspicions. “But there’s nothing that can be done about it now. And they won’t be able to touch you again.”

Something shifts in his voice in that last sentence. It’s not caring or concern. But that possessiveness glints through again, just for a moment, and my stomach tightens.

For a moment, as ridiculous as I know it is, I almost feel…protected.

And then it’s gone.

“Get dressed,” he says coolly. “Go downstairs in fifteen minutes. I expect you at the front door, on your knees. We’ll leave when I come out to meet you.”

I can feel my cheeks burn at that, flushing hot with embarrassment at the idea of waiting for him on my knees, but I don’t argue. I just nod yet again, with another murmured yes, sir , and Savio returns the nod briskly, turning and leaving the room.

I watch him go, flinching slightly when I hear the door click shut. I don’t understand him. I could feel him fighting for his self-control yesterday, on the edge of being consumed with anger and lust, and yet today he’s utterly detached. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he didn’t want me at all.

But I know men like Savio Valenti. One blowjob, no matter how good, and the beginnings of my submission won’t be enough to satisfy him. He’s waiting for something else, and I’m going to have to wait as well to find out what it is.

Fifteen minutes, and I’ve already wasted at least two of them. I hurriedly grab the clothes, finding a pair of cotton underwear, leggings, a sports bra, and a loose tank top, as well as a pair of sneakers. I pull it all on, grateful to be covered up again, and quickly brush my teeth and rinse my mouth out before heading to the door.

It’s unlocked, of course, which suddenly feels like a luxury. I’ve settled into my captivity too quickly, and I remind myself that I need to stay wary. On edge. Ready for any chance, once I’ve gotten what I need, to kill Savio and escape. I need to look for weaknesses, chinks in his armor, places where I can drive the knife home once I’m well-armed enough.

Everything past my door is new to me. I was unconscious when he brought me here, and I take a moment to take in my surroundings. I’m on the second floor of this space—I see a short hallway with dark wood flooring and deep green walls, with a second door towards the end of it. Savio’s bedroom? There’s a dark wood and iron spiral staircase that leads down from the top floor, and I follow it down to a large, open-concept space that encompasses the kitchen and living room. The kitchen is all black granite and dark metal, the living room done in monochromatic tones, and the far wall is mostly glass, opening out to a stunning view of Manhattan beyond. I see two doors that undoubtedly lead to other rooms, and another staircase that leads to a loft-like space above.

Shaking my head, I hurry to the front door. I’m wasting time, and the last thing I need is for Savio to come down and see me staring as if I’ve never seen a penthouse before. Our truce might be over before it’s even barely begun.

Steeling myself, I sink down to my knees in front of the door. He didn’t give me any instructions beyond that, but I fold my hands in my lap, trying to look demure. Submissive .

Anger threads through me, vibrating over my skin, but I take slow, deep breaths, holding it back. I’ve fought back my anger every night, every day for months now, for no reason other than my own survival. I can do it for a better reason now.

I stay there, kneeling, for what feels like a long time. Longer than fifteen minutes, although I have no doubt Savio is punctual. I hear his footsteps coming out of one of the other rooms on the main floor, and I dip my chin, avoiding looking at him as he approaches. I have a feeling he’ll be pleased with that.

He stops just in front of me, his polished Italian leather shoes in my view. Expensive shoes. I study them, staring at the glossy black tips as I kneel there and wait for him to speak.

When he does, it almost startles me because I’m so focused on pretending not to be angry. Not to hate him.

“Get up, Nicci. It’s time to go.”