11. Nicci
11
NICCI
M y expectation is that Savio will take me back to my room. Instead, his hand stiffens on my back as we reach the landing just before my door, and he urges me past it, down the hall towards his room.
My heartbeat pounds in my ears again, the blood rushing through my veins. I remember the press of the leather collar around my neck, his hand in my hair, his cock shoving down my throat, cutting off my air, my thoughts, everything except how it felt .
It felt, for that moment, good .
I’m angry with him. I am. I hate him. But my body is humming as he urges me towards his bedroom door, wondering what’s in store for me behind that secret panel tonight.
What he’s going to do to me.
Savio leads me into the cool, quiet dark of his room, which smells of leather and cedar—utterly masculine. He walks to the back wall. Lays his hand on the panel, and I hear it click open.
My heart thumps hard in my chest—with fear or anticipation, I’m not sure which. I tell myself it’s fear as I walk forward…only fear. I don’t want it to be anything else. Certainly not desire.
I step into the room, and just like before, the lights come flickering on. It’s warm inside, a perfect, pleasant temperature, but I shiver when I hear Savio follow me and close the door.
“Kneel.” The command comes out sharp and firm, and I want to resist. To refuse. But I know this is how I make up for what happened tonight. How I try to salvage our bargain before I lose it all.
And a small part of me, buried deep, wants to find out what happens if I obey. What he’ll do to me—and how it will feel.
I drop to my knees. He didn’t tell me to turn and face him, so I don’t. I simply sink down, my skirt sliding up my thighs as my bare knees touch the hard wooden floor, and I feel Savio behind me.
His fingers brush over the twist that I put my hair in tonight. One by one, he pulls the pins out of it, flicking them to the side. I hear each one hit the floor with a ping , as my hair tumbles down around my shoulders.
Savio wraps his hand in it, making a fist. He tugs my head back so that I’m looking up at him—upside down. Even like this, I can see how cold his face is, how impassive—but his eyes are different. I can see the lust there, the need burning in their emerald depths.
“You will obey,” Savio says, his voice ever-so-slightly rough at the edges, a rasp to it that tells me he’s hovering on the edge of control once again. “You will do as I command. And then, principessa , I will decide if we still have a deal.”
Swallowing hard, I nod as much as I can with the grip that he has on my hair. He tugs once. “Up,” he commands, and I get to my feet as gracefully as I can.
He lets go of my hair. “Go to the bench.” He gestures towards an angled leather bench at one side of the room, and my stomach flips, nervousness bleeding through me. But I think of how it felt to kill Lucas, to taste vengeance for the first time. How it felt to see a man who had made me feel fear…fear me instead.
I walk to the bench with slow, graceful steps, trying to put a sway in my hips—something to entice Savio. To make him think that I’m trying to please him. My heart slams behind my ribs again, my blood buzzing in my veins, and I tell myself that it’s not anticipation. It’s only fear. Only worry that when this is over, it won’t be enough.
“On your stomach,” Savio instructs, and I obey, climbing onto the bench and lying down on my stomach. The leather is cool, smooth, and buttery against my skin, and I lie absolutely still as he moves toward me, bending down to bind my wrists and ankles to the cuffs at the edges of the bench. When he’s finished with that, I see movement out of the corner of my eye, and then the bench shifts, angling so that my body is hinged at the hips, my head tilted down and my ass angled upwards.
“Beautiful,” Savio breathes. He hasn’t taken off an inch of clothing. Once again, I’m bare, bound, utterly vulnerable—and he’s still fully clothed. I’ve almost come to expect it now, even in this short time. If he got undressed, I think, watching him cross the room to a cabinet on the other side, at this point it would feel like intimacy. Like vulnerability from him, too. And that, I’m sure, will never be something he shows me.
Would I want him to? Why?
The thought is cut short as Savio takes something out of the cabinet—a riding crop. A shudder runs down my spine as I see him run his hand along it, hear the sharp crack of it against the palm of his hand as he turns back to me with a smirk on his lips.
“I could have let you choose,” he says. “But I wanted this tonight. I considered a cane or a flogger. But I think this will deliver the punishment that you deserve.”
What does that mean? He cracks the crop against his palm again, and I bite my lip, curling my fingers into my palms. As he walks closer, another shiver runs through me.
He brushes the tip of it against my hair, pushing the strands away from the back of my neck. And then he drags the tip of the crop down my spine, from the very edge of my hairline all the way to the base of my lower back, in a long, slow drag that has me trembling by the time I feel the stiff leather brush against the very bottom of my spine.
“You will learn to obey me,” Savio murmurs, dragging the tip of the crop over the curve of my ass. “You will learn who you belong to.”
The crop comes down on my ass with a snap , and I cry out. I can’t help it. The sound is high-pitched, and my cheeks flush red with embarrassment, but I couldn’t have prepared myself for how it would feel. For the burning sting of it, as he brings the crop down onto my ass over and over, in sharp strokes that leave me whimpering and sobbing with pain.
I’ve never been spanked before, not like this. I’ve had men swat me on the ass at the club or try to spank me with a hand during sex, but there’s no comparison here. Those clumsy attempts are nothing compared to the stern, effectual strokes that Savio crisscrosses over my skin with an expertise that tells me he’s done this before, many times.
The moment the thought runs through my head, that jealousy burns through me again. The thought of him with some other woman strapped to this bench, his cock aching as he whips her skin red, makes my jaw clench and my fists tighten. Why do I want to be special?
I can’t find an answer to that before he unleashes another volley of strokes over my burning skin.
It hurts. My ass feels raw, stinging, shimmering with heat. But at the same time, I feel a different heat gathering between my thighs. I can feel that I’m wet, swollen, a burning ache radiating out from my core. When Savio slaps the crop against the backs of my thighs, at the very edge of the crease there just below my ass and painfully close to my cunt, I sink my teeth into my lip to stop from crying out.
Not in pain—not entirely. I don’t want to cry out because there will be pleasure in it too, and I don’t want him to hear that.
I close my eyes, turning my head so that my cheek is pillowed against the leather. Savio brings the crop down again, sharply, twice, and I groan through my clenched teeth, my thighs squeezing together before I can stop them.
I hear Savio’s dark chuckle from behind me. “Filthy little principessa ,” he growls, and I feel the air shift as he moves behind me. The crop drags up my inner thigh, and I feel the tip of it slip between my folds, dipping into the slick wetness there as he drags it up, all the way to the tight hole of my ass.
He snaps it down once, hard, against my asshole. I cry out, a high-pitched scream, and I hear the sound of a zipper sliding down.
“Your punishment made you wet, principessa ,” Savio growls. “Wet and eager for my cock. But you haven’t been a good girl tonight. You haven’t earned the pleasure of my cock inside you.”
I feel him step forward, straddling the bench, and then the heavy press of his hand on the small of my back. I hear the slide of his hand over flesh, and a tremor runs through my body as I suddenly feel the thick, blunt head of his cock pressing between my folds.
My entire body tenses. But it’s not with fear. My back arches, my ass pressing back against him, and I feel my skin flush hot with humiliation because I want him. I want that orgasm I had when he forced me to ride him, but this time with him buried inside of me. I want him to fuck me.
He’s brought me to a breaking point, and I want to kill him for it, but god help me, I also want him to make me come.
He drags the swollen head of his cock through my folds, up to my ass, pressing against the tight hole. I tense, suddenly terrified he’s going to fuck me there, like this—the only thing I’ve managed to avoid ever having to do. But instead, I hear the sound of his hand moving, a low groan slipping from his lips, and I know he’s not going to fuck me at all.
His hand slides down my back, palm pressing against the hot, sore flesh of my ass, squeezing as he strokes himself. I feel his knee plant between my legs, against the bench, and I feel myself throbbing, aching. When he drags the tip of his cock through my folds again, gathering the wetness there as he continues to stroke, I can’t help the way my hips arch, trying to get more of him inside of me.
Savio chuckles darkly, his hand coming down on my already-sore ass in a hard slap . “I told you, you haven’t earned it, principessa ,” he growls, and I hear his breath stutter, his hand moving faster now. “You need to remember who you belong to. Who…fucking…owns you?—”
He groans as the last words slip out, and I feel his hand tighten on the curve of my ass, feel the sudden, hot splash of his cum over my lower back. It spurts higher, over the middle of my back, between my shoulder blades, dripping down my skin as he covers me in it, jet after jet of cum as he moans with pleasure.
I lie there, trembling, unfulfilled as he drags the tip of his cock through the trail of cum, stroking it along my back as he catches his breath. He steps back, just in my view again as he tucks himself away, and I see the satisfied expression on his face as he takes in the sight of me—still bound to the bench, dripping with his cum.
“This should remind you,” he says, his voice thick with that same satisfaction. And then, instead of undoing the cuffs, or even saying another word to me, he turns and walks out of the room.
The panel clicks closed behind him, leaving me there in the dark, as the motion-activated lights turn off.
Leaving me bound, marked, and unable to run away.
—
I’m not entirely sure how I slept at all. But I wake in the morning all the same, to the sound of the panel wall clicking open and Savio entering the room. I’m stiff all over from being trapped in this singular position, and I can feel his cum still clinging to my skin.
I see him out of the corner of my eye as he stops next to me, taking in the view. “I thought about using you again this morning,” he murmurs. “Your mouth would feel good, I think. But we have things to do. Have you learned your lesson, principessa ?”
My neck is so stiff that I can’t imagine being able to take him fucking my face the way he did before. That—and my desperate desire for a shower—drive me to nod as best as I’m able and answer: “Yes, sir.”
“We’ll see.” He bends, undoing the cuffs. “I slept well. How did you sleep, pet?”
I glare at him as I sit up slowly. He knows damn well how I slept. I don’t say anything, though, rubbing my wrists as I feel the blood start to move through my body again.
“Answer me.” His voice is a whip-crack, sharp and demanding, and I can tell that he’s still angry.
“I slept fine.” I meet his eyes, daring him to call me a liar. I expect him to call me out on it, but he doesn’t, and I’m not sure why.
“Good,” he says instead. “I’m taking you back to your room. Shower, and eat. I’ll be back in an hour with clothes. We’ll go work on training.”
It’s all I can do to keep the shock off of my face, and I look down, rubbing my wrists where they’re sore from the cuffs to avoid letting him see my expression, just in case. He really thinks we’re going to work out after last night? But there’s no sign on his face that he’s joking. In fact, I’m not sure Savio knows how to joke. I’ve certainly never seen it—at least, not any amusement that hasn’t come at my expense.
I know better than to argue, though. If we’re going to train, then that means our deal isn’t off. This seems to be his way of telling me that, and I’m not going to take the chance of losing it again.
I did learn my lesson, it seems.
The shower and the breakfast that follows it are heavenly. Savio returns in an hour, as promised, with my workout clothes, and he waits for me this time. He’s wearing workout clothes too—sweatpants and a t-shirt—and I try to ignore the sight of his muscular arms. I’ve never seen him this casually dressed, but the last thing I want is for him to catch me staring at his biceps like a swooning Victorian maiden.
Nor do I want to swoon over any part of him. But his arms are…impressive.
“Let’s go,” he says curtly, and I follow him downstairs.
We start with the firing range, as usual. My aim is getting better, and I’m hitting the target more often. Savio actually praises my aim once, which startles me. It seems to startle him, too, because his face goes expressionless afterwards, his mouth set in a firm line. And when we head to the gym for the second part of the session, he’s harder on me than usual.
“We’ll spar together today,” he tells me flatly, standing opposite me. “Not every Crow will fall for your wiles like Lucas did. You need to be able to fight better than you do now. You won’t ever win a contest of strength with these men, so instead, you should focus on being quick. Get under their guard, get them off-balance. It’s the only advantage you have.”
His voice is sharp, cutting, as if he’s punishing me and himself for his compliment earlier. The workout itself feels like a punishment. He doesn’t hold back, sending me to the mat time and time again. I manage to block his blows a few times, but as he gets inside my guard over and over, I’m distracted. Shaken.
He hasn’t been this close to me during these sessions. I can feel the heat radiating off of his body and smell the masculine scent of his sweat. His face is flushed, and his dark hair clings to his temples. I can’t help but think—he’d look like this during sex. The thought shoots through my core with a jolt. When he catches me in a grapple, his arm going around my neck as he takes me down to the mat with him on top of me, I feel my body arch into his involuntarily.
He’s heavy on top of me. Lean and muscled, his knee pressed between mine, and my chest heaves against him, my body tense with sudden desire.
His gaze meets mine, and it feels like time slows down for a moment. There’s something different in the way he looks at me for that brief second, like everything clears from his eyes, and he looks almost…proud of me. Impressed. He’s looking at me in a way that I’ve never seen before, and then it passes, replaced by a dark heat that matches the thick hardness I feel grinding into my thigh.
I wonder, for a split second, if he’ll fuck me here. But deep down, I know he won’t. That would mean accepting how badly he wants me, accepting that I can send him over the edge, snap that thread of control. If he fucks me— when he fucks me—it’ll be at a time of his choosing, carefully planned and orchestrated.
Anything else would mean I have power over him .