Chapter 15 - Van
I've been hard for two fucking hours, and it's all because of how she made killers hang on her every word.
My cock throbs against my pants as I drive home from the family lunch, replaying every moment Carmela commanded that restaurant.
The way she leaned forward when discussing the family business, making grown men with blood on their hands go quiet when she spoke.
She didn't just participate in that lunch. She owned it.
The phantom pain in my wrists flares. But it fades as I focus on how she sat at that table, small and bright among killers, making them listen. Making them want to protect her. Not because anyone ordered it, but because she earned their respect through pure fucking brilliance.
Mission parameters have changed. Primary objective is no longer survival. It's her. All of her.
Back at my apartment, I can't focus on the protection arrangements spread across my kitchen table. My phone buzzes with updates, but the words blur. Every time I try to read threat assessments, all I see is her handling Marco's questions like she'd been doing it her whole life.
That confidence. That natural authority wrapped in rainbows and designer clothes. My dick aches just thinking about stripping all that power away from her in my bed, making her remember that no matter how brilliantly she commands a room full of dangerous men, she still belongs to me.
I sweep the papers aside and head for my playroom. Tonight calls for complete possession.
In my sanctuary, I prepare the advanced restraints, silk-lined cuffs connected to the suspension system I rarely use.
My cock throbs as I imagine her wrists in these cuffs, her body displayed for my use.
The leather restraints we've used before served their purpose, but after watching her wield Rosetti authority like a weapon, I need to own her completely.
Carmela enters wearing the robe I left for her, and I can see her nipples hard against the silk. Her eyes are bright with curiosity rather than fear, and that confidence makes my need to dominate her even stronger.
"Strip," I command, my voice rougher than intended.
She lets the robe fall, and I drink in the sight of her naked body. Full breasts, the curve of her waist, the triangle of hair between her thighs that I plan to taste thoroughly tonight. My cock strains against my pants, demanding attention I'm not ready to give it.
"You handled yourself well today," I tell her, securing the first cuff around her wrist. Her skin is warm, pulse racing under my touch.
"You sound surprised."
I test the restraint, then move to her other wrist. "I am. Those men eat people alive."
Her smile has an edge that makes my cock ache. "Good thing I'm not most people." She tests the cuffs as I adjust the suspension system, positioning her arms overhead so her breasts are lifted, displayed perfectly for my mouth. "Did you think I'd crumble?"
"No." I step back to admire my work. Her body stretched and vulnerable, completely at my mercy.
"But watching you navigate them, seeing how they looked at you…
" I reach out to trace one fingertip around her nipple, not quite touching the peak.
"All I could think about was getting you home and fucking you until you remember who owns this body. "
She arches into my touch, seeking more pressure. "They're family."
"And you're mine." I pinch her nipple hard enough to make her gasp. "Say it."
"I'm yours."
The admission sends heat straight to my groin. I claim her mouth, kissing her hard enough to bruise, letting her taste the possession on my tongue. When I pull back, her lips are swollen and her breathing has quickened.
My hands map her body systematically. The soft underside of her breasts, the sensitive spot where her ribs meet her waist, the smooth skin of her inner thighs. She's already getting wet, and I haven't even properly started.
"Spread your legs," I order, and she complies immediately. The trust in her submission makes my chest tight with something beyond lust.
I move to the wall where my collection hangs in perfect order—leather floggers, whips, and crops displayed like weapons. My fingers trail over each one before selecting a leather flogger with multiple tails, each ending in a small knot designed to leave marks without breaking skin.
"Color?" I ask, letting her see my choice.
"Green," she answers without hesitation, her eyes darkening with anticipation.
I circle behind her, letting her feel my presence without seeing me. The anticipation is part of the game—her not knowing when the first strike will land. I test the flogger against my palm, the familiar sting centering me.
"You made quite an impression today," I tell her, bringing the flogger down across her upper back with a controlled snap. Not full force—a warm-up. "Everyone watching you."
She gasps at the contact, her body swaying slightly in the restraints. "Is that what this is about? You're jealous?"
I strike again, harder this time, watching red bloom across her shoulder blades. "Not jealous. Possessive. There's a difference."
The third strike lands across her ass, making her jerk forward with a moan that goes straight to my cock. I establish a rhythm, alternating between her back, ass, and thighs, watching her skin flush pink then red under my attention.
"Color?" I demand after a particularly hard strike.
"Green," she pants, voice thick with arousal. "So very green."
Her response fuels me. I increase the intensity, the leather tails leaving temporary welts across her perfect skin. Each mark is a signature—proof that no matter how brilliantly she performs in the outside world, here she surrenders everything to me.
I pause to run my hand over the heated skin of her ass, feeling the raised welts. She pushes back against my touch, seeking more contact. I slip my hand between her thighs, finding her soaked.
"You love this," I growl into her ear. "Being marked. Owned."
"Yes," she admits, trying to grind against my hand.
I pull away, denying her the friction she craves. Moving to face her, I see her pupils blown wide with desire, lips parted as she pants. I grab her jaw, forcing her to meet my gaze.
"Who do you belong to?"
"You," she whispers.
"Louder."
"You, Sir. I belong to you."
I release her face and return to my wall of implements, selecting a riding crop next. The leather tip is perfect for precision—for targeting the most sensitive areas. When I turn back, her eyes lock onto the crop, and she unconsciously licks her lips.
"Spread your legs wider," I command.
She complies immediately, making herself even more vulnerable. I tap the crop lightly against her inner thigh, just a tease of what's coming. Her muscles tense in anticipation.
"Color?"
"Green," she answers, voice husky with desire.
I bring the crop down with precision, the tip landing exactly where I want it—just above her clit.
Her whole body jerks in response, a strangled cry escaping her lips.
I repeat the motion, slightly harder, watching her face contort with that beautiful blend of pain and pleasure that only I get to see.
"Good girl," I murmur, tracing the mark with my fingertip. "But I need more from you."
I circle her suspended form, letting the crop trail across her skin. Her breathing quickens as I move behind her, out of her sight. The anticipation is part of the control—her not knowing where I'll strike next.
The crop lands on her other thigh with a satisfying snap. Then her ass. Her shoulders. Each strike calculated, each mark placed with precision. I'm painting her body with my ownership, reclaiming every inch.
"You were magnificent today," I tell her, landing another strike that makes her gasp. "But do you know what it does to me? Watching everyone see how brilliant you are?"
She tries to look over her shoulder at me. "Tell me."
I grab a handful of her hair, yanking her head back. "It makes me want to remind you that no matter how powerful you are out there—" I bring the crop down on the sensitive underside of her breast, making her cry out, "—in here, you're mine to use however I want."
Her eyes roll back slightly, her lips parted. "Yes," she breathes. "Yours."
I check the marks I've left, running my hands over her heated skin. She's covered in a light sheen of sweat, her body trembling slightly with the effort of holding still.
"Color?" I ask again.
"Green," she responds immediately. "Please, Van."
"Please what?"
"More."
I set the crop aside and move to my cabinet, selecting a leather single-tail whip. It's one of the most advanced implements—capable of breaking skin if not wielded properly. But I've spent years perfecting my technique.
Her eyes widen when she sees my choice. There's a flicker of uncertainty that makes my cock throb harder.
"This one leaves marks that last," I tell her, running the length of leather through my fingers. "Marks that will remind you who you belong to every time you look in the mirror tomorrow."
She swallows visibly, but her voice is steady. "Green."
I uncoil the whip, giving it a test crack that echoes through the room. Her body jerks at just the sound. I position myself at the perfect distance, calculating the angle with the precision of a marksman.
The first strike lands across her upper back—a controlled kiss of leather that leaves a thin red line. She hisses through her teeth but doesn't cry out.
"One," I count for her.
The second strike crosses the first, forming an X between her shoulder blades.
"Two."
By five, she's panting, her body swaying
"You think I didn't notice how Marco looked at you?" I ask, landing another precise strike on her inner thigh. "How they all did?"
"They respect me," she gasps, her body trembling from the mounting sensations.
"They want you." I deliver a sharp tap directly to her clit, making her cry out. "But they can't have you."
I continue working her body with the crop, creating a constellation of red marks across her thighs, stomach, and the undersides of her breasts. Each strike pulls a different sound from her throat—moans, whimpers, pleas—a symphony composed just for me.
Her breathing becomes ragged as I increase the intensity, focusing on the sensitive areas where pain transforms most readily into pleasure. Sweat glistens on her skin, making the welts shine in the low light.
"Color?" I check again, needing to know she's still with me.
"Green… but getting close to yellow," she admits, her honesty making my chest tighten with pride.
I set the crop aside and move to her, running my hands over her heated skin. "Good girl. Telling me what you need."
My fingers find her pussy, soaked and swollen. I slide two fingers inside her, and she clenches around me immediately, desperate for more. "Look how wet punishment makes you."
"Please," she whispers, trying to move against my hand.
"Please what?" I curl my fingers inside her, finding that spot that makes her shudder.
"Please take me. I need you inside me."
The desperation in her voice nearly shatters my control. I withdraw my fingers and move to the cabinet where I keep my other toys. I select a black leather collar with a silver ring at the front, bringing it to her.
"If I'm going to fuck you," I tell her, fastening the collar around her throat, "I want you wearing my mark."
Her eyes darken at the symbolism. The collar is new between us—a step beyond our usual play. She swallows, the movement visible against the leather.
"Yes," she whispers. "Mark me. Own me."
I adjust the suspension system, lowering her arms slightly to relieve the strain while keeping her displayed for me. Moving behind her, I unfasten my pants, finally freeing my aching cock. I've been hard for hours, thinking about this moment.
Gripping her hips, I position myself at her entrance, teasing her with just the tip. "Who owns this pussy?"
"You do," she moans, trying to push back against me.
I
I slide into her in one hard thrust, burying myself to the hilt. She cries out, her body clenching around me as I establish a punishing rhythm. Each thrust is punctuated by the gentle sway of her body in the restraints, the leather collar around her neck a visible reminder of my ownership.
"Look at you," I growl, gripping her hips hard enough to leave fingerprints. "Taking my cock so well after your punishment."
I reach around to grab the front of her collar, using it to pull her back against me as I drive deeper. The pressure on her throat isn't enough to restrict her breathing, just enough to remind her who's in control.
"Color?" I demand, never stopping my relentless pace.
"Green," she gasps. "So fucking green."
I release the collar and slide my hand up to tangle in her hair, pulling her head back sharply. My other hand finds her clit, circling it with precise pressure that makes her whole body tremble.
"You don't come until I say," I warn her, feeling her inner muscles already beginning to flutter around my cock. "Understand?"
"Yes," she whimpers, struggling to hold back as I continue my assault on her senses.
I slow my thrusts deliberately, making each one deep and purposeful. The change in rhythm makes her moan louder, her body straining against the restraints as she tries to move with me.
"Who commands you here?" I ask, my voice rough with exertion.
"You do," she pants. "Only you."
Satisfied with her answer, I withdraw completely. She makes a sound of protest that cuts off when I spin her to face me, her body twisting in the suspension system. I want to see her face when she comes apart.
I reach for a small flogger on the nearby table—this one made of soft suede with dozens of thin tails. Perfect for sensitized skin. I drag it lightly across her breasts, watching her nipples harden further at the teasing contact.
"I'm going to mark these perfect tits," I tell her, bringing the flogger down in a controlled strike across her breast. Not hard enough to truly hurt, just enough to sting and redden the delicate skin.
She arches into it, surprising me. "More," she begs. "Please."
I oblige, alternating between breasts, watching her skin flush pink under my attention. Her breathing becomes ragged, her eyes half-closed in that space between pain and pleasure where she floats so beautifully.
After her breasts are sufficiently marked, I drop the flogger and thrust back into her with no warning. She cries out, her head falling back as I set a brutal pace. I grip the ring on her collar, using it to pull her face close to mine.
That's when it happens.