32. Ana
32
ANA
I stared at the blank walls that had obviously been quickly emptied. The faint outlines where wall hangings had blocked the light, holes from hastily removed nails, and chipped tiles told me that Valentin and Angelo had prepared this room in haste.
For me.
But why?
Valentin told me he intended to train me, but it wasn’t clear to me what that entailed, other than me getting on my knees for them and letting him hurt me. Sofia Russo, Luca’s sister and my best friend, had hinted that her husbands were into that shit, and I should have done more research instead of teasing her about it.
I’d screamed bloody murder when Valentin left me in here. I wanted to know what was going on with my home, with the loyal army who’d raised me, with my remaining worldly possessions.
Valentin had opened the door and whipped my ass until I screamed with pain, then pinched my jaw and told me to shut the fuck up, or he’d hand me right back over to Tchérnov.
I’d shut up and crawled to the corner and glared at his broad back as he locked me in again.
I sat on the ground, my back against the cool wall, my ass aching with every movement, and pulled my knees up to my chest, thinking through what had happened, trying to figure out why the fuck they’d lock me in this empty room, and coming up with absolutely nothing.
With no way to track time, I spiraled between fear of Valentin’s punishment, fury at being locked away, and a tendril of forbidden curiosity.
What did they intend to do with me?
Hours later, my stomach grumbled, and I was climbing the walls with anxiety and boredom. I’d paced the room dozens and dozens of times, pounded on the doors, and screamed myself hoarse until the lack of nourishment left me dizzy and unable to think.
“I’m fucking hungry!” I shouted at the walls. “And thirsty!”
To my shock, the door swung open, revealing Angelo. He was dressed casually, in dark jeans that didn’t do a damn thing to hide his powerful thighs, and a linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The collar was unbuttoned, revealing hints of the ink that covered his chest. My eyes swept up to his jawline, his neatly trimmed beard, salt and pepper, and then his grey eyes, unreadable in the fluorescent light.
A wave of desire swept through me. What? No. I would absolutely not be grateful that he deigned to grace me with his presence. I wouldn’t look at him like all I wanted was for him to tell me he forgave me for running away.
Why did I care so much? Fucking bullshit. I wouldn’t have run away if he hadn’t locked me up and told me he wanted me to be his fucking sex slave.
He carried a tray of food and the smell made my mouth water.
I scrambled to my feet, my back pressed up against the wall, unsure whether to be terrified or to supplicate him and beg for water.
“What the fuck, Angelo?” I snarled. “Why am I locked in here instead of helping you track down the assholes who burned my house down?”
He cocked his head and looked at me, the moment so still, it reminded me vividly of Valentin.
“I have asked you repeatedly to call me sir, pet,” he said, his voice calm and undisturbed.
“Fuck you. Let me out of here.”
He sighed and placed a bottle of water on the floor beside the door before turning heel and exiting.
With the food.
With the fucking food!
I groaned, scrubbing my face with my hands. My goddamned mouth. I had to be smarter about this.
I walked over to the bottle and downed it, ignoring the rivulets that ran down my neck. Water had never tasted so sweet.
An hour later, I regretted my choice. I had to pee so bad.
“Hey, I gotta use the bathroom! I’m gonna piss myself.”
Silence. Nobody came, nobody answered, and I couldn’t even hear a set of footsteps in the hallway to tell me that someone was there and listening.
I eyed the bucket in the corner with trepidation.
My bladder pressed against my insides, nudging me toward it.
No, I could resist. I would resist.
I slid my back down the wall again and curled up in the corner, determined to think about anything but my desperate need to pee. It was useless.
Those fuckers. They wanted to humiliate me. They wanted me to feel like I was nothing.
Fuck them.
I tossed my head back and stood, then eased my way down onto the bucket, balancing carefully, and peed.
There was no toilet paper, nothing to clean myself with, so I sat there for a moment and let myself drip dry, before standing. With a grimace, I set the bucket in the furthest corner of the room. It wouldn’t take long for it, and me, to become absolutely disgusting.
Moments later, the door opened again. Angelo stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, the light from the hallway creating a silhouette of his figure, making him look powerful and almighty.
He ignored me as he strode into the room, grabbed the bucket, and spun on his heel to leave.
“Hey—” I said, trying to get his attention. “What the fuck is going on?”
He raised one eyebrow, irritation on his face. “What’s the second rule, angel?”
“Speak only when spoken to. But?—”
Angelo dropped a bottle of water on the floor and slammed the door shut.
I lost track of time, hungry, stressed, confused, lonely, unable to find a comfortable position to sleep in, naked on the cold tile floor.
The click of a key woke me, followed by the sight of Angelo’s imposing figure, haloed in the doorway again.
I scrambled to my feet, pressed against the back wall of the room, not sure what he wanted, and even less sure what I wanted.
“Sit,” he said.
I dropped to my knees.
“I said, sit,” he repeated. Confused, I adjusted my posture until I sat cross-legged, blushing at how exposed the position left me.
“Good girl.”
I turned my face away, embarrassed at the warmth that spread through my chest at his praise.
He sat in front of me, cross-legged, facing me, and balanced the tray on his lap. An omelet, fruit, and toast, all neatly cut into small pieces. My mouth watered.
Angelo speared a piece of fruit. “Open,” he said.
I wasn’t a child! And unlike when I had knelt at his feet in Nice, this didn’t feel sexy at all. I pressed my lips together and shook my head.
“Open,” he repeated, his voice deepening with an emotion I couldn’t figure out.
I tried to reconcile the man I knew, fierce, unhinged, but absurdly content to have me at his knees, with the man who sat in front of me, on the floor, holding a fork to my lips, ordering me to eat. Confusion roiled in my gut. What was his game?
I refused, shaking my head again.
He looked at me for a long moment, his grey eyes unreadable, then stood. “Foolish child.”
Angelo looked down at the tray for a long moment, his shoulders slumped as if he were disappointed in me. I hated the impulse to apologize, to promise to behave myself.
My stomach growled.
He removed the bottle of water from the tray and placed it by the door before walking out.
The click of the lock echoed in my chest, and I let out a wail of frustration.
My eyes focused on the water, and I scrambled over to it, drinking it in one long gulp. It wasn’t enough, but it was enough to slake my thirst for the moment.
Crudely, I ran the back of my hand over my mouth to catch the last drops, and then dropped to the floor, leaning my back against the door and my wrists over the tops of my knees.
Fuck.
My stomach growled again, but I knew the hunger would dissipate eventually. Years of watching what I ate, of my father’s cruel comments about my weight, had taught me that I could go without eating for a long time.
Hours later, the sound of a key turning in the lock woke me up again. I’d dozed off in a corner as the adrenaline and stress of the last several hours wore off.
Angelo returned with another tray, similar to the last. My stomach growled at the scents wafting off it, and I gave up my rebellion. What was the point in starving myself? I’d never escape that way.
“Sit.”
This time, I tripped over myself to obey.
“Good girl,” he said, softly, before sitting in front of me, as he’d done before, and I fought to suppress my smile at his praise.
When he held out a fork full of chicken dripping with sauce, I opened my mouth obediently, waiting for him to feed me. The flavor exploded on my tastebuds, and I moaned.
Angelo’s eyes flashed dark, his pupils widening. Relief loosened the pressure in my chest. He still wanted me. I hadn’t ruined everything.
No.
There wasn’t anything to ruin. He was my captor, and he intended to make me his slave, a willing and brainless set of holes for him to slake his perverted need for control. And I hated him.
I swallowed, then opened my lips again. Bite by bite, Angelo fed me until I couldn’t eat anymore. I wanted to tell him I was full, but didn’t want him to leave, didn’t want him to think I was—Didn’t want him to think I was what? Disobedient? Unwilling to play his games? I pressed my lips together and refused the next bite, shaking my head.
Angelo cocked his head at me, his expression as blank as it had been since he’d walked into my cell.
I opened my mouth to tell him I was full, then snapped it closed again. I took a deep breath. I didn’t want him to go away and walk out of here thinking I was being a brat. There’d be plenty of time for that.
“I’m full,” I whispered, my eyes lowered, my stomach roiling at the thought of displeasing him. “I’m full, sir ,” I corrected. Then, “Sorry, for speaking out of turn, sir.”
Angelo smiled, and the man was fucking breathtaking. He set the tray on the ground beside us and leaned forward to hold my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Such a good girl,” he said. “I’ll check in on you while you eat next time, all right? I should have, instead of forcing you to continue.”
My eyes widened at the admission. I nodded eagerly, frantically, overwhelmed with relief that I wasn’t in trouble for telling him I was full.
“Thank you, sir,” I said, instantly hating myself for being grateful for the fucking minimum, but unable to ignore my satisfaction at his words.
“Good girl,” he murmured, stroking his thumb over my bottom lip, and I melted for the physical contact and sign of affection. He stood up, then stroked his hand down my hair one last time. At the door, he paused. “What are the three rules, pet?”
Butterflies careened against each other in my stomach. “Perfect obedience. Speak only when spoken to. And my orgasms are—” I halted, flushing with anger and embarrassment, at being forced to recall my place at his feet. “And my orgasms are yours, sir.”
Angelo’s smile took my breath away. “Good girl,” he murmured once again, and then shut the door, leaving me to regret all the decisions in my life that had brought me to this point. Again.
Too late, I began tracking meals and days with soft scratches in the forest-green paint of the walls. I thought today was the third day, but who really knew?
Each time Angelo came to visit me, I was a little bit lonelier when he left, a little bit more grateful for his company. He’d visited twice today, and I intended to find a way to ask him if I could shower.
This time, instead of sitting beside me, he balanced the tray on my knees and sat down behind me. Brave man—what if I’d knocked it off?
But I didn’t.
He curled his body around mine, nestling me between his thighs, pressing my back to his hard torso and enveloping me in the comfort of his warmth. Angelo was so much bigger than me, he could easily feed me this way.
He lifted a piece of chicken to my lips. “Open.”
His voice slid through my resistance like a knife through butter, and I opened my mouth. To my shock, he cupped my left breast, not kneading it, not playing with my nipple, simply holding it, as if weighing it. I stopped chewing, my surprise was so great, as I waited to see what he’d do next.
He nuzzled his nose in my hair. “Eat, pet.”
I swallowed the piece of chicken, and he slid his callused palm against my nipple, eliciting a gasp of pleasure. “That’s my good girl.”
My insides turned hot and liquid at the praise, and I forgot how much I hated this. He kneaded my breast, rewarding me for my good behavior, and then held up another bite to my mouth.
I took the tines of the fork between my lips, and moaned as Angelo pinched my nipple.
I should have protested. I should have refused. I should have done anything but relax against his chest, seeking the security of his embrace, as he touched me and fed me.
Bite by bite, I consumed the lunch before us, while he touched me everywhere, stroking my neck, my chest, pinching my nipples, bespelling me with his touch until I didn’t have a thought in my head except to continue pleasing him by eating so that he’d continue his caresses.
“How’re you doing, pet?” he asked, pinching a nipple.
“More, sir, please,” I moaned, lolling my head back against his shoulder.
Angelo’s soft laugh pierced the haze of lust. “Full?”
I blinked, bringing myself back to the present. What was I thinking, letting him play with me like this? I was so stupid. So thirsty for validation. Why did I want him to like me so badly?
His arms tightened around me as my muscles stiffened, stopping me from getting up. “Easy, pet.”
I shook my head. There was nothing easy about this. I’d let my loneliness, my hunger for human connection and touch override my good sense, and I’d begged for him to touch me.
“I’m full,” I said, leaning forward, as if putting physical distance between us could erase my aching need.
Angelo set the tray aside, then tightened his grip around me. “What’s the first rule, toy?”
“Perfect obedience,” I whispered. “Sir.”
He slid one hand up my chest until it rested between my breasts, holding the other hand on my stomach, so I was pressed against him from my ass to my shoulders.
“How are you doing, toy?”
“I’m—” I didn’t know how to answer the question. “I’d like a shower, sir,” I said.
Angelo hummed and continued to stroke his fingers over my stomach, abstract whorls that made my muscles clench beneath his touch. He didn’t push me away, he didn’t leave, and he didn’t punish me. Which meant I hadn’t broken a rule.
“Sir, may I please take a shower?”
His fingers halted, pressing into me lightly, then resumed their fiery path over my skin.
When he didn’t say anything, I took a breath to speak again, and then he spoke.
“Yes, sweet angel. Of course.”
He stood, then held out his hand to me. My eyes widened with wonder. When I wrapped my fingers around his, he squeezed them, and my heart filled to bursting at the small sign of affection.
I closed my eyes against the pain in my chest, how much I craved more of his approval.
“Angel?”
I tugged on his hand to stand and followed him out the door.