37. Angelo
37
ANGELO
My angel, my obsession, was on her knees, suckling my semi-hard cock like a pacifier, her face pressed against my thigh, one hand on my abdomen, idly tracing over her tattoo. Fucking bliss. I didn’t want to move, afraid I would shatter the perfect moment.
While Valentin plated the Chinese takeout he’d ordered for dinner, Ana nuzzled her cheek against my thigh, and the odd pressure in my chest expanded. She thought tonight was a transaction—her submission and acquiescence in exchange for going out tomorrow and allowing her to help arrange her father’s affairs.
Valentin would say it was the next step in her training—make her prove she can submit, and then reward her for her good behavior.
They were both absolutely fucking wrong.
Ana’s submission was a gift, and she deserved to be thanked for it.
“Angel,” I murmured, rubbing strands of her silky hair between my fingers. “You need to eat.”
When she didn’t answer, I cupped her cheek and lifted her face from my cock, ignoring the disappointment as I lost the comfort of her lips wrapped around me.
She followed when I pushed my chair back, blinking with sleep-fogged eyes.
Ana had fallen asleep again while warming my cock. A fucking gift .
“Angel, sweetheart,” I murmured. “Come sit on my lap so I can feed you.”
She scrubbed her face, then climbed onto my thigh. Valentin placed our dinner in front of us. When he dropped a kiss on each of our temples, a vision of the future flashed through me—a picture of domestic bliss as the three of us sat around the kitchen table at my home in Sicily, Valentin’s head thrown back in laughter, Ana’s sweet giggle as she rubbed her belly, swollen with pregnancy, our hands locked together.
Ana took a fork, and I slapped her hand. “No. You eat what I give you and only what I give you.”
Her eyes widened. The itch to force her hand, to snatch the fork and unwrap her fingers from it, then shove her to her knees and make sure she knew who was in control simmered beneath the surface of my skin.
She dropped the fork and looked up at me with those fucking emerald eyes and smiled. “All right.” And when she brushed her lips against my jawline and murmured, “Please, sir, feed me,” my cock hardened instantly.
Did Ana realize what she was doing to me?
She must.
I ripped the paper off the disposable chopsticks provided by the restaurant and pinched a piece of broccoli. Ana opened her lips and waited for me to feed her, soft and docile.
My angel, allowing me to feed her, dress her, control her every movement, take care of her in every way, so she’d never have to worry about anything ever again—fucking bliss . And Valentin, with a partner that loved pain as much as he loved inflicting it—a partner he could show his love to openly, instead of hiding it behind impossibly high walls.
This is what I wanted.
Valentin watched us, his face unreadable. We ate in silence, outside of my soft praise for the goddess in my lap, who allowed me to feed her, bite by bite, softening as I cared for her.
Ana was pliant in my arms, a far cry from the stubborn, determined woman who’d led Valentin and I on such a merry chase for the last several weeks. I found myself looking for flashes of defiance, for the brilliance of her personality to shine though. I needn’t have worried.
“No, thank you,” Ana shook her head when I offered her another bite. She’d hardly eaten. “No, thank you, sir ,” she corrected herself, her eyes flashing up to mine with a hint of trepidation.
“You don’t get to make decisions anymore, Ana,” I murmured. She hadn’t understood the deal. “You finish eating when I say you’re finished eating.”
“Sir, I’m full,” she said, nuzzling her cheek against mine, showing she wasn’t trying to defy me. It didn’t matter—sweet defiance was still defiance. And she’d barely eaten anything.
I straightened in my chair and pinched her chin, so she had to look into my eyes. “Pet, what’s this really about?”
“I—” she flushed, unable to turn her face away from me.
“First rule, toy,” Valentin rumbled and reached round to brutally pinch a nipple through the silk of her gown.
Ana whimpered in pain, but didn’t move.
“Answer the fucking question,” he growled.
I cupped her cheek, stroking her face. “What’s wrong, angel?”
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, as if she could hide herself if she didn’t see me. “I don’t want to gain weight. I haven’t been able to do much more than simple stretches since you shipped me off to Grégoire, and I’m starting to feel—” She stopped and bit her lip. “I feel fat,” she let out in a rush, her cheeks flaming red.
Ana felt fat .
My gorgeous angel, with her perfect hips and tits just the right size to hold in my large hands, thought she was fat . I cursed my brother and his insistence on raising his daughter to be a perfect mafia princess—charming, brilliant and fucking gorgeous, whether she had to starve herself to maintain her figure or not.
“Wrong, slut. I decide what and how much you eat, I decide when you exercise, and I decide how I want your body to look.”
She stiffened. “No, that’s not fair.”
“Get on your fucking knees,” I snapped.
Valentin smirked, but didn’t say a word.
“What?” Ana gasped. She still hadn’t figured it out.
“Now,” I snapped, “before I unleash Valentin on you.”
She slid off my lap and looked around wildly, trying to decide where to kneel, how she could placate me. Ana walked around me and dropped to her knees between Valentin and I, her head bowed, her entire body trembling.
“This body is mine,” I snarled. “Your hips are mine. Your tits are mine. Your soaking cunt is mine. Don’t you fucking dare tell me what to do with my body. Your only job is to be my slut. You obey me, you make yourself available to me, and you treat my body with the care it fucking deserves.”
Her eyes snapped to mine, a sheen of tears glazing over the gorgeous green.
“I—”
“You’re my slut, Ana. You will think only of what pleases me and forget about pleasing anyone else. And your body will fucking please me when you’ve eaten enough calories to withstand the workout Valentin and I intend to give you tonight. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
“Now get back on my lap and eat your fucking dinner.”