Chapter Thirty #2
I swing my legs through. The drop is higher than I thought.
I press my palms against the frame, my body trembling with the effort, then I let go.
The landing is rough, jarring through my ankle and scraping my hands as I land crouching, but I bite down a cry and push to my feet, heart pounding like a drum in my chest.
I’m out! And for the first time in weeks…I’m free.
I crouch low in the darkness, hands scrambling through gravel and patchy grass.
Where the hell are my shoes?
My breath comes fast, harsh in the silence. The pulse in my ears drowns out every other sound. After a few seconds, I stand up, giving up the search. I don’t have time. Damiano is probably already looking for me.
Guess barefoot it will—
“Looking for these, sweetheart?” His drawl slices through the still night like a blade.
I freeze.
My stomach twists painfully as I look up. A tall shadow stands a few feet away, silhouetted against the faint glow of the building. As he steps into the moonlight, I see them, my shoes, dangling from his hand like a trophy.
A sob slips from my lips unbidden.
Game over. There is nowhere I can run.
I retreat until my spine is pressed against the wall behind me, waiting for my fate. My heart is hammering in my chest and I feel dizzy.
God, please don’t let me faint.
Damiano steps closer, his face unreadable, his eyes two black voids.
Then he kneels down and picks up my left foot, gently, almost reverently, to strap my shoe back on.
When he is done, he presses a kiss on my ankle and proceeds to do the same with my right foot.
When he stands, I am so tense I can barely breathe.
He takes my arm to slip it under his as if we were going for a walk in the gardens. I am defeated, not knowing what to say or if I should say anything, so I let him lead me inside toward our table with resignation. I keep my head bowed the whole time, not daring to look at him.
What is he thinking? He acts utterly composed, like nothing happened, like I didn’t try to run from him mere minutes ago.
No one notices the storm brewing at my side.
At our table, he pulls out my chair, and I sink into it, trying to keep my hands from shaking.
He takes the seat next to me and pours a glass of champagne, utterly composed.
His unbothered demeanor only puts my every nerve ending on alert.
My body senses the predator ready to pounce under his detached facade.
This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
I take a big sip of my champagne and nearly drop the flute when I feel his big hand on my thigh under the tablecloth.
He slowly drags my dress up, drawing lazy circles.
I peek at his face, but he is deep in conversation with a man to his left, his face turned away from me.
The only detail giving away his state of mind is the tic on his clenched jaw.
I try to wiggle away but his hand immediately clamps down painfully on my thigh and I stop.
His hold releases and he resumes his game of pulling up my dress.
By the time my dress is bunched up high and I can feel his warm hand on my bare thigh, I am wound up so tight I want to scream at him to stop his game.
Then he brushes his fingers against my panties and I grip his hand to still it.
But that is not deterring him from going on drawing circles with his hand and caressing between my thighs.
My face heats in mortification as my panties begin to dampen.
When he pushes my panties aside with deft fingers and start to caress my pussy, I have to bite my lips to stop myself from moaning in the middle of a crowded room.
Surely people will notice? I feel depraved.
Then he slips two fingers in me and continues to caress me with the palm of his hand, still engrossed in his conversation.
My breath is coming out in short pants that I desperately try to hide.
His pressure intensifies, he curls his fingers and I am so close.
I already feel the first flutters of my orgasm in my pussy when he suddenly stops.
I almost cry from frustration and I look up at him only to see that he has stopped his conversation and is intensely looking at me, mouth curled up in a cruel smirk.
Then he lifts his hand to put the two fingers he had inside me into his mouth to suck them clean.
I am going to faint, and this time a whimper escapes my lips.
He removes his fingers and smiles darkly at me, then he leans down and brushes his lips against my ear shell, sending shivers down my spine.
“Only good girls get to come. And you haven’t been a good girl, have you, sweetheart?”
He grabs my jaw to turn my face to him and kisses me slowly and thoroughly.
I can taste myself on his tongue, and suddenly the room and the people fade away.
There is only him, his hand, his scent, his mouth devouring me.
I return his kiss hungrily, imploring him for more, surrendering to his touch.
But he leans back, his face a cruel mask, leaving me panting and bereft.
He then turns to his discussion partner. “Please excuse us. Lily is feeling unwell. We will take our leave now.”