Benedetti Brothers

Chapter 7 #3

Shit. An apology was the last thing I’d expected. If he’d locked me in a room, been a beast to me, it would make more sense. I could hate him. But an apology? Him offering to take me to my sister’s?

“I hope we can forget it and start again,” he added.

I think both of us found it hard to hold each other’s gaze, and the last thing I wanted to do was talk about what happened, so I nodded. “Okay.”

He smiled a small smile. “Thank you.”

“If you ever do something like that again, Salvatore, I will kill you.”

His eyes narrowed, and apologetic Salvatore was instantly gone. “You don’t have to threaten me with murder. I said I was sorry.”

He held my gaze until I blinked and nodded, looking down, my attention absorbed by an invisible piece of lint on my blouse.

“Are you really going to take me to help my sister?”

“You’re not a prisoner, contrary to what you think, Lucia.

This contract between us, the circumstances of our families, those things bind us, and although I have expectations of you and won’t tolerate misplaced loyalty, I’m not interested in keeping a prisoner.

Neither you nor I can get out of this, even if we wanted to.

We have to find some way to live with it. ”

Even if we wanted to. Did that mean he didn’t want to? And what did I want?

“I feel like a prisoner. I’m constantly watched. I couldn’t visit with my sister without Marco standing by. I have nothing to do here. You have a cook, people who clean…”

He looked confused. “You’re neither a cook nor a cleaner.”

“But I am your property. You said so yourself. I have a degree, I want to work, but—”

His mouth tightened, and he looked away for a moment. “Come into my study, Lucia.”

“Why?” I didn’t trust him. And as much as I hated to admit it, he scared me.

“So we can talk. That’s all.”

I didn’t move.

“I promise.”

After a moment, I nodded. He gestured for me to go ahead and followed close behind me, opening the door to the study once we reached it and letting me inside.

Once he’d closed the door, he moved behind his large desk.

I looked around the room. The walls were painted a dark shade of gray, and two windows overlooked the backyard and the forest beyond.

The furnishings were made of a dark, heavy wood, and his desk, the focal point, must have been an antique.

Directly before it stood a leather sofa, and the shelves along two of the walls contained floor-to-ceiling books.

Set apart from the desk and sofa was an armchair, the leather well-worn, with a matching ottoman at its foot.

The reading lamp behind the chair was on, and although it was sunny outside, this room remained darker.

Masculine. Even the scent here was different, all man.

“Sit down.”

I realized he’d been watching me take it all in. I lowered myself to the couch and faced him, the desk looming between us, him sitting behind it, making me feel small. I smoothed the skirt of my sundress down, unsure what to do with my hands.

Salvatore got up and walked around his desk. Surprising me, he joined me on the couch.

It only made me more uncomfortable, though. If only he’d act like I expected him to…

“What do you know about me?”

I studied him, drawn to him, to his eyes. I remembered for a moment how the blue had turned nearly black when he’d been aroused. Remembered how he’d looked at me when I’d lain before him. How he’d taken me in. How he’d gripped his cock…

Then the image of what I’d found in his bedroom flashed across the screen of my memory.

I cleared my throat and focused on the firm set of his jaw instead of his eyes.

The scruff along the chiseled line told me he’d probably not shaved in the two days he’d been gone, and it didn’t help my wandering mind.

I lowered my gaze to his neck, to the exposed flesh there, the T-shirt hugging his powerful chest.

Shit. This wasn’t working. I was attracted to this man I wanted to hate. In spite of what he’d done, the physical attraction was like an energy between us, a living, breathing, scorching thing.

I closed my eyes and willed myself to focus. Opening them again, I forced myself to meet his eyes. But when I did, I saw what he saw. He knew his power over me.

“Were you with a woman the last two nights?” I blurted out.

He chuckled, apparently surprised. “Not like you think.”

So that was a yes?

“I felt ashamed of what I’d done. What I’d made you do.”

My neck and face heated.

“That’s why I left. I wasn’t with another woman. I wouldn’t be. We have a contract.”

“That binds me to you.” Nothing in the contract spoke of any obligation on his part, certainly not one to be celibate or faithful. It was not a marriage contract, after all.

“And me to you.”

Now I was confused. Salvatore leaned back and crossed his ankle over his knee.

“Let me ask you again, Lucia. What do you know about me? Or perhaps the better question is, what do you think you know?”

“I know you’re Franco Benedetti’s son.” I stuck my chin out. “That’s all I need to know.”

“I think you’re smarter than that.”

“I know your hand shook when you signed the contract.”

He paused, his gaze faltering momentarily. “I’m not firstborn. I was never intended to be in the position I’m in.”

“You mean, being your father’s successor?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re stuck with me? If your brother were alive, I’d be his.”

“I mean I am obligated to do many things, which I would not choose to do and do not condone.”

“Me, you mean. You wouldn’t choose me?”

“Stop putting words in my mouth.”

“Isn’t that what you’re saying?”

“Why don’t you try listening for a change and remember not everything is about you, Lucia.”

Too shocked to retort, I unwittingly did as he said.

“I’m saying I wouldn’t have created that contract in the first place. But to be fair, your father agreed. Remember that.”

“My father didn’t have a choice.”

“He should have been willing to die…” he paused and leaned forward, anger marking his words, an anger I did not expect. “He should have been willing to die rather than see you go through what you did.”

That last part made me stop.

“He did die.” But Salvatore was right. And that was why I’d been so angry with my father all these years. Why I refused to see him. He’d given me up without a fight. Salvatore was right. How could he stand by and watch what they did? How could he have offered his daughter to the Benedetti beasts?

“I don’t want to upset you, Lucia.”

I wiped the back of my hand across my face, catching the single tear that had slipped from my eye. I shook my head, not wanting to speak for fear I would weep. It would be easier if he were unkind. Damn him, it would be easier.

“All I’m saying is I wouldn’t have done what my father did. I would not have required the innocent daughter of my enemy as payment.”

Fuck.

I swallowed back tears, knowing he saw right through me all along.

“But we’re here now. You and I are both here, and bound to one another. I don’t want a prisoner. I don’t want someone who fears or hates me in my own house.”

“Then I don’t understand. Why do you care what I think? I’m your enemy, and you’ve won. My presence here is proof of that. To your power over me and my family.”

“I’m not a monster, whether you believe it or not.”

“What do you want from me, then?”

“I’ve already told you: your obedience. You give me that, and I’ll make this easier.”

Obedience. I hated that fucking word. “And if I don’t, you’ll punish me like you did before.”

“I’ll be creative in my punishments, yes,” he said with a wicked gleam in his eye.

Goose bumps made the hairs on my arms stand on end, and my mind wandered to the restraints attached to the posts of his bed. Would he use those? Was that getting creative?

Salvatore reached out to softly touch my knee. My mind screamed for me to pull away, but instead, I looked from his eyes to his hand. I swallowed as he stroked the inside of my knee, then my thigh, pushing the dress up as he did so.

“I think you enjoyed at least part of your punishment.”

I shook my head, just a small “no,” but kept my eyes on his hand, on his fingers as they drew small circles on too sensitive flesh.

He slid toward me, making me look up, forcing me to meet his gaze.

“And it doesn’t always have to be punishment.”

His fingers left my thigh and touched the top button of my blouse. I watched in silence, unable to speak. He slowly undid the buttons and pulled my top open.

“Look at me.”

I did, my breath hitching when I met those cobalt eyes. With both hands, he slid the blouse from my shoulders, leaving it at my elbows. He then explored my exposed chest, my nipples tightening just from his gaze upon them, barely hidden behind the white lace.

Bringing his face to mine, he inhaled, his mouth close to mine, so close, but not touching. He kissed my cheek softly, making my stomach flutter, his breath on my face making my sex throb.

“I can make this good,” he whispered by my ear. “I want to make this good for you.”

When his fingers traced the border of my bra, I licked my lips, wanting him to kiss me, preparing for him to kiss me. He could make this so good. I knew. I knew how good he could make it.

His fingers slid inside my bra as his mouth neared mine again.

This time, I tilted my face upward to meet his and reached a trembling hand to touch the naked muscle of his arm.

His kiss was soft, slow, tender almost as his fingers tickled my nipple.

But then it changed, building in heat and intensity as one hand cradled the back of my head, and my mouth opened to his tongue, my entire body arching up to meet him, wanting—needing—something more.

“But only good girls are rewarded,” he said, his mouth at my ear again, me breathless, blinking up at him as he pulled back. “Bad girls are punished. Have you been bad, Lucia?”

His eyes seemed to dance, and I knew in that instant he knew.

I straightened, trying to tug my shirt up to cover myself.

Salvatore shook his head and smiled, cocking his head to the side. “Tell me, have you?”

“No,” I said, my voice cracking.

He reached over, and I gasped when he pushed the cups of my bra beneath my breasts.

“Wh…what are you doing?” I moved to cover them.

“No,” he said, taking my wrists and pulling them behind my back.

“Salvatore?”

That smile still plastered on his face, he dragged me forward and laid me facedown over his lap. He kept my wrists at my back while the fingers of his other hand tickled the inside of my thighs as they dragged my skirt up.

“Have you been snooping?” he asked outright once he’d stuffed my skirt beneath my wrists at my waist.

“What? No!”

He smacked my right cheek. I think I was more surprised than pained. “What the…”

“Have you been snooping?” he repeated.

I craned my neck. “What are you doing?”

Smack.

“Ow! Stop!”

“Have you been snooping?”

I shook my head, squeezed my legs together, and wriggled to get free, which was impossible, considering his size and strength.

“No?”

His fingers found the waistband of my panties and tickled the flesh there. “What are you doing? Let me up!”

I knew he heard me, he just was enjoying this. When he began to drag my panties down, I wildly kicked my legs only to have them trapped between Salvatore’s hard thighs. The swoosh of his belt made me stop struggling, and he laughed at what I was sure was my deer in the headlights expression.

“Don’t worry.” He wrapped the belt around my wrists and secured them behind my back. “I’m just planning on using my hand this first time.”

“What?”

But he began, smacking one cheek then the next, each slap screaming at my brain that this was really happening. That I was naked from the waist down being spanked!

“Stop! It fucking hurts!”

A few moments later, he did, rubbing circles over my punished cheeks.

“Let me up,” I said, wiping my wet face on his jeans.

“Were you snooping?” he asked again. This time, there was no teasing in his tone.

“Yes!” He knew it anyway; why he had to humiliate me like this to get me to admit it was beyond me.

“Good girl,” he said, his touch sliding between my thighs. “Bad girls get punished, but good girls get rewarded.”

Then, without any warning, his fingers found my sex, and I sucked in a breath.

I tensed, squeezing everything tight, but Salvatore tickled and stroked until I relaxed my legs and let them fall open, my back arching of its own accord as he smeared my own arousal over and around my clit, rubbing soft, then hard, pinching, making me cry out.

“What did you find in my bedroom?” he asked, still rubbing.

When a moan escaped me, I hung my head, wanting to disappear. How could I be enjoying this? Enjoying this humiliation?

“No…”

“Remember, good girls are rewarded, bad girls punished. Lying would make you a bad girl.”

“I hate you,” I said, not believing it myself.

“No, you don’t. You just feel powerless and are acting out in response.”

“I’m not a child.”

“I know that. Tell me what you found.”

He started on my clit again, rubbing harder, faster. “God.”

He chuckled. “God would be a first.”

“I’m…”

“Focus, Lucia,” he said, the fingers of his free hand taking one of my breasts.

“Restraints,” I said, my eyes about to roll to the back of my head when he kneaded my nipple.

“And how did it make you feel to find them?”

He eased off my clit, and I groaned, arching back again, wanting to—needing to—come.

“I...I don’t know.”

He struck my pussy, and I gasped.

“What did you feel?”

He rubbed again, and I melted into him. “Curious.”

Was it possible to hear a smile? Because I did.

And then, I came. I came hard in his hand, the sounds I made foreign to my own ears, my body going limp over his thighs, my eyes closing, sleepy.

When it was over, I felt him unbind my wrists and lift me, cradling me in his arms and leaning back against the sofa.

“Lucia, Lucia, Lucia. You surprise me.”

“You’ll still take me to my sister?” I asked, burrowing into his body, my eyes half-open.

“I told you I would. And we need to go shopping to find you a dress.”

“A dress? For what?”

“My father’s birthday party.”