1. Chapter One —Carlotta
Chapter One —Carlotta
Slipping through the throng of people, wiggling the tips of my fingers at a handful of familiar faces who grin at me, I hightail it up the dimly lit staircase to the floor above.
It’s much quieter up here.
Doors line either side of the hallway; another staircase, hidden away in the shadows, spiraling up towards the topmost floor.
But it’s the simple looking door, the one with the brass double digits shining in the golden overhead lighting emanating from the sconces on the walls, right at the end of the corridor that has every drop of my attention.
Room number eleven.
Outside, guarding the door, stands a masked man.
Tall and muscular, with his hands clasped loosely in front of him.
Buttery colored light glints across his fair, golden hair and if I were to look closely, I’d find a pair of pretty hazel-colored irises peering out at me from behind the black balaclava he wears.
I may not know what the rest of his face looks like—is his nose crooked, or straight? Are his lips full and plush? Kissable?
Regardless, I bet he’s handsome.
He’s dressed in his usual uniform; an all-black sweatshirt which stretches tightly across his broad chest and thick upper arms.
In all the months I’ve been visiting room eleven, I’ve never seen him wear anything else.
My eyes dip down a fraction or two, noting the tight material of his dark denim wash jeans clinging to his thighs.
God.
My core throbs just thinking about those thighs pinning me down to the mattress, or maybe even the floor in our haste. I hardly think he’d even feel me squirm. Not to mention how good one of those thighs would feel between my legs, pressing against my core.
I wish I knew what Handsome’s voice sounded like—then I could imagine exactly how he’d tell me to ride his thigh—but he never talks.
At least, not with his mouth.
Those eyes of his do plenty of talking; enviously long lashes blinking, watching, following my every move.
I take a step forward, towards him, our chests almost touching.
“Evening, Handsome.”
He doesn’t reply.
Not that I expected him too.
“One day, you’re going to talk to me,” I purr, licking my lips. “I’m sure of it.”
He remains silent.
I shrug and shove a hand in the bag hanging off my shoulder, pulling out a black, satin mask of my own, except mine only covers my eyes.
“Last chance,” I singsong. “Want to come inside? I’m sure your boss won’t mind.”
Handsome doesn’t even move an inch, he simply stays standing beside the door like a silent sentinel.
My hip brushes past his as I step away to reach for the doorknob, feeling a bulge graze across the sliver of flesh exposed where my jeans don’t quite reach the hem of my crop top.
But it’s not quite because he’s that happy to see me.
I blink, peering down at the hidden gun shaped item Handsome is packing.
After months of seeing the weapon peeping out of the top of his waistband, and growing up around guns and ammo, I should be desensitized to the sight of the thing. But I guess I’m not, if the sharp spike of fear that has my heart rate picking up is anything to go by.
I never got the chance to handle one myself, although I certainly saw enough of the weapons lying about the house growing up to recognize one when I see or feel it.
Maybe things might have been different if I hadn’t left home when I did.
If I hadn’t found an out and carved a life for myself with my own two bare hands; a place I could be someone other than Carlotta Bellucci, Mafia Princess, second heir of the Bellucci diamond fortune and the apple of my now late father’s eye.
Shaking off my thoughts of him—the one and only person I can say I truly loved with my entire heart—I slip the black satin mask over my eyes and, with a steady hand, rap my knuckles on the solid door.
It takes him less than second to answer, filling the doorframe with his spicy, expensive smelling aftershave.
“Evening, Red.”
That voice.
I shiver, a smile breaking out across my face.
This.
This is why I visit Nameless, because nothing else matters when I’m here. In his arms. Under his will.
“You’re late.”
I press my legs together to appease the ache of my core with every drip of his voice coating my skin. It’s low and masculine, decadent and addictive, like the richest chocolate money can buy.
“Sorry.” I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, pressing my soft body up against his hard one. “I was busy flirting with your bodyguard. Tell me, when is he going to join us?”
Strong arms pull me across the threshold, winding around my body to cup my ass.
“Maybe if you’re a good girl,” whispers a voice deep into my ear. “Would you like that?”
It’s all I can do but nod and hum, my brain already beginning to switch off now it realizes where we are—my safe space.
“Mmm.” Soft lips trail down the length of my neck, sucking at the steady pulse point thrumming beneath the surface of my flesh.
I melt into his arms, closing my eyes behind the mask.
I am safe here.
I am worthy here.
I am wanted here.
“Have you been a good girl, Red?”
A line of heat licks up my spine at the use of my name.
Nameless has many rules, strict policies and boundaries to follow in order for you to be granted access to the club, one of which is being, well…Nameless.
I go by Red, rather than my real name. While the man in front of me, the one I’ve never actually laid my eyes on, goes by Sir.
At least, that’s what I call him.
“Yes, Sir,” I breath, allowing him to pull me along.
My heels click against the flooring, before large, calloused hands, gently push me to sit.
With my eyes covered, the rest of my senses spill into overdrive.
I’m not quite sure if I’m sitting on a chair, or perhaps the velvet chaise lounge I know to be at the foot of the bed, but it’s certainly not the floor.
Soft lips glide over my jawline, my cheek, my forehead, but never my lips.
Another one of Nameless’ rules: no kissing.
Hands stroke the hair back from my face in a soothing manner, the cool material of the ring on Sir’s right pinkie finger biting into my scalp with each pet.
“Lift your arms up, Red.”
I do as he asks without hesitation, allowing him to peel my crop top from my body.
The cold oxygen of the room pulls at my bare nipples, creating hard peaks that ache for his touch, whilst gooseflesh ripples over my chest.
“Are you looking for a spanking?”
Fingertips, much thicker and longer than my own, strum at one nipple and then the other, before what feels like his thumb and forefinger pinch the underside of my breast hard.
“Answer me, Red.”
Licking my lips, I shake my head.
“No.”
“Is that why you’ve got your bare tits out? Hm?”
My pussy throbs at the possessive tone of his voice.
“Were you planning on letting everyone see what is mine, Red?”
I shake my head again, my tongue sticking to the ribbed roof of my mouth. God, when he talks like this…
“Tell me these tits are mine.”
“They’re yours,” I utter. “Every part of me is yours.”
At least, per our agreement.
But I don’t mention that.
Rule number three of Nameless: agreements are binding. It doesn’t matter what is in the contract between the couple, or group, but whatever rules are agreed on must be followed.
Sir and I have been following our rules set in our agreement for the past six months we’ve been seeing each other.
Although, when I’m with him, it hardly feels like we’re in an agreement at all.
Rather, it feels like second nature, easy and as comfortable as slipping into a bathtub of warm water after a long, hard day at work.
“That’s right, Red. And you better not fucking forget it.”
My lips curl up into a pleased grin. “As if I could.”
Lips brush the top of my cheekbone in reward, while a large hand cups one of my breasts, kneading at the heavy flesh there.
I preen beneath him, pressing my breast further into his hand and reaching up to card my fingertips through his soft hair.
“Sir…”
I sink further and further into the hazy space inside my mind, but I’m still conscious of my pussy pulsing with need and—
Slap!
Hot heat bursts across my breast, before it blossoms into a pleasurable sting that has my nipples pulling taught.
“You know the rules, Red.” The warmth of Sir’s breath ghosts over my chest. “Good girls get rewards; bad girls get punishments.”
A shiver of delight dances down my spine.
“Maybe I do it on purpose because I like your punishments so much,” I snark, feeling Sir’s mouth close around my puffy, abused nipple and suck, soothing the sting.
So far, my punishments have mainly been spanking, biting and a little bit of denial, here and there, but nothing I couldn’t handle.
I think Sir likes making me come too much to really deny me my pleasure for longer than a couple of days.
Eyes squeezed shut beneath my mask, hips bucking under his wandering hands, I tell him as such; my bratty mouth running away with me before my brain can catch up with what I’ve admitted.
“Is that so?”
I nod my head, fingers pulling and twisting at his soft strands of hair, keeping him at my breast.
He stays where I want him for a heartbeat, mouthing at my flesh until my breathing is uneven and choppy, loud in the otherwise silent, soundproof room, before he slips away.
“Um—”
I strain my ears to hear him, noticing his footsteps move back and forth. A drawer opens. Shuts. And then…
Tut.
Tut.
Tut.
The hairs on my arms stand to attention with each derogatory click of his tongue, but not with fear.
“Bad, Red. Bad, bad, bad.”
His shoes tap against the flooring, louder with each step towards me and I know he’s there. Right in front of me. At least, I think—
Lips graze the shell of my ear, stubble kissing my neck, and I grin, despite the adrenaline running rampant through my veins.
“Lie back.”
I do as I’m told, taking stock of the soft material beneath me. He must have placed me on the edge of the bed.
“Lift your hips, Red.”