Chapter 7 Viviana
The meeting with Papa is scheduled for tomorrow night.
Damon told me this morning over coffee, like he was discussing the weather instead of the first time I'll see my family in days. A controlled meeting at some neutral location where Papa can see I'm alive and unharmed, and then I come back here.
Back to Damon.
I should be more excited about seeing Papa. I should be thinking about how I'll convince him I'm okay and finding out whether he has a way to get me out of this.
Instead, I find myself thinking about what happens after. About coming back here with Damon, about the way he looked at me this morning when he thought I wasn't watching.
I'm losing my mind.
That's the only explanation for why I'm more interested in my captor than my rescue.
I spend the morning pacing the house, too restless to read, too anxious to watch TV. Damon disappeared into what I assume is his office after breakfast, probably making arrangements for tomorrow night, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
By afternoon, I can't stand being inside anymore. The house suddenly feels too small, too confining, and I need air. I find Damon in his office, sitting behind a massive desk with his laptop open and his phone pressed to his ear.
"...tell him we'll be there at nine. No weapons, no backup, only me and the girl..." He looks up when I knock on the doorframe, holding up one finger. "Yeah, I understand the risks. Just make sure your end is clean."
He hangs up and leans back in his chair. "What is it?"
"I want to go outside."
"No fucking way."
"I'm not asking to leave. I just want some fresh air. Maybe sit by that pool I can see from my bedroom window."
"The answer's still no."
"Why not? You said this place was secure."
"Secure doesn't mean invisible. You go outside, you're exposed."
"To who? You said the nearest neighbor is miles away."
"Satellites. Drones. Telephoto lenses. Take your pick." He turns back to his laptop. "Stay inside."
"For how long? Forever?"
"However long it takes."
I want to scream. I want to throw things. Instead, I take a deep breath and try a different approach.
"Please, I’m going nuts inside all the time. What if you came outside with me? For a little fresh air."
That gets his attention. He looks up again, and I can see him considering it.
"Ten minutes," I continue. "Just long enough to feel like a human being instead of a prisoner."
“Okay,” he finally says. “But only for a few minutes. And we need to stay out of the sight line in case someone might be watching from the trees. Go change clothes and come get me when you’re ready. I’ll be a few more minutes here, finishing up. Wait for me.”
“Great,” I say, already hurrying out before he changes his mind.
Quickly, I change into a bikini I found in the closet and head back downstairs. When I walk by his office, I can tell he’s deep into another phone conversation. What does he expect me to do? Wait around all day for him to get off the phone?
I go outside without him and lie down on a lounger by the infinity pool.
The heat is steamy, baking the tiles beneath my feet, the kind of heat that makes your skin hum before you’ve even started to burn. I stretch out, feeling the sun soak into my legs, my arms, the tops of my thighs. My sunglasses slide down my nose and I nudge them back up with one lazy finger.
The bikini top starts to feel too tight, too confining, like a layer I don’t need anymore.
I untie the strings at my back and let the top fall, draping it beside me on the lounger. The sun kisses my bare breasts, and for a second, I allow myself to enjoy it.
I told myself I came out here for fresh air. To feel like a person again.
But there’s another part of me that wants to see what happens if I stop being so obedient.
He said wait for him.
I didn’t.
I smile to myself. Damon likes control. That much is obvious. He wants me to behave, to follow his rules.
But what happens when I stop playing the good girl?
Maybe I want him to come outside and see me like this. Maybe I want to poke the bear. Only a little. Just enough to watch the mask crack.
Because if I’m going to be trapped here, I might as well learn which buttons make him break.
Minutes later, a shadow falls over me, blocking the sun.
I open my eyes, squinting up. Damon stands over me, his expression like thunder, a dark silhouette against the bright sky.
He doesn't say a word, just stares down, his gaze raking over my bare breasts, my bikini bottoms, the way my skin is gleaming with a light sheen of sweat and tanning oil.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
I lower my sunglasses and smile up at him. "Getting some sun."
He moves fast. One second I'm still stretched out on the lounge chair, the next his hand is in my hair, yanking my head back, forcing my gaze up to his furious dark eyes. The exposed skin of my chest tingles in the open air.
“You’re practically naked for anyone to see.”
“I’m trying to get a tan.”
“You’re being a goddamn tease.”
I lick my lips, tasting the salt from my skin. “Is it working?”
His grip tightens in my hair, pulling, not quite painful, but enough to make me aware of his immense strength.
“You have no idea, do you?” he snarls. “You think this is a game? That you can prance around here, tits hanging out, and there are no consequences? When anyone could be watching?”
"Maybe I like the consequences."
He hauls me up from the lounge chair in one swift motion, slamming my back against the nearby stone pillar that supports the pergola.
The rough stone digs into my skin, but I barely feel it.
His body presses into mine, his thigh dragging between my legs, pressing right against the heat of me through the flimsy bikini fabric.
“Is this what you want, Viviana?” he snarls, his eyes burning into mine. “You want to be used? Ruined?”
A gasp catches in my throat. “By you? Yeah. I think I do.”
“Fuck.”
His mouth crashes into mine in a filthy possession. His hand dives into my bikini bottoms without warning, cupping me hard, right there, out in the open.
I gasp, breaking the kiss. “Damon—”
“Shut up. You begged for this.”
Two fingers slide roughly into my pussy.
“Fuck, you’re soaked. And so goddamn tight.”
He lifts me onto the stone ledge of the hot tub in one motion, never breaking eye contact, never letting go of my hair. He yanks my thighs open, pulls the flimsy fabric aside. Then he starts working me with those fingers, deep, rough, curling just right.
“Is this what you wanted?” he growls, his face inches from mine, his breath hot against my cheek. “For me to drag you out here and finger fuck the brat out of you? They’re searching for you everywhere and you’re out here half-naked in the open begging to be fucked!”
I moan, head falling back, arching into his touch, the sun still hot on my face, the open sky above us.
“Do you want to be punished, you fucking idiot!”
His fingers thrust rougher. My legs shake, trembling uncontrollably. My hands claw at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, desperate for more, for him.
“Say it,” he demands.
“Yes,” I gasp in desperation. “God, yes. I want you to—”
Too late. I break with a sob, clenching around his fingers as he drives me straight into release, my whole body shaking, convulsing on the hot stone. The orgasm rips through me, fierce and all-consuming, leaving me gasping, thighs trembling, the stone damp beneath me.
He doesn’t stop until I’m completely spent. Then he pulls his fingers out and licks them clean, slow, dirty, eyes never leaving mine.
“You think I’m done with you? I’m just getting started. Lie down on your stomach. Now.”
My breath catches. I hesitate—
He grabs my chin. “You wanted attention, you fucking little tease. Now you’ll get it.”
I turn and obey, heart thundering.
He grabs a towel from the table, tears it into long strips, and binds my wrists behind my back—not tight, but firm enough that I can’t move without his permission.
He grabs the thin fabric of my bikini bottom and drags it off.
Then the first slap lands on my ass.
Hard.
Not brutal. Not enough to hurt.
Just enough to make me gasp.
“This is for teasing me,” he growls. “For deliberately disobeying my rules. You’ll learn not to test my patience with all your goddamn questions. If you’re going to act like a child, I’ll treat you like one.”
Another smack. Then another.
I moan. Arch. My thighs press together.
He chuckles low.
“You like this,” he says. “You like being punished. You’re dripping wet.”
“I—I don’t—”
“I’m going to show you what happens to brats who try to manipulate me.”
He flips me over, arms still bound behind me. He roughly spreads my legs wide, throwing one leg over each shoulder.
Then drops to his knees and buries his mouth between my thighs.
I scream.
There’s no other word for it. I scream as his tongue finds every nerve ending I didn’t know I had.
He pins me down by the hips and eats me like he’s starving. Like this is the real punishment—making me take everything he gives without being able to fight it.
“You taste like fucking honey,” he mutters against me. “Sweet and innocent. Just like I thought.”
I writhe. Moan. Tug at my wrists, but the makeshift bonds hold.
And he doesn’t stop.
Tongue circling, then plunging. Fingers gripping tight enough to bruise. He sucks on my clit like he’s trying to draw the brat out of me.
“Damon—I can’t—I’m going to—”
“Don’t you dare,” he snarls. “Not yet. You don’t come until I tell you to.”
He pulls back and I whimper at the loss.
“Please—”
“Begging now? Didn’t hear much of that when you were showing off your tits for the whole fucking world to see.” He reaches up to knead my breasts roughly with both hands, then twists the nipples.
I cry out, flushed and panting. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Not yet you’re not.” He leans in again. This time, he goes slower.
Teasing.
Circling.
Bringing me back to the edge, then pulling away again.
Three times.
Four.
By the fifth, I’m crying and writhing under him.
“Please, Damon. I’ll be good. I swear. I’ll do anything. I’ll be a good girl, I promise.”
He looks up at me, his mouth glistening.
“That’s what I wanted to hear.”
He slides two fingers inside me—only halfway—and sucks my clit as he curls them just right.
I break.
Explode.
Come so violently my legs are shaking.
He holds me through it, licking every twitch, every pulse, until I go limp against the lounger, wrecked and boneless.
He rubs my lips with his wet fingers. “Open your mouth,” he orders. “Suck my fingers. Taste them.”
I obediently open my mouth and take his fingers, sucking and licking. When they’re clean, he reaches behind me to untie my wrists.
"Remember this, Viviana," he says. "Remember what happens when you push me. Remember what it feels like to be used, to be ruined. This is a warning. If you ever show your tits in this yard again,” he says, voice deadly calm, a chilling promise in his tone, “I’ll fuck you right here on the grass and let the cameras and the drones watch everything.”
Before I can speak, his phone rings. The jarring sound cuts through the humid air. He steps back like I've burned him, answering the call without looking away from me.
"Lombardi."
I can hear the voice on the other end, urgent and loud, but I can't make out the words. Whatever it is, it makes Damon's expression go cold.
"When?" he asks. "How many?"
More talking from the other end.
"Fuck. Okay, double the perimeter. Nobody gets within a mile of this place without my knowing about it."
He hangs up and immediately starts walking toward the house.
"What's wrong?" I ask, scrambling off the hot tub ledge and pulling my bikini top back over my breasts, trying to keep up.
"Your father's not the only one looking for you. Get inside now."
"What does that mean?"
"It means whoever hit your family tried to grab one of your cousins. Little girl, maybe ten years old."
My blood turns to ice. "Is she okay?"
"She's alive. But they left a message."
"What kind of message?"
"The kind that says they're not done. The kind that says you're still a target."
We're inside now, and he's moving through the house with purpose, checking locks, adjusting security settings.
"What does this mean for tomorrow night?" I ask. "The meeting with Papa?"
"It means we're moving it up to tonight. We can't wait. If they're escalating, if they're going after kids now, then keeping you hidden isn't going to be enough. They’ll find you."
"What are we going to do?"
He stops in the hallway and turns to face me, and for the first time since I've known him, he looks uncertain.
"I'm going to do something incredibly stupid," he says.
"What?"
"I'm going to trust you."
Before I can ask what he means, he's moving again, heading for what I assume is a weapons cache somewhere in this ridiculously well-equipped house.
Whatever's about to happen, I have a feeling it's going to change everything.
And I'm not sure I’m ready for it.