Chapter 22
Upon His Knees
Slow, sensual music plays in the suite. Lamps are dimmed.
The final rays of sunlight stream in through closed doors of the balcony.
The deep orange rays contrast with the dark ambiance.
The furniture has been moved to give more space, and an armchair faces the bedroom.
I pause outside the doors, closing them behind me.
He lounges back in the chair, legs spread with hands splayed over his thighs.
He wears only slacks, twilight providing shadows over his tattooed skin.
My eyes flick down, and something coils inside when I see it.
A rosary draped upon his chest.
Dark beads cascade down with the cross laying heavy against his stark tattoos.
“You’re late,” he says gruffly.
A smile plays on my lips, licking them slightly as I reach far inside myself of the person I once was. Standing straighter, I conjure up the same courage I had in that meeting. I stroll towards him, running my hand along the back of the sofa.
“A woman is never late,” I respond. “Especially myself when it comes to business.”
“Is that what this is? Business?” He gives a bored expression.
“Apart from?”
His head cocks ever so slightly, hooded eyes grazing up my body as I stop behind the sofa. “Personal business.”
A shiver runs over me at the deepness of his tone, the roving of his eyes that sear into my skin. I trail my finger along the sofa, recognizing those pieces of him that demand obedience.
“The ruthless, renowned mafioso wanting a personal meeting with little old me,” I say each word slowly. His jaw tightens.
“You’re just as ruthless, are you not?”
A sultry smile grows on my face, playing further into the game. “I have a reputation?”
“Yes.”
“Then yours is fearsome. Terrifying even.” His hand flexes on his thigh. “Should I be worried, mafioso?”
His head cocks again. “Have you done anything that warrants that worry?”
I step from behind the sofa, a few feet from him as I sit on the arm of it. My legs spread like his as I carefully run my hand against my inner thigh. His eyes snap to my hand.
“As your rival, I should be, but I have a confession for you.” My words are almost whispered.
“Confession?” He looks back up at me.
“You’re the one wearing the rosary.” I tilt my head, continuing to run my hand over my bare skin. His breathing becomes heavier. “May I confess to you? Ask for forgiveness of the ruthless, terrifying mafioso who defies the church?”
“They don’t own me.”
“No…” I murmur, moving both hands further up my inner thighs, “…they don’t.”
He shudders, growling low as his hand flexes and digs into his slacks. He deeply inhales, chest expanding as he stares at my thigh.
“If I confess, will you spare me?” I ask. “Will you allow your rival forgiveness?”
He settles further back into his chair, licking his lips slowly. Hazel eyes meet mine.
“What are your sins?” His voice is rough.
I stand, beginning to walk around his chair, trailing my fingers over the arms and to the back. Desire tickles my spine, muscles clenching as arousal starts to flood my senses. I lean down, whispering near his ear, “I confess to being a liar.”
His eyes slide to me. “A liar?”
“Months upon months, hiding information.” I move my head to the other side of him. “I confess to killing men and having no guilt over their deaths.”
“Were they mine?” He rasps.
“No…them I owned.”
I come around in front of him, stopping next to the coffee table.
“What else?”
My foot is placed upon the surface of the coffee table, and I run my hand over my thigh again. His gaze stays on mine, but his jaw tightens. I slide it up further towards the apex of my thighs, feeling the lace fabric.
“I confess of lustful thoughts…” my fingers slip under the hem, and his eyes flick to my hand, “…over a man covered in blasphemous tattoos, ink depicting hell and demons.”
“Anything else?” He practically growls when my hand goes back down my leg again.
“I confess to the worst of my crimes,” I say keeping my eyes on him, as I grip onto the power I feel having his attention on me.
“Not lying, not stealing millions of dollars, not shooting men, or even the sinful thoughts I have about you.” His eyes snap to mine, flaring.
“I’m a thief, who now owns an empire, but it’s not as priceless as owning the soul of a man that everyone trembles before. ”
I step in front of him, just out of reach. His hands flex, fingers tensing as I tilt my head like someone who holds all the cards.
“I stole the big bad wolf from his bed,” I whisper.
“Have you?” His voice grates, rough with emotion.
“I shall not ask for forgiveness for being the only one brave enough…” I step closer, placing my hand on the arm of the chair, “…smart enough…” I do the same on the other side, encaging him, “…and conniving enough to accomplish such a task.”
I run my hand up his torso, feeling the heat of his skin and rising chest. A shudder runs over him, attempting to keep up his facade as I reach for the rosary and wrap the beads around my hand. Gently, I tug them so he leans forward until his face is practically inches from mine.
“The most fearsome mafioso isn’t you, it’s me. And I own you.”
Shadowed hazel eyes tear into mine. I flick my gaze over him, watching for any signs to pause. I tug him closer, keeping my lips just a breath away from his. His breath hitches, hands moving to the chair arms, gripping them.
“So, do you have a confession for me before I decide your fate?” I ask, tightening my grip on the rosary.
A shift happens over his eyes, glazing over with something that makes my skin tighten with a craving for dominance. The air almost changes as the switch happens, almost rumbling between us.
“Yes…Mistress.”
Finally, I press my lips against his with a teasing kiss that’s too brief. His breath catches as I step back, letting go of the rosary.
“Good boy. Get out of my chair.”
He stands, moving to the side as I sit where he was. The warmth left behind is almost comforting as I inhale deeply. I lounge back, gripping the arms and focus.
“Kneel,” I order.
Instantly, Leo drops to his knees before me.
His hands become placed upon his thighs, palms facing up as he tips his chin down in obedience. His breathing slows, leveling out as I watch him already slipping towards Subspace. Fuck wasn’t expecting it to happen that quick.
I clear my throat, concentrating on the scene I’ve apparently set. “What do you have to confess?”
His gaze remains on his thighs, staying silent. I reach for the rosary around his neck and tug him forward. He inhales sharply, leaning forward, but his eyes remain downcast.
“Look at me.” Those obedient, craving eyes meet mine. There’s no fear, but there is uncertainty. “Check in.”
“Yellow.” The word strained as if he’s not sure himself.
I start to let go of the beads, until his hand snaps up and clasps around my fingers. He doesn’t move, eyes not leaving mine. I know that look. Silent begging for me not to let go.
“Good boy,” I murmur, twisting my hand a little for the rosary to tighten around his neck. It’s enough of a reassurance for his hand to fall back into place. “Close your eyes. Breathe.”
Leo does as I say, closing his eyes as I glance at the beads which pinch at his skin. I make my breath loud, allowing him to follow in suit and his body settles. He untenses as I take more of that control out of his hands.
Briefly, I run through my head of what I’ve learned and trained in with Leo. Our sessions, his tells, wants, and needs. I recall when he’s been on his knees before; what he said and did. Declarations. Not confessions.
Thinking quickly, I reassess on how to keep going, determined to lean into his desires.
“Open your eyes.” He does and he already seems calmer. “I know all your sins and confessions.” His eyes widen slightly. “Why have you repeat them when you’re already on your knees for me? No confessing tonight. Just your obedience.”
“Always, Mistress.”
“I know, baby.” I kiss him upon his forehead. “Check in.”
“Green, Mistress.”
“Good boy.”
I lounge back into the chair, but keep my hand wrapped around the rosary. Leo has to sit up straighter, off balance as he leans forward to make up for the short distance.
“Thankfully for you, I’m a merciful mafioso,” I state, moving back into the roleplay. “I have something in mind for my rival. Shall we see how well you do with orders?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
I let go of the beads. “Turn around. Stay on your knees.”
Leo faces away from me as I watch the light play over his body.
The setting sun casts long shadows over him.
My eyes graze down the tattooed landscape of hell and brilliant colors of the flaming sword.
I keep my legs on either side of him, moving to the edge of my seat.
My chest presses against his back, making him straighten.
His breath hitches as I snake my hand over his shoulder, down his torso as I feel his warm body.
My other hand grabs the rosary at the back of his neck, pulling slowly.
“Who owns you?” I ask, breathing against his ear.
His hands flex upon his thighs. “You, Mistress.”
I continue pulling the beads.
“Who’s the only one you’ll listen to?”
“You, Mistress.”
More I pull the rosary towards me.
“Who is the only one you’ll worship?”
“You, Mistress.”
Rosary beads wrap around my hand as I pull gently, looking down at the strand tightening against his neck.
I grip his chin, tilting his head back as the wooden beads dig into his skin, just below his Adam’s apple.
The cross dangling. I pull harder and he swallows, causing the cross to bob against his throat.
It’s then I realize how much of a Catholic I am not.