4. Lyla
4
LYLA
T his is a nightmare. Any minute now, I’m gonna wake up.
I open my eyes, glaring at the ceiling as if it’s somehow offended me and kicking at the sheets that tangle around my legs. I didn’t get a wink of sleep, the events of the last twelve hours replaying in my head like a bad horror movie. And then I remember I stomped through a stranger’s house stark naked after he forced me to give him a blow job.
Well, “forced” might not be the right word because I didn’t fight him on it. Although I probably should have— definitely should have —but what was I supposed to do with a massive cock in my face? I’ve never given a blow job before and I was curious to try. No, I’m not a virgin per se, but I don’t think a few fumbling experiences that lasted less than five minutes should count toward anything.
What surprised me, though, was how much I liked it, how turned on I got knowing that what I was doing was pleasing him. Before I knew it, I was touching myself, and so close to reaching my climax until he ruined everything and stopped me.
Damn him .
Wait… What am I even thinking right now? He abducted me! Ripped me out of my apartment and dragged me away like some caveman. You are not supposed to be attracted to your kidnapper! This is stupid. I’m being stupid. I don’t know anything about this man other than he’s dangerous and I should stay away. I don’t know how I’m going to do that, though, when he has me trapped here and unable to leave.
This is maddening and I might as well stop pretending I’m going to get any sleep. I glance at the small clock on the nightstand. It’s breakfast time anyway. Let’s see what fresh hell awaits me when I get downstairs.
I must admit the clothes that Marco has provided me are quite luxurious. The silk pajamas I wore to bed were decadent to say the least, and now I’m rummaging through this huge dresser for something comfortable to wear. Everything is so fancy, and that’s not me. Most of my clothes are gently used and scavenged from local thrift stores. The rare times I can afford to buy anything new, I use the money to purchase necessities like cheap bras, panties, and socks.
The door to my room swings open and I whip around to find Marco strutting in, dressed in yet another custom-made suit and looking every bit like an Italian model. This may be his house, but some privacy would be appreciated. Then I realize how ridiculous that expectation is after he made me sit naked at his dining room table.
I inwardly roll my eyes at my own naivety.
He spots me in the closet and walks toward me. “I need to leave for a few hours,” he says, and I see he’s returned to using his cold and distant tone, just like when he barged into my apartment last night. “You’re free to explore the estate while I’m gone, but don’t even think about trying to leave. You will be shot.”
My stomach drops at his words and I swallow hard. I remember seeing the armed guards around the property and have no doubt that this man means what he says.
“O-okay,” I stutter, too afraid to argue with someone who could casually take my life. I’m learning it’s better to comply with what he wants than risk angering him. Or being on the receiving end of his punishment.
“I’ll be home later.”
Is it wrong that I’m disappointed he didn’t call me Princess this time? No one’s ever given me a pet name before, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.
He leaves without bothering to close the door behind him, and I hear him exit the house moments later. Despite the initial relief that he’s gone, a small part of me feels hollow in his absence, but why should I care? He’s just a tyrant who confuses the hell out of me.
I select a pair of jeans and a simple red blouse, getting dressed and slipping on a pair of black ankle boots before leaving my room. If I’m going to be stuck here for who knows how long, I might as well learn my way around the place.
The house has three floors, so I decide to start at the top and work my way down. That’s where I meet Jenny, the housekeeper, who gives me a timid smile as I approach the double doors at the end of the hallway. Inside, there’s a fully equipped gym with every piece of exercise equipment imaginable. No wonder Marco is in such incredible shape. Even without seeing him shirtless, I can tell he has tight abs and that V-shaped muscle at his hips.
Leaving the impressive home gym behind, I head to the only other room on this floor but find it locked. Jenny is dusting an expensive painting nearby, and I consider asking her what’s inside. Then I think better of it, knowing Marco has it locked for a reason and I don’t want to get caught snooping around.
Speaking of getting caught, I’ve already taken note of the numerous cameras and realize I’m being watched. Although they were here before me—or, at least, I assume they were—they remind me I’m a captive and my every move is being recorded. Yet I do find it somewhat appealing to know that Marco can see what I’m doing, and he might even be watching me right now.
No one’s ever cared where I was or what I was up to before. Maybe I’m lying to myself to make this whole situation better, but it makes me feel… special to know that his eyes are on me.
Because I’m too prideful and refused to eat dinner last night, my stomach begins to growl. I pull out my phone to check the time and see that it’s already noon. No wonder I’m starving. I head for the kitchen, where I’m greeted by Paolo, Marco’s personal chef. His warm smile and genuine hospitality put me at ease. When he mentions Marco’s orders to ensure I’m eating properly, I’m reminded once again of my powerless position.
“You skipped breakfast, miss. Mr. Vanetti won’t be pleased. I promised him I’d take care of you.” Paolo returns his attention to the stove and stirs something that smells divine as it simmers in a sauté pan.
“Maybe we could keep it our little secret? Just this once.”
He narrows his gaze before shooting me a wink. “Just this once,” he reiterates with a smile, then adds cooked linguini to the pan and gives it a toss. He piles a heaping portion onto a plate, sprinkling it with parsley and presenting it to me.
“You made this for me?”
“I did, and I was just about to come looking for you. Mr. Vanetti was very adamant about his wishes.” Paolo laughs nervously. Oh, I’m sure he was. “I thought you might like to have lunch on the patio. It’s nice outside today.”
“That sounds great. Thank you.” I offer to take the plate from him but he insists on carrying it for me. A subtle reminder just how feared Marco is, even in his own home, and I shouldn’t take that lightly.
When we reach the expansive patio at the back of the house, Paolo leads me to a table at one of the cozy seating areas. It’s already been set with a vase of fresh-cut flowers, silverware, glassware, and a bottle of white wine. Seems odd to be drinking so early in the day. But “when in Rome,” I guess…
He arranges my plate on the placemat, handing the linen napkin to me to drape over my lap while he fills my glass. “Is there anything else I can get you, miss?”
“No, everything is lovely.”
Paolo nods with a quaint smile and pivots to leave when I stop him.
“Oh! Can I make one small request?”
“Of course, miss.”
“It’s Lyla. Just call me Lyla.”
The smile never leaves his kind face, but I have a suspicion my wish has fallen on deaf ears.
Once Paolo returns to the kitchen, I relax in my seat and take a deep breath, filling my lungs with fresh air fragranced by the abundant flowers planted around the yard. There’s a pergola overhead, keeping the direct light off my face, but the warm sun feels good, and for a moment, I allow myself to pretend I’m living a fairy tale.
However, my peace doesn’t last long as I feel a familiar prickling on the back of my neck just as soon as I finish my meal. Sitting upright in my chair, I look around until I see Marco approaching me with a determined expression etched on his face. He looks so different from this morning. I’m not sure what’s changed in the span of a few hours.
“I thought you’d be gone all day.”
“Change of plans. And now I’m home.”
This back and forth is irritating, but I can’t deny the magnetic pull I feel toward him.
Marco tugs me to my feet, then draws me in and presses his muscular body against mine. All coherent thoughts disappear and are replaced by a dire need for him when I feel his hard length against my lower stomach. Resisting him is futile, because he’ll always take whatever he wants. When he looks at me like this, I want to feel the pleasure that only he can give me, pleasure I’ve never experienced with anyone else.
My heart flutters as he leans in and whispers, “I didn’t get a goodbye kiss.”
On the surface, the gesture appears romantic, but I’m not foolish enough to believe it’s true. He was cold and dismissive earlier. Not to mention he left me squirming and frustrated when he sent me to bed last night. So, why would he think I’d send him off with a kiss?
Before I can question him, he clears the table, knocking dishes and glasses to the ground without a care. Then his hands are on me, flicking open the button of my jeans and dragging them down my legs, along with my skimpy lace panties. He lifts me off the ground, setting my bare ass onto the cool surface before tugging off my boots and undressing me from the waist down.
I’m exposed and vulnerable, but my pussy is wet while my mind is confused. “What are you doing? Aren’t you going to kiss me?” I ask shyly.
Marco replies with a villainous smirk. “It’s not your mouth I want to kiss.” He pushes me down onto the table, but I go freely, eager for the orgasm I didn’t receive last night.
He takes a seat in my vacated chair, positioning himself between my legs and resting my thighs on his shoulders. For a fleeting moment, the fear of being caught by one of his staff or his men crosses my mind, but it fades once Marco’s mouth reaches my center. He ravages me with skillful licks and sucks, making my body jerk when he rubs his thumb over my clit and slides two fingers deep inside me. My back arches and I moan into the air, my hands cradling his head and urging him for more.
“You taste so fucking good, Princess. I could smell your cunt last night and knew I needed to get my mouth on you.” The sounds he’s making are lewd and obscene, but they’re nothing compared to his words.
I’ve always wondered what this would feel like, and it far exceeds anything I could’ve expected. The sensations are euphoric, and the orgasm stirring inside me is growing too strong for me to hold back any longer.
“Please, please,” I beg, writhing on his patio furniture, out in the open for anyone to see.
“There’s no sweeter sound than you begging me to make you come.” He sucks my aching clit between his teeth, rapidly flicking his tongue across it. Stars float at the edges of my vision, and heat builds in my lower stomach. “I need to taste all of you. Come now , Lyla.”
Not that I was waiting for his permission, but as soon as he gives it to me, my body shatters and my release spills into his warm mouth. The walls of my core begin to flutter, and I’m desperate for him to fill me with his thick cock. Then, all too soon, my orgasm begins to subside, and I reach for Marco, hoping he’ll give me what I want.
When he stands abruptly, using my panties to wipe his face, it’s as if a cold bucket of water has been dumped on me. Questioning the sudden shift in his demeanor, I prop myself on my elbows, staring at him while remnants of my climax seep onto his expensive furniture. His face is devoid of any emotion as he stares at something in the distance behind me.
He adjusts the cuffs of his shirt beneath his suit jacket, his mask of indifference firmly back in place. “I’ll be in my office for the rest of the afternoon.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to retort or even a moment to process what just happened before he’s gone again, and I’m left confused and upset.
Did I do something wrong?
I don’t understand the game we’re playing or what it is that Marco wants from me. If he thinks I owe him for my father’s debt, then why hasn’t he made me do anything toward paying it down? He teases me and taunts me, like I’m a toy made for his amusement. Yet it makes no sense when he could have any woman he wants. Then he hunts me down and gives me the best orgasm of my life, only to turn around and act like it was an insignificant disruption to his busy day.
Frustration consumes me, casting a dark cloud over the rest of the afternoon as I remain in my bedroom, overthinking every minute I’ve spent in his presence trying to figure him out. The desire between my thighs is insatiable, and I fantasize about his strong hands exploring my body and his lips on every inch of my flesh.
Stepping under the hot spray of the shower, I’m hoping the scalding water will help me clear my head. Yet even as I try to scrub away the memories of his touch, the lingering ache between my legs intensifies. Unable to resist any longer, I slide my hand down my stomach until I reach my throbbing clit, rubbing it furiously as I envision Marco being the one to pleasure me. The thought alone drives me to the brink of ecstasy.
If he won’t give me what I want—what I need —then I’ll just take care of it myself.