Chapter Five
Capri
We step into Adriano’s apartment. I don’t know what I expected, but this certainly isn’t it.
It’s simple, yet you can tell that it cost a fortune to put together.
But what catches my attention isn’t the carefully chosen furniture or the artwork that hangs from the walls or the pottery that spots the living room.
It’s the frames that hang at precisely chosen spots.
The frames are positioned so you can see them from any spot in the living room.
It’s the same person in all the frames—an elderly woman with graying hair that frames her old and wrinkly yet pleasant face.
She has the same green eyes that I’ve come to adore.
I walk over to one of the frames that hangs over the fireplace.
A younger version of Adriano sits on her lap with a scowl on his face. He was obviously upset about something.
“Seems like you’ve always been trouble,” I tease.
Adriano stays in one corner watching me move from one frame to another with glee, like a child in a store filled with candy.
The truth is that it’s almost impossible to reconcile the image of my master with this adorable younger version of him—chubby, no tattoos, permed hair, and eyes that don’t look as emotionless as they do now.
Another picture catches my attention on the table.
“Oh, what do we have here?” I say, picking up a picture of a chubby baby with what looks like chocolate smeared on his cheeks. “Is this you?” I giggle. “You look so ... adorable.”
He shrugs, clearly embarrassed. He walks over to one of the sleek leather sofas and falls on it.
“Gran Gran said that was my first time trying chocolates. She said I wailed when anyone tried to take that chocolate bar from me. It’s her fondest memory of me.
One she recounted every time I got in trouble. ”
The melancholic undertone of his voice sticks out like a sore thumb. “You must really love her.”
“I did.” He turns to me, face distraught with grief. “But she died, like my parents, even though she promised not to.”
He scoffs and turns his face away from me to hide his anguish. “The Italian Mafia took me in and taught me how to survive and be a man—one who’s feared and respected. One who embraces pain and isn’t scared of death. I wasn’t lying when I said I understand your pain.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, frozen to one spot.
“I’m over it.”
I can tell that’s a lie. He only learned to live with the pain. Can I do the same? Learn to live again without all the guilt that tears at me.
“I’ll help you overcome your pain.”
I wonder how he always figures out my thoughts and gives the right answers. Amid all the melancholy, it’s refreshing to know he’s human too and not just a killing machine. My gaze falls on another frame. “OMG! You have a cat?”
“She died three days ago.”
“The men at the party really weren’t joking when they said—”
“That everyone close to me dies?”
Immediately, I wish I could take back my words. I really didn’t think it through. A man just lost his beloved cat, and all I can do is make a terrible joke. “I didn’t mean that.”
“I’d never let any harm befall you, though.”
His words make my heart rate spike. Along with the spike comes the realization that he had said he lost his cat three days ago—the same time he came to my place for the second time.
Had he come to seek solace? Suddenly, I no longer know whether to feel bad that he lost his cat or feel good that I was the first person he thought to see.
“Want something to drink?” he asks, standing to get a drink from the bar.
“I think I had enough at the party.”
“Hmm...” He changes his mind about the drink and says, “Follow me.”
The softness in his voice from a few moments ago has disappeared, and I can tell what’s coming next.
He’s no longer the boy who lost his grandma.
He’s my master. My toes curl in anticipation as I follow him to his bedroom.
I feel his hand hold mine as he leads me to sit on the bed.
He picks a piece of cloth and blindfolds me.
“Strip,” he says. I can hear him get out of his clothes, but I can’t see a damn thing. I quickly take off my clothes.
“Am I just another one of the girls you bring to your—”
His lips crash on mine, silencing me. I didn’t see it coming—literally—which makes it even more satisfying.
His tongue explores my mouth, as if to map every inch and nerve.
I grab a fistful of his hair, but he pulls my hand away, holding it behind my back, and finally breaks the kiss.
“I never bring anyone home, and before you ask, I’m not lying. ”
His words go straight from his lips to my clit. It seems to have heard him saying, You’re the only one I want to fuck in my dark room. The sound of that makes it ache with want. “I want you, Master. Inside me.”
He lets go of my hand, and I suddenly can’t feel his warmth anymore.
I stretch my leg to feel around for him.
Nothing. I hear a small sound in another part of the room, but I can’t tell what’s happening.
A few moments later, I smell him right before his warmth bathes me.
He suddenly pushes me onto the bed, spreads my legs and hands like a starfish, and ties each to the bedpost. The way he handles me makes me feel helpless, yet safe.
Again, he disappears into the dark, leaving me gazing into the cloud of darkness that hovers over me.
I hear him rummaging through some things, followed by a wave of silence, and then soft music begins to play. Soothing music. I ready myself for his return.
A sudden pain sparks through me as something clamps on my nipple. I let out a yelp.
“Shh...” he hisses, as he pegs the other nipple. My body stiffens, trying to accept the pain. I feel what I assume to be a multi-tailed flogger trail a path from my thighs to my feet—almost ticklish—tempting me to relax, but I know what to expect.
Like a prophecy, it comes as a whip on my thigh. Pain spirals through me. Another lash connects with my other thigh, and I buckle upward, half trying to break loose from my captivity.
“Do I need to remind you of how to behave?”
“No, Master,” I grit out.
“Am I treating you badly?”
“No, Master. I love how you hurt me,” I cry between my uneven breaths.
“Then beg for it,” he growls. His voice soothes my pain, eclipsing the burning sensation on my thighs.
“Please, Master, hurt me like I’m your little bitch.”
“You are my little bitch.”
The flogger kisses my inner thighs, sending a splash of pain through me.
Something about being blindfolded, unsure of when and where the next whip will hit, makes my clit throb with excitement.
My chest rises and drops heavily, trying to contain my adrenaline-induced heartbeat.
He presses the pegs against my nipples as sweet, intoxicating pain sears through.
It’s true what they say. It takes even more pain to overcome pain.
This sweet pain makes everything I’ve been through feel almost inconsequential.
It makes them feel like a forgotten memory, and I want more of it, especially if it means that I totally forget. I fucking want more.
“More, Master. I want more pain. It feels so fucking good ... so fucking good.”
He twists the peg around my nipples and pulls it.
Fuck. I clench the ropes holding me in place.
“Yes.” My moans sound more like an animalistic growl with each passing second.
Never in my life could I have imagined that pain could feel so exhilarating .
.. so freeing. He releases my nipples, and I wait restlessly for the next tool from his arsenal.
He resumes twisting my nipples, and I hear the monotonous hum before it hits my folds.
“God ... fuck ... dammit ... oh, shit ... fuck ... fuck...” My thoughts are a tangled mess, and I can’t decide on what to say.
I’m torn between the raging forces of intense pain and maddening pleasure, and like a blackhole, I can’t be satisfied.
I want more. I want his cock digging into me mercilessly.
I’ve waited so much for it. I’ve been a good girl.
I deserve to be rewarded. I deserve his cock ruthlessly plundering and taking my body.
He dips the vibrator inside me, fucking me senseless with it. I can feel the violent hum of the vibrator inside me, and my body quivers in response to its erratic motion. “Please, I need your cock inside me. Fuck me, Master.”
“You’ve been obedient, so I won’t deny you your reward. I’ll fuck you until you scream for help.”
He pulls the vibrator out. “Are you ready?” he growls.
“I’ve been ready for days. Please, Master, fuck me already.” I sound like a shameless slut, but I don’t mind. For Master, I’m willing to degrade myself even further. I’ll do anything to feel his cock inside me.
He slams his cock into me, and my eyes roll into the back of my head.
He’s only just started, yet it feels like the end of a nerve-wracking orgasm.
It feels like I’m caught in that tight little space between life and death where nothing else exists or matters.
The sound of his cock ruthlessly slamming into me pulls me back to my senses.
Fuck. I’m not dead. I’m still alive, and it feels fucking great.
I wrestle with my ropes, wishing I could dig my fingers into his back as he rams into me. His grunts and my nasty moans mix with the unholy music playing in the background. This is heaven, and I’ll be damned if I ever let it slip away.
His hands snake around my neck. Constricting with each heavy pounding. My veins pop, my lungs burn, my pussy clenches, my nipples ache—it’s a cocktail of feelings I’ve never felt before. Suddenly, my body slips out of my control, as I begin to spasm.
“I’m going to come,” I manage to say.
“Hold it. I’m close.”
“I can’t,” I cry, feeling my legs spasm even faster. “I fucking can’t. Oh, God, I’m going to come.”
Like a tsunami, an orgasm slams into me at the same time Adriano growls, releasing thick and warm fluid inside me. My body continues to shudder violently—relentlessly—and with it, clarity.
I don’t want to die. I want to be a slut. I want to be Adriano’s little slut.