“I’m not telling you my name.”
Darkness clouds his features. “I thought you wanted to explain everything.”
“That was before I knew who you really are.”
He processes my words for a long second. “Are you really so loyal to whatever outfit you belong to? You’d rather stay here than implicate them?”
A broken laugh escapes past my lips. He’s got it all completely wrong. I’d tell him the truth if I thought I could get a promise out of him. A promise not to trade me back to Papà, no matter what. But I know he’ll never give that to me in earnest while he’s hungry for revenge. At least if Damiano decides to kill me, I might get a quick death.
“Do what you must.”
He walks around me until I feel his presence against my back. My heart beats loudly over the distant sound of that hypnotic music. What is he going to do to me?
He steps closer, lining up our bodies. Brushing my hair to the side, he brings his lips to my exposed neck. “Tell me your name, or I swear, I’ll make you scream it.”
A shiver runs down my spine. “I’m not afraid of pain,” I say, but it doesn’t sound convincing even to my own ears. In truth, I am afraid of being hurt. After seeing the entire spectrum of pain in Lazaro’s basement, I think anyone who says otherwise is a liar.
If Damiano starts cutting into my flesh, I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep my mouth shut.
A hand lands on my exposed midriff. I suck in a breath when his fingers start moving in circles over my skin.
His lips touch the shell of my ear. “Was everything you told me a lie?”
“Not everything,” I say.
“You’re a married woman. Why did you lie to me about being inexperienced in bed?”
My throat tightens. “I- I didn’t lie about that.”
His movements halt for a moment. “Your husband didn’t fuck you?”
“He did his marital duty on our wedding night, that’s all. Like I said, it wasn’t a love match.”
“Why did you decide to get involved with me?”
I exhale. “Because I liked you.”
He drags his hand over my shorts until it’s over my pubic bone. Heat swirls through my core. It seems my body hasn’t caught on to our current situation, and it’s still reacting to him in the same needy way. He presses the length of his body against me and lets me feel his hard-on against my lower back. “Did you like it when I made you come?” The words rumble inside his throat.
I drop my head back, resting it against his chest. He looks down at my shirt, and I know he can see the outline of my hard nipples. “Yes.”
He unhooks the buttons on my shorts, one by one, like some kind of a count down. It dawns on me that just because I lied to him about many things, doesn’t mean he was lying to me. Even made men have their moments of truth. What if despite everything, he still feels some affection for me? What if he doesn’t want to hurt me?
His fingers dip into my underwear and find my clit. “If you’re not afraid of pain,” he says in a way that makes it clear he knows I’m lying, “then what are you afraid of?”
I gasp with the first circle he makes. “This is an interesting method of interrogation.”
He pinches me with his index finger and thumb, and the pleasure heightens with an undercurrent of pain. I cry out. The multitude of things he’s making me feel is making my mind dull with a not-entirely unpleasant haze.
He nuzzles my neck with his nose and sets off a ticklish frisson over my skin. “Tell me your name.”
He’s trying to confuse me. To break me. I try tugging at the ropes, but my arms have numbed from being strung up for so long. “No.”
His other arm wraps around my waist, and he tugs me into him, hard. “I think you’re lying to me,” he rasps. “You might not be afraid of dying, but you don’t want it to hurt. And, Ale.” He leaves my clit alone, grabs my shorts with both of his hands, and tugs them down to my knees. “I can make it hurt.”
The first hard slap across my ass is so shocking, I’m not able to suppress the yelp that comes out. “Fuck!”
I can’t see him behind me, but the long breath he releases makes me think he’s enjoying this. My ass burns, and my face feels like it’s become liquid fire. Then he does something far worse. He grabs the throbbing flesh and kneads it with his long fingers, as if he’s trying to relieve the pain. The physical sensation makes me want to weep-from the pleasure and the pain. I bite down on my lip. This is humiliating, and yet deep inside of me, languid arousal forms.
“You’re sick,” I whisper.
Another hard slap. I whimper.
“I am,” he says, as he kneads my flesh again. “I’m going to enjoy making this ass raw.”
When he starts to move his hand lower, I try to move away, but he places one firm hand on my hips and pulls me back into him. His fingers find my entrance, and he makes a noise of satisfaction. “Cazzo. Isn’t it even sicker that you appear to be enjoying it? Or is that my cum you’re still wet with?” He pushes inside my wetness and thrusts his fingers in and out a few times. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to temper the building pleasure.
“I can make you my toy,” he says as he keeps his fingers moving. “I can make you feel all kinds of pain. Maybe I’ll leave you hanging here for weeks, using you as I see fit, until you’re dripping with my cum from every single one of your holes.”
A groan works its way out of my throat. He reaches around me and starts to rub my clit with his left hand while his right is thrusting in and out of me in perfect rhythm. Images from the beach flash behind my eyelids. God, it felt so good to be completely filled with him.
The music outside pulls me under its spell. I grind my ass into him and feel how hard he is inside his jeans. How is it possible we went from that tender moment by the ocean to this in the span of a few hours?
“Do you like that?” he asks. “Do you want to be my captive whore? I’ll make you wear me for days before I let you wash me off your skin.”
“Shit.” I’m too far gone on my way to the promised land to analyze what he’s saying and why it’s driving me absolutely insane. The need to come builds until it’s the only thing in the entire world that matters.
Then everything stops. “Tell me your name.”
“No, no, no,” I pant. “Please.”
He won’t let me grind on his hand. “Name.”
I groan in frustration as the orgasm moves further and further out of my reach. But with every second, my brain turns back on. “No.”
He makes an angry noise. “I’ll let you think on it for the night.”
“Please, let me down. My arms hurt.”
He stops in front of me. His eyes are ablaze, and I can see he’s still hard, but I know better than to think his physical attraction to me is going to make him cave to my request. “No,” he says, mocking my consistent response. His gaze travels up my arms, and a flash of anger colors his face, but then it’s gone.
I watch his broad back as he leaves and then glance over at the window.
The sun still hasn’t set outside.
I’ll have an endless night to survive down here alone.
DAMIANO