52

Corey
My hips writhe in a circle like I’m seeking out his hand again.
Traitorous body.
I’m so fucking confused right now, I can’t think straight. A minute ago, I was sure Stefano planned to throw me over the Hoover Dam. Now I’m in a different kind of trouble, as he so eloquently put it.
It’s a much preferred trouble, despite my protests.
“Come here.” Stefano hooks his index finger through the zip-tie holding my wrists and tugs me further into his suite like a farmer leading his cow. It’s the same style suite Sondra’s been staying in here, with a kitchenette and living room area.
He doesn’t bring me to the bedroom, but to the kitchen, leaving me at the table while he gets a bottle of water from the refrigerator. I lean my butt on the table because my legs are too wobbly to stand. Stefano returns and cracks open the bottle, holding it to my lips.
I lift my bound hands to take it myself and drink. “You got anything stronger?” I ask after I’ve downed half the bottle.
Stefano gives me that lazy grin and walks back to the kitchen, returning with a bottle of Glenlivet and two tumblers. He pours us each a couple fingers of scotch and holds one out for me. “Saluti.” He clinks his glass against mine.
I throw the scotch back, hoping the burn will scorch the memory of what happened upstairs right out of my mind.
“So, basically, I’m an accessory now.” It hits me like a concrete block on my toes.
Stefano shrugs like accessory to murder means nothing to him. “That would never hold.” He crowds into me, pushing my knees apart to stand between them. I still can’t figure out if this is seduction or a scare-tactic.
“So you’re not planning on killing me.” He already said so, but I guess I don’t believe him.
He reaches out to cup my face, his thumb brushing my cheek lightly. “Cara, if I was going to kill you, you’d already be dead.”
I try to ignore the warmth his touch produces, the urge to nuzzle into his hand. It’s just because I’m in shock and I’ve lost my mind. “Why let me live? Because of Sondra?”
Stefano shakes his head. “I don’t want you dead.” He drops his thumb to my lips and traces them. I hold still because despite his assurance, I’m still his captive. The zip-tie on my wrists prove it. “I don’t kill innocents.” Something flickers behind his dark eyes. “Despite what you may think about me.”
I find my cheeks heating, which annoys me. “I don’t think about you.”
He smiles because we both know it’s a lie.
I wet my lips with my tongue and he tracks the movement, hunger flaring in his chocolate brown eyes. “So what are you going to do with me?”
He tilts his head to the side. “I’m figuring that out, bambina.”
“Th-there’s something I better tell you.” I don’t want to bring this up-I really don’t. But if he finds out another way, he may shoot first and ask questions later.
He arches a brow.
I lick my lips again. “I don’t talk to my dad. Like, we’re totally estranged, and that’s a good thing.”
Stefano’s eyes narrow. I’m sure he’s wondering where in the hell I’m going with this.
“But he’s a fed. An FBI agent,” I blurt.
Stefano curses in Italian, a long string of words I don’t understand but get the meaning. He tugs my ass off the table and starts searching me in quick, pissed off movements, running his fingers along the neckline of my dress, around the insides of my bra.
If I weren’t more than a little afraid of Stefano Tacone in warrior mode, I might remark at the similarity of my situation with Sondra’s. This was how she met Nico, after all. He strip-searched her for a wire when he found her cleaning his bathroom.
Stefano drags his large palms up my thighs, around to the back, sliding a finger over the G-string through my crack. He checks the gusset of my panties, sparing me any comments about how wet I am this time.
And yeah-my panties are damp again. I shouldn’t be turned on by Stefano’s rough and thorough search, but I am. He lifts my dress up to my waist, hikes it up to my armpits before he realizes it’s not coming off. Not unless he removes the zip-tie.
He pulls me across the kitchen, where he grabs a pair of scissors from the drawer.
I think he’s going to cut off the zip-tie, but instead the fucker slices through the fabric of my dress.
I shove at him, even though it’s too late. “Jesus! You don’t have to cut it, asshole. This is my favorite dress.” The dress falls in shreds at my feet. I’m standing there in a black lace bra and matching G-string, a pair of black thigh-highs and my stilettos. It’s quite an outfit, but he’s apparently unaffected.
He yanks my bra cups down, searching visually as he runs his thumbs inside them for a second time. “Watch your mouth, I’m still your boss. I’ll buy you another fucking dress if you’re clean.”
“I’m clean, dammit. Where else would I hide a wire? Why didn’t you just cut off the zip-tie?”
He catches my jaw with grim determination. At first I think he’s going to punish me for getting too mouthy, but he presses it open. “Maybe I like having you at my mercy.” He flicks his brows and I register the return of his jaunty arrogance, a fraction of humor and enjoyment. Maybe that’s what pisses me off. When he sweeps a finger inside to check my teeth, I bite down, hard.
“Merda!” He yanks his finger back and my teeth scrape over flesh. I pop them open at the taste of blood, instantly realizing I went way too far.
I tense, frozen like a rabbit, but Stefano doesn’t move, other than to shake out his hand. His eyes lock on mine, blazing, but not with anger. No, with dark promise. Excitement. Like he’s glad I bit him.
A shiver races up my spine.
“I think you must want another spanking.” His voice holds deadly calm.
I can’t seem to move. Can’t breathe.
I fear he’s right.
In a flash, he whirls me around and pushes my torso over the table. He doesn’t start spanking hard like he did in the elevator, though. He just runs his hand over my bare ass cheeks and whistles.
“Bambina, if I knew you were hiding this under your dress, I would’ve lifted your skirt for your last punishment.” He circles my ass again.
Anticipation races over my skin, flutters in my belly.
“You’re still wearing my handprints.” There’s a rumble of appreciation in his voice, almost a purr. “Are you sore?”
“Yes,” I say, infusing petulance into my words. I am still sore. In fact, now that he mentions it, my butt is hot and tingling. Of course, redheads register pain more than most people.
He rubs my ass. “Spread your legs, baby.” His voice is no more than a murmur.
I attempt to ignore the direction, like I didn’t hear it, but he kicks my feet apart. To my utter humiliation, he starts spanking my pussy. Short, deliberate taps right over my clit. My inner thigh muscles jump and shiver as he puts a little more wrist into it.
“Stefano,” I gasp.
“That’s right, amore. Say my name.”
My pussy clenches, more shivers run down my legs. He smacks one ass cheek, hard.
“Ouch!”
“Mmm hmm.” He slaps the other cheek, then picks up his pace, alternating one cheek then the other. The man doesn’t know the definition of a light slap. Every time his palm connects with my flesh it sends shockwaves of sensation jolting through me. Pain mingled with pleasure. It’s too much, and yet I don’t want him to stop. I’m tragically enamored with my situation. He increases the intensity and speed another notch and I cry out. “Ouch! Hey!”
Yeah, now I want him to stop.
Definitely.
“You might remember the words I need to hear, bella.”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I bit your finger, Stefano.”
He stops and spins me around. “Good girl. Quick learner.” Like before, he ends the punishment with a kiss. His lips crash down on mine and he bends me backward on the table, following me down. I have no choice but to wrap my legs around his waist and cradle his hips against mine. His cock presses hard and insistent against my panties, but he doesn’t rush. He kisses down my neck, yanks my bra down to scrape his teeth across my nipple.
I arch into him, grind my mons against the hard bulge in his pants. He draws my nipple into his mouth, sucks it until I feel the answering tug between my legs.
His movements are sure and confident, like he knows his way around a woman’s body, yet there’s also a crazy urgency, a passion behind every movement that carries me away. I can’t help but respond to his touch, like he’s the musician and my body’s the instrument. The music he makes with me intoxicates us both.
He moves to the neglected nipple, sucking, biting, blowing air across it. Hot hands slide up my thighs. I think he’s going to fuck me now. This time I’m not going to refuse.
But after he yanks my G-string down, he brings his face down to my pussy and licks into me. I cry out, my hips jacking up off the table. He holds them down and licks again, a long lick, from anus to clit.
Jesus. I didn’t know that would feel so good. I’ve never had attention paid to my anus-never wanted attention paid there, but Stefano’s unafraid.
He delves his tongue into my pussy, penetrating me, then shifts to suck my clit. He dips two fingers into me and curls them inside, rubbing my inner wall.
I tear at his hair, my juices flowing so freely I’m afraid they’ll leak out of me. This is all too much and yet my body sings, glories in his touch. His thumb slides in my entrance and another finger, wet from my pussy, pushes at my anus.
Once again, my hips fly off the table. He holds me down, re-affixing his lips to my clit, sucking the nubbin hard. He penetrates my asshole with a finger.
I’m mortified.
Exhilarated.
The sensations flow through me too quickly to process. My body belongs to him. I have no choice but to surrender, to let go and let him play me, his instrument. And he does.
Within moments, I’m orgasming-hard. When I scream, he covers my mouth with his hand, still pumping his fingers in and out of me. It’s miraculous and horrible. I’m undone.
And when it’s over, vulnerability and a pinch of shame rush in like an ocean tide. I choke back a sob against his palm.