“Is that what you wish?”
My heart sinks in my chest. What is the answer he’s looking to hear? I want more than anything to have the solitude that is customary to me, but if I ask for it, will that be the reason he denies me? Or if I say I wish to stay with him, will that make him reject me and give me my secret desire of peace and quiet? There is a third option, and it’s the most unlikely one: that he wants me to choose to stay, to choose him. That is outlandish, given how much he hates me, so I discard that right away.
For once, I’m able to hold his gaze, and it’s only because I don’t see the glimmer of violence lurking in its depths. “The things I wish for are dead and gone,” I say, “so the choice of where to sleep is not a choice. You presenting it to me is you offering me the freedom to choose, but we both know it’s an illusion. So I choose both and neither, yes and no. Sir.”
As though frozen in time, we stay that way while he studies me with an intensity unlike anything I’ve ever felt from him. It’s almost a physical thing, an energy that coats my skin and makes it prickle with awareness. This man, this husband, is turning out to be more complex than I originally thought. At first I assumed his one aspiration was to dole out pain and punishment, and that’s something easily done; I know from the times my father hit me. But Maximus? I’m already his captive and bound prey, so there’s no reason for him to study that which has already been caught.
Yet he continues to do so, earnestly.
“You’re correct,” he says. “Your choice, like your opinion, doesn’t matter. Get on the bed.”
I do as he says and lie on my back, keeping my gaze pointed on the ceiling while my body sinks into the lush bedding. Is this the moment he’ll take my virginity? The very thought has panic assailing my nerves, and the muscles along my arms and legs twitch periodically. But as stated before, I don’t have a choice in this or anything else.
His footsteps retreat and return a moment later. “Place your hands above your head.”
He takes hold of both my wrists and binds them with silk ties. After that he anchors them to the headboard. This should worry me, and my mind tries sending me warning signals, but I ignore them. They’ll only frighten me more, making this worse for me.
Fighting one’s natural instinct to flee or defend oneself is almost impossible.
Much to my surprise, Maximus leaves the room, shutting the bathroom door behind him. The sound of running water fades to background noise, and with that comes the ability to relax because I’ll be alone for at least a few minutes.
I lie there on the soft bedding and let satiation and exhaustion weave their magic over me, causing my lids to lower and a relieved sigh to flow past my lips. Every event with Maximus has been nothing I could’ve predicted, beginning with our marriage and ending with us gratifying one another. He may think he punished me for my insubordination or subjugated me because I’m Caruso’s daughter, but neither is true. The reality is he showed me what ecstasy entails and all the wonders it holds.
Without sex.
The idea of him using his cock to bring me to orgasm is enough to summon mass confusion. I may know his identity, but I don’t know the real man underneath the titles of capo, Mr. Silvestri, and husband. There have been no glimpses of the young Maximus I met several years ago, and it makes my heart, the most guarded part of me, ache with sadness and disappointment. I had never thought to see him again after that night, assuming he’d be married by the time I turned eighteen, but when he appeared in my bedroom, all the memories of him flooded my brain and hope swelled in my chest. It didn’t take long for him to crush my resurrected dreams, and it wasn’t hard for him to do so, since they were quite fragile to begin with.
Nevertheless, marrying the man from my childhood fantasies was never something I thought would happen. And him touching me in such ways? Unfathomable. He’s added memories of himself, and I’m not certain I’ll be able to shove these aside over time like I did before. Perhaps, but not in the foreseeable future and definitely not when he overwhelms all my senses.
The smell of his cologne, a faint spice, mixed with his natural scent reaches my nose and alerts me to his proximity. The mattress absorbs his weight, and my shivering is barely discernible as he nears me. Then his voice, smoother than the duvet caressing my skin, flows over me.
“Look at me.”
I lift my eyelids to find him lying beside me with his head propped up by his hand. “Sir?”
I’ve learned the consequences of not addressing him properly. His title irks me because of its arrogance, but I like not having to use his name. And I like him not using mine, even more so. The intimacy it would bring would be a farce on so many levels, just as much as him calling me his wife. That title holds nothing for me, offers nothing except a prison.
“You will stay here,” he says, his tone leaving no room for interpretation or argument. Maximus is serious about this, and I can’t figure out why. “The bindings should keep you in place, but if you attempt to escape them, then I can promise you what happened to you earlier will seem like a delight in comparison. If you thought the handful of swats you received were painful, then just know I’ll make it to where the very touch of a breeze will have you gritting your teeth in misery. Am I clear?”
I nod. “Do you wish for me to sleep now, sir?”
He waves a hand with a flick of his wrist. “It doesn’t matter to me what you do as long as you stay put.”
I nod again and close my eyes in preparation to rest. It tugs at me, and I’m eager to embrace it and leave behind my life for a time, even if it’s just in my dreams. The real plans for escape will begin on the morrow. Dawn is already creeping on us, and I’m almost ill with exhaustion. Which means when I feel Maximus’s fingers, no more than a whisper against my side, I don’t move or stiffen like usual.
He doesn’t touch me in any way that’s sexual, and after what he’s done already, it’s nothing inappropriate given I’m his property. However, I want to know why he’s doing it to begin with? My aversion to contact with another person is still present, but he has forced it. And not only that; my body is beginning to grow accustomed to the feel of his hands. I used to be scared of touch because my father only did it out of anger through slaps and punches, but after years alone without other humans to interact with? Whatever barrier of fear surrounded me Maximus shattered.
I’m grateful my mind didn’t follow suit.
It still could, and any day could be my last. Yet hope has appeared. It is like a single ray of sunshine, easily blocked by the dark sky or thundering clouds, but it appeared the moment he caressed me. That contact, that touch, was different from all the others.
And now I want it.
* * *
The room is floodedwith light.
I moan softly and turn my face away from the beams of sun piercing my skull. Sleep still lingers, and I mentally brush it away, knowing delaying facing the day won’t prevent it from coming. I open my eyes and frown, puzzled by the comforter covering me from the shoulders down. When did that happen? The restraints, although loosened somewhat since last night—or more accurately, earlier this morning—are still in place. Maximus is not present, and relief floods me.
