Her breath hitched again, a fragile sound that spoke volumes.
The faint tremor that ran through her body was a testament to the power I held, a power that was not just physical, but deeply psychological. I saw the final vestiges of her defiance crumble, replaced by a somber acceptance, a quiet surrender that was more potent than any shouted agreement. This was the turning point, the moment where the woman who had entered my life as a stranger, as a rebellion, began to understand that her fate was inextricably bound to mine. She was mine, and I would mold her into the wife I needed, the woman who belonged not to the rough streets, but to the polished, gilded cage I would build for her.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Miranda
I obeyed.
He stood behind me, his presence commanding and unyielding. I felt his hand drift slowly down my back, the roughness of his touch contrasting with the softness of my skin. His fingers moved with purpose, tracing the delicate lace that separated us until his fingers found my sensitive bundle of nerves between my thighs. The sudden jolt of sensation forced a gasp from my lips; my hips reacted involuntarily to the intimate contact.
I understood precisely what he was doing. His intentions were unmistakable. Experience had taught me to recognize the warning signs, the subtle yet deliberate glances and gestures that revealed a man’s need for control. I’d spent my life surrounded by dominant men, so Massimo’s gestures were familiar, almost instinctively anticipated. Though I was unpracticed in his particular kind of dominance, I resolved to give him the benefit of the doubt, to trust in this exchange of power, if only for tonight.
He didn’t stop as he leaned over me, lightly kissing me between my shoulder blades as his fingers circled my clit with deliberate pressure, almost as if he knew what I needed before I even knew what I wanted. His lips found my neck again, kissing along the curve slowly, then deeper.
The pressure coiled, a serpent’s squeeze tightening with every desperate thrust. What began as yielding softnesshardened into a predatory hunger, each touch a promise of a deeper, darker intent. I choked on a gasp, my head thrown back, a silent, aching plea for more. His fingers, still a searing brand between my thighs, teased and tormented, tracing the very core of me through the whisper-thin lace. Then, his voice, a rumble of gravel and something far more dangerous, vibrated against my throat. “How do you know Sinclair?” The question was a scalpel, sharp and precise, as his mouth descended, a brand of fire just beneath my jaw, his thumb now a relentless, exquisite torture against my clit through the delicate fabric. “Lie to me,” he breathed, the words a silken threat, “and the punishment will be... memorable.”
A soft moan escaped me as my pelvis involuntarily arched into his touch. His touch intensified, each stroke more deliberate, more charged with purpose. Clutching the bedsheets, my breathing hitched, my body naturally yielding to his ministrations. A charged tension vibrated through me, a desperate yearning for release teetering on the precipice.
“I—” I gasped, my voice breaking. “I can’t think with you doing that.” My words tumbled out before I could stop them, my voice trembling and raw with need.
He leaned closer, his tone fierce and unyielding as he snarled, “That’s the point.”
The intent behind his words made my pulse race, each syllable sharp and deliberate.
And then, without warning, he stopped.
The absence of his touch was abrupt—my body reeled from the loss, the room suddenly too quiet. I gasped, feeling as if the air had been sucked from my lungs, and my muscles clenched around nothing, desperate for sensation.
Confusion and longing twisted inside me—I whimpered, desperate, completely undone. He didn’t move away, didn’tspeak, just remained close. His hand stayed between my thighs, warm and steady, a firm denial that left me aching for more.
“I asked you a question,wife,” he murmured in my ear, his voice low and commanding, sending a shiver down my spine.
A moan escaped me as I rolled my head forward onto the mattress, overwhelmed by the intensity of his control and my own helpless desire.
He was toying with me. Using me as a plaything for his own desires.
“I... I don’t know Sinclair,” I managed, my voice cracking as I fought the rising tide of arousal and gnawing fear. The lie felt weak on my tongue, a flimsy shield against his predatory gaze. His thumb returned to its relentless ministrations, and I gasped again, the carefully constructed walls of my composure crumbling with each agonizing caress. He was a master of torment, drawing out my pleasure and my terror in equal measure, making my body betray me, forcing me to crave the very thing that held me captive.
His grip tightened, not cruelly, but with a possessive intensity that sent a jolt through me. “You lie poorly,wife,” he purred, his breath hot against my ear. “And I despise lies. Especially when they concern men who might dare to believe they hold a piece of what is mine.” He shifted, his body pressing against mine, and I felt the undeniable proof of his arousal against my thigh. The scent of him, a heady mix of cologne, sweat, and something uniquely masculine, filled my senses, clouding my judgment, making me forget the rules, the fear, everything but the raw, demanding need he ignited within me.
He pulled back slightly, his eyes burning into mine. “Tell me the truth, Miranda,” he commanded, his voice a low growl that vibrated through my very bones. “Or this... conversation... will become significantly less pleasant.” His hand moved, a single, decisive stroke that sent tremors of pleasure and dreadthrough me, a clear indication that my refusal to answer had consequences, and he was more than willing to deliver them. The unspoken threat hung heavy in the air, a tangible thing that choked the air from my lungs and left me reeling on the brink of surrender.
“I don’t know him. I had met him only once before, when I was a child. He came to the clubhouse looking for his son. He looked sad. I swear. I didn’t know where Oliver was taking me. I didn’t even know Oliver knew Mr. Sinclair.”
My lips parted, but the words stalled, trembling on the edge of confession. Every nerve in my body was strung taut, anticipation and dread warring beneath my skin. I felt utterly exposed beneath his gaze, as if he could see every secret, every hesitation flickering in my eyes.
Kneeling over the bed, my body still vibrated from the intense situation he’d orchestrated. My breathing was shallow, my fingers clutching the rumpled sheets, searching for any indication that he accepted my truth.
With a silent, commanding gesture, he pushed me down onto the mattress. My breath hitched as his legs parted mine, his powerful frame aligning with my own. The undeniable warmth of his body radiated against me. He lowered his head, his voice a low rumble in my ear, uttering a single, impactful phrase. “Good girl.”
A shiver traced my spine as his hand ascended the curve of my inner thigh, deliberate and unhurried. His touch grazed the delicate lace before sliding beneath it, finding my slick core with unerring precision. A sharp inhale escaped me, my hips involuntarily arching as he eased two fingers into my depths, the pressure firm and constant.
“Rule number four,” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear, his tone a stark reminder. “Never lie to me.”
I pressed my face into the yielding fabric of the mattress, my jaw tightening as my hips instinctively responded to the rhythmic pace of his hand. My body surrendered, ravenous, quaking, clenching around his fingers with each deepening stroke. The addition of a third finger brought a sharp, broken moan, a raw sound escaping my throat. His movements intensified, a relentless cadence that drew me inexorably closer to the precipice. He couldn’t possibly miss the way my pussy tightened around his fingers, the way my breath hitched in a desperate attempt to maintain control. “If you come now, your exquisite suffering will be prolonged indefinitely,” he purred into my ear, a predatory glint in his voice.
A choked sob tore from me as a wave of pleasure crashed, obliterating me in its wake. My cries mingled with the shudders that wracked my body, my release spilling unbidden around his fingers.
