“Please!” I cry out.
“Please what?” he hums.
“Please…make me come.”
I can’t believe those are the words that eject from my mouth, but apparently, I’m willing to die for an orgasm.
“Brava, ragazza.” His praise seeps into every inch of my skin, spreading through me like wildfire.
The pressure between my legs increases, and a dizzying rush of chemicals floods my brain. The threat of danger fades into the background as tension climbs, pushing me closer to the breaking point. My skin tingles, my lungs burn, and every muscle in my body aches. I’m strung so tightly, I feel like I’ll snap in half any second.
One last plea spills out on a ragged breath before he relieves me of my agony.
Pleasure explodes low in my belly, radiating outward in violent spasms. It’s followed by a feverish rush and a surge of euphoria so intense, my vision narrows to a pinpoint.
I sway dangerously close to the edge of passing out as he pulls me back from the brink of death. The shift in gravity jars all my senses and tilts the world back into focus. I’m upright, but I’m not standing on my own. He supports my weight as he cuts my bindings, and when my arms swing free, I collapse against him.
Every ounce of strength drains from my body as the adrenaline crash hits me hard and fast. Relief swells inside me, then bursts into body-racking sobs.
He lifts me into his arms and brushes his fingers over my face. I don’t even know why I’m crying. It’s the come-down, I think. A cathartic release of so many pent-up emotions I forgot I’d even buried inside me.
He wipes away my tears, and it feels intimate and raw. When I try to bury my face against his chest, he tilts my gaze back to his and shakes his head.
“Don’t hide from me.” His voice softens a fraction, lulling me into a sense of safety I know I shouldn’t feel.
I draw in a shaky breath, fighting the sudden wave of exhaustion pulling me down.
“What happens now?” I croak.
“Now…you’ll go to sleep.”
I blink, struggling to keep my eyes open as I manage one last question.
“Are you going to tell me your name?”
He smooths my dress back down and caresses my face.
“You can call me…Il Diavolo.”
3
ABELLA
“Abella.”
I groan when Valentina pokes my arm.
“Wake up,” she whisper-hisses.
A sound of protest rumbles from my chest as I try to shake my head, only to realize my face is stuck to something that definitely isn’t my pillow.
Reluctantly, I open my eyes and blink several times before it occurs to me that I’m at my desk, lying on a stack of real estate brochures. I must have fallen asleep on them. But how long ago was that?
I peel my face from the floor plan for a downtown condo as a memory from last night slams into me. For a moment, I question whether it was a dream—a frequent side effect of my sleeping pills. But as I glance down, the evidence still lingers on my chest.
I brush my fingers over the tiny cut as a reel of the night’s events plays through my mind. I expected to be taken hostage, but instead, my stalker brought me back to the island just before dawn. Strangely, the night guards that usually patrol our side of the island were absent, and the devil himself delivered me right to my room without raising any alarms.
I vaguely remember getting out of bed to wash my face, but I think this was as far as I made it. I had no intentions of telling my father or sister what had happened. He would lay the blame at my feet somehow, and I didn’t want to concern Valentina. But when I glance up at her now, I can see that she already is.
