“I’m sorry. The thought of anyone touching me—anyone other than you—it disgusts me. I was lying. To you.” I lean in, my forehead resting against hers. “You were right. Wedidmake love. We went on adate. I just… I didn’t know how to keep it.”
I take her hands, kissing the knuckles, the palms, the wrists. A single tear slips free and tracks down her cheek. I catch it with my thumb, the salt stinging a cut on my hand.
“Did you really mean it?” I ask. “Was I underwhelming?”
“I didn’t. I loved it. I just wanted to hurt you like you hurt me.”
“Are you still hurt?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
I lift her back into the passenger seat. I lean over her, pulling the seatbelt across her chest and clicking it into place. My nose brushes against the soft skin behind her ear. “Mine,” I mutter.
I put the car in gear and drive toward the penthouse. The penthouse door clicks shut behind us, and I set Charlotte down on her feet. Her body is rigid against mine.
“Are you still mad at me?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Good,” I smile, though there’s no humor in it. “I’m still mad at you too.”
I pull away, tearing my shirt over my head. “Do you still believe I’m going to touch any other woman but you?”
“I don’t know, Valerio.”
I reach into my pocket and pull out the small razor I’ve been carrying all day. I’ve been thinking about doing this since the second I told her I’d find other fun. Charlotte’s eyes widen as she watches me.
“What are you doing? Stop it!”
I press the cold steel to my lower stomach, just above my cock. I carve her name into my skin. C-H-A-R-L-O-T-T-E. Small beads of blood well up along the letters. It hurts, but the pleasure I’mgetting from marking myself as hers overpowers the pain. I toss the razor aside when I’m done.
“This enough proof for you?” I ask.
Her eyes are locked on the bleeding letters on my skin. “Valerio…” she whispers, reaching out to touch them but stopping just short. “You’re insane.”
“I am,” I growl. “I got my punishment. Now it’s time for yours. You want other men to satisfy you?”
I lead her to the bedroom. She doesn’t resist me in the slightest. The silk ties are on the bedside table, exactly where I put them for her punishment before I left to stalk her.
She said that I didn’t satisfy her. That she will go on a fuck vacation and fuck all men in sight. Just the reminder makes me want to commit arson. No one can touch her but me.No fucking one.
“Do you consent?” I force myself to ask, even as every fiber of my being screams at me to just take what I want. To be likehim.
She nods, and I secure her wrists to the headboard. Inside, I’m disgusted with myself. I don’t want to ask for her consent. I want to own her in every way a person can own another. I push down the panic that rises in my throat—the fear that I’m becoming just like my father.
My mouth claims hers, demanding and punishing. My hands roam her body, pinching and teasing her nipples until they’re hard peaks. She arches against me.
I move down her body, my tongue tracing patterns on her skin. When I reach between her legs, I don’t tease. I devour her, licking and sucking until she’s writhing beneath me, until she’s begging for release.
“Valerio, please,” she cries out.
I give her what she wants, flicking my tongue against her clit until she shatters, her body convulsing with pleasure. But I don’t stop. Why? Because she fucking said she wanted to go to othermen to satisfy her. I keep going, pushing her past the point of pleasure into overstimulation.
“Stop,” she whispers.
Every muscle in my body tenses. I don’t want to stop. I want to keep going until she forgets every other man who ever touched her. Until she only knows me. But I force myself to pull back, my blood boiling beneath my skin.
