Without a word, he bends and hooks an arm under my bruised knees, the other around my back and lifts me as if I weigh nothing. My sore muscles cry out at the sudden movement, but the sound is lost in the dizzying sensation of being carried. He kicks open the study door and strides into the hallway, his footsteps echoing on the marble floor.
We climb the staircase, go up a level. I stare at the beautiful rug far beneath me as I’m taken past guard after guard. I knew this place was a fortress, but I didn’t realise Antonio had so many men around even his own quarters. Does he not get sick of being watched?
We walk through a wide opening, and I realise it’s the entryway to some sort of suite. We pass some couches, and my eyes catch a glance of an open window and a sweeping lawn that trails off into the distance. Then we’ve through, into a new room, a new space and I’m dumped onto a bed with such force I nearly bounce right back off.
I brush my hair off my face, turning enough to see Antonio shutting the doors before he pauses, resting his head against the polished wood like he’s saying some sort of prayer.
“Master?” I murmur.
He turns, his gaze fixed on me with that same look in his eyes that he has every time he wants to fuck me. “I don’t want your gratitude.” He snarls. “I don’t give a fuck about whether you’re grateful or not.”
“Then what do you want?” I practically beg. He must know I’ll do anything right now.
He draws in a long breath, one that feels weighted, like he’s about to reveal the most horrific of secrets. “I want your soul, Grace. I want your undying, unwavering fucking loyalty. I want your heart too. I want every piece of you. I want it all.”
I shrink back, scrambling away but he’s crossing the room, pinning me down onto the mattress, forcing me to look at him.
“You’re mine. All fucking mine. Every piece of you is mine. Every delicate freckle, and strand of hair, every conflicted thought in your head too. I own you, I’ve claimed you. You’re all fucking mine, do you understand?”
I nod, barely able to from the grip he has around my face. “Yours.” I murmur, hating the word, hating the syllables. Hating it all.
I’m not his. I’m not anybody’s but mine, but I have to play this game, I have to give in if I want to survive.
“Strip,” he commands, his voice gravelly and deep.
My fingers, trembling and clumsy, fumble with the dress. I can’t get it off. I’m shaking too hard.
He growls in impatience, grabs the neckline of the dress and pulls, hard. The sound of ripping fabric is obscenely loud in the quiet room. The dress tears open from neck to hem, baring me to his hungry gaze.
I am naked, laid bare before him while he is still dressed. I guess the inequality is the point, the vulnerability is too.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his eyes raking over my body, lingering on the diamonds glittering at my nipples and the matching one nestled in the hood of my clit. “My pretty, pierced whore. But want to know a secret?”
I gulp, feeling like right now I’d rather fucking not.
He twirls the bar through my left breast, then lowers his hand to touch the one that ruins me. “I was the one who asked for these little extras.” He reveals. “I ordered it.”
I can’t think. I can’t even process that.
A wave of anger takes over and all I can see is that moment, years ago when I was curled up on that bed, when I was so afraid that the Blake Brothers would beback. That they’d hurt me more, and Antonio had been there, he’d comforted me, he’d… it was a trick. Another fucking trick.
“You…” I snarl, then catch myself. This moment here is a trick too. A test. Antonio uses information like gold. He doesn’t reveal anything without having a very deliberate reason for it.
He wants to check my submission, he wants to see if I’m as willing to submit to him knowing what he did.
I draw in a long deep breath, reminding myself that I can do this. I can play just as well as him, and I have an advantage he doesn’t; I know he wants me. I know he’s desperate for me to play this part, to be his willing whore.
“How would you know you’d even get to see them, I was being auctioned…” I stop mid-sentence, realising then how fucking naïve I’ve been. “You rigged it.” I whisper. “You got Conrad Blake to…” He smiles, a cruel, knowing curve of his scarred lips.
He’s played me this entire time. I shake my head, trying to compartmentalise because I know if I fuck up my reaction, Antonio will have me dragged from here, will have me locked back in the Doghouse and it’ll take me months for an opportunity to present itself again.
I let out a laugh that sounds so at odds with the swirling, twisted emotions inside me.
“You’re even more manipulative than I thought.” I say, but it’s not spoken like an accusation, it’s spoken like a compliment, a tease.
And it feels like those words, that tone sparks a match, sparks a fucking wildfire.
His mouth finds mine again in another brutal, claiming kiss. One hand fists in my hair, holding me still while the other travels down my body, rough and possessive. He gropes my breast, his thumb flicking harshly over the diamond piercing, sending a jolt of sharp pleasure-pain straight to my core.
