One arm snakes around my waist while the other glides across my chest. My legs dangle uselessly in the air, and I don’t even bother kicking. I know it won’t make a difference.
His warm breath brushes against my neck, making my skin breaks out in goosebumps.
I turn my head to meet his gaze, my breaths coming in short, jagged gasps.
“What the hell are you doing? Put me down and leave, right now, and I’ll forget this ever happened.”
I know I sound like a fool. I know I’m grasping at straws, but words are all I have.
His arm tightens around me, squeezing the air out of my lungs. “Forget this happened?” he growls, his voice dangerously low. “The same way you thought I forgot about that night?”
“What are you talking about? Nothing happened between us. You were so drunk, you must’ve imagined it all.”
He leans in closer, burying his face in the curve of my neck, and inhales deeply, his breath searing against my skin. “Don’t lie to me. Never lie to me. I hate liars. I’ll unleash hell on liars.”
My hands clutch at the iron grip of his arm wrapped around me. It’s like trying to bend steel; no amount of pushing or pulling makes a difference.
“I’m not lying,” I plead, desperation seeping into my voice. “You’re imagining things.”
Apparently, I’ve hit a nerve. He reaches the bed in two strides and tosses me onto it like a ragdoll. I land face down, and turn over quickly to see what he’s going to do.
He loosens his tie slowly. “Take off your clothes.”
My eyes dart around the room like a cornered animal, searching for a way out. Trapped, yes, but just like a cat calculating its next leap, even if it’s within the confines of four walls.
When he pulls the tie off his neck, I bolt from the bed, but he’s quicker. He grips my ankles and yanks me back toward him. I thrash, swinging my fists, but he catches them effortlessly. His weight presses me into the mattress, pinning me in place.
Before I can process what’s happening, he binds my wrists together with his tie, securing them to one of the slats of the headboard. Damn him, he thought of everything.
A moment later, his hand shoots out, grabbing the collar of my blouse and tearing it straight down the middle. The sound of ripping fabric fills the room, followed by the icy assault of air against my bare skin. A cold jolt runs through me.
I suck in a breath, the air burning in my lungs as an involuntary gasp escapes my lips.
I twist, trying to hide my exposed body from him, but he straddles my legs, trapping me beneath his weight. Helpless, vulnerable, and half-naked. My gaze flickers down to my lace bra, and a wave of humiliation crashes over me. Why, of all days, did I have to wear something like this?
Tony’s dark eyes glint with a predatory gleam as they trail over my skin. His finger hovers, then presses against my birthmark, and as if speaking to himself, his lips curve in satisfaction.
“I knew it was real,” he murmurs. “I knew those images weren’t just dreams. I knew I wasn’t imagining things.”
He closes his eyes for a beat, savoring whatever twisted revelation he’s come to, and when they open again, they’re turbulent. He leans down closer, his fierce stare slicing through the veil of tears blurring my vision. The intensity of his eyes makes me blink, a tremor of shame rippling through me at how exposed and powerless I am beneath him.
“Why are you still alive?” he asks, genuinely interested.
I just shake my head, averting my gaze. His fingers clamp around my jaw, forcing me to meet his eyes.
“Why didn’t Carlo kill you that night? You weren’t a virgin. You weren’t what was promised to him. Why didn’t he end you? Why?”
I press my lips together, refusing to answer, and after a moment his grip slips from my chin.
“I don’t know,” I say hoarsely. “Go ask him yourself.”
This time, his hand closes around my neck, forcing me down with a grip rougher than before, tight enough to steal part of my breath.
“Answer me,” he growls.
“I don’t know,” I repeat, my voice tight. “I swear I don’t.”
He applies a fraction more pressure, testing my resolve, but when he realizes I won’t budge, he finally lets go. Straightening up, he steps away from the bed, steadies his breath, and runs a hand through his hair, disheveled from our brief struggle. His composure, however, remains eerily intact.
