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His words burned straight through me. The coil in my belly snapped, and a violent, shattering orgasm tore through me. My entire body convulsed as my pussy clamped down on his cock. White-hot bliss shimmered through me in waves, turning me inside out. He didn’t stop, not even for a second. He rode me through my orgasm, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more forceful.

“That’s it,” he praised. “That’s my good girl. Come again for Daddy.”

He shifted, changing the angle slightly, and began to rub my clit with his fingers in firm, demanding circles. I tried to pull away, to escape the overwhelming sensations, but he held me in place for my fucking, and a deep part of me loved that he did.

“No,” I sobbed. “Please, no more. I can’t take it.”

“Yes, you can,” he grunted, his fingers never ceasing their maddening rhythm on my clit. “And you will.”

He drove into me again and again while his fingers worked my clit, pushing me past the point of pleasure and into a realm of pure ecstasy. It was too much. The line between pleasure and pain blurred, turning into a confusing, overwhelming kaleidoscope of sensation.

Another orgasm tore through me, more violent than the last. My body bowed, a silent scream trapped in my throat as wave after wave of exquisite agony washed over me. He didn’t stop. He pushed me higher, forcing another orgasm from my exhausted body. And then another.

It was bliss. It was pain. It was everything.

His movements became more erratic, more forceful. His grip on my hips tightened, the fingers of his other hand pressing into my flesh. I could tell that he was close.

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself inside me, a low, guttural groan tearing from his throat as he found his own release. I felt the hot pulse of his cum inside me, a final, possessive claim that seemed to sear itself into my very soul.

He slowly pulled free from me, then shifted onto his knees behind me. One arm wrapped around my waist while the other slid beneath my chest, helping me rise until I was kneeling upright against him.

I sagged back into his body.

Without saying anything, he held me there, his chest warm against my back while his large hands gently stroked my neck, my hair, and my arms.

I felt the gentle brush of his lips against the back of my head in a tender kiss that was so at odds with the brutal man who had just claimed me so thoroughly.

He then scooped me up into his arms and carried me upstairs, slowly, as if he were carrying something infinitely precious. He didn’t take me to the guest room. He carried me into his bedroom and laid me down gently on his bed instead.

He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, and I heard the sound of running water. Then he returned with a warm, damp cloth, and began to clean me. He was so gentle, so careful, and I melted into his touch. He was meticulously thorough, and his tender care was almost more overwhelming than his punishment had been.

“Shh,” he murmured. “Let Daddy take care of you, little pet.”

He set the cloth aside, then stood and stripped off the rest of his clothes. His shirt landed over the back of the chair, and he kicked off his shoes, followed by his trousers, before returning to me.

I felt him move, and the bed dipped as he slid in beside me. He lay beside me for just a moment, and I was acutely aware of the heat radiating from his body and the steady, even rhythm of his breathing. After a long moment, I felt his arm wrap around my waist, pulling me gently against him. I went without a fight, my body molding to his, my back pressing against the solid wall of his chest.

He tucked the blankets around us, cocooning us in warmth and darkness. I lay there, listening to the comforting beat of his heart, feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. In that moment, I felt a profound sense of peace, a feeling of rightness that was as unnerving as it was welcome.

I should have been fighting. I should have been planning my next escape, looking for the weaknesses in the perimeter, the cracks in his armor. That’s what I did. That’s who I was.

But tonight, in the warm darkness of his bed, wrapped in the arms of the man who had both punished and cherished me, I couldn’t find the will.

Truthfully, I was tired of running. Tired of fighting. Tired of being the one who had to be strong, the one who had to watch, the one who had to plan for every eventuality.

Here, with Sergei, I didn’t have to be any of those things.

Here, I could just be.

CHAPTER 13

Alessia

The next day…

Matteo arrived from Sicily the next morning wearing a dark suit that remained inexplicably unwrinkled after an international flight, his silver hair brushed back from his face, and a narrow leather briefcase handcuffed to his wrist. I had seen enough movies to find the handcuffs a little theatrical, but after watching two guards scan the hinges, test the locks, and verify that the metal contained no transmitter, I decided the Bellandis and Morozovs had simply agreed subtlety was for people with less interesting enemies.

Sergei led us into the dining room, and Matteo placed the case on the table, unlocked the cuff, then entered a six-digit code on the side. The clasps opened with two synchronized clicks.