by Nicole Fox
Perhaps not dreaming at all.
And what of the other girl in my mansion?
No bed for her. Just a cold concrete floor in a darkened cell. With only rats and spiders for company.
I could have easily arranged more comfort for the blue-eyed spitfire.
But where’s the fun in that?
I can already feel the excitement of the challenge ahead. Breaking in a new filly is always enjoyable.
“Something on your mind?”
Adriano falls into step beside me as we head back to the Gladiator. His eyes are pinned to my face and he’s wearing the kind of smile that makes my fists twitch restlessly.
“No.”
“No?” Adriano persists. “Because it looked like you were thinking of something…”
“Something what?”
“Something, I dunno… pleasant.”
I get into the Gladiator and turn the engine on, hoping to drown him out, but Adriano seems unwilling to let this go.
“It’s been a successful night,” I reply evasively, keeping my tone business-like.
“Yeah… riiiight.”
I glare at him out of the corner of my eyes. “If there’s something you’d like to say, just fucking say it.”
Adriano just throws his signature shit-eating smile at me. “Just that a certain thieving bombshell seems to have made quite an expression.”
“Fucking hell, you’re annoying,” I complain through gritted teeth.
Adriano only laughs. “So I’m right?”
“Fuck no,” I reply immediately. “My preoccupation has nothing to do with her.”
“No?”
“A kid showed up on my doorstep with a note claiming I’m her father,” I point out. “In case you forgot.”
“Mhmm,” Adriano hums. “That’s a fucking good explanation. It works perfectly—for literally anyone except me.” He throws me a knowing glance, one arched eyebrow and an annoying-as-fuck grin playing across his face. “You forget that I know you too well.”
“She can be of use to me,” I grit. “My interest in her doesn’t extend beyond that.”
“Whatever you say, Don Lucio.” He waves his hand in a convoluted curtsy type thing. He only ever uses my title when he’s trying to piss me off.
“Jesus, please just stop talking.”
“All I’m trying to say is, if you just—”
His voice cuts off when I swerve the Gladiator hard and slam the brakes at the same time. The sudden jolt sends his forehead cracking against the dashboard.
“Fuck!” he yells. “Asshole!”
I smile. “Something wrong there, brother?” I ask pleasantly, as if nothing had happened.
“Motherfucker,” he growls, cradling his forehead. “I think you’ve scarred my face.”
“Then I’ve improved it.”
I think he says something like “still better-looking than you,” but it’s half-mumbled and I ignore it.
I’m still chuckling when I pull back into my garage.
“Gonna go check on your latest plaything?” Adriano teases as we get out and approach the staircase.
I roll my eyes. “I should have hit the brakes harder.”
“Wouldn’t have stopped me,” he says, giving me a friendly punch on the arm. “Anyway… I’m gonna go grab some shut eye. Buonasera, boss man.”
Adriano clambers up the stairs. Only when he’s gone do I genuinely contemplate checking on Charlotte.
Or Evie.
Or both.
Instead, I force myself to stay away from everyone.
It can wait until tomorrow.
I head up the stairs, ignoring the nagging at the back of my head.
I find my quarters at the top of the landing. My room is huge, an apartment in its own right. I head straight for the bar built into the darkest corner.
After pouring myself a glass of scotch, I sip it slowly as I move to the balcony.
The sun will be up in less than four hours. I’ll probably sleep for half that, if I’m lucky.
Dons don’t sleep. Once upon a time, I craved that—the prospect of sleeping until whenever the hell I wanted. Of dreaming.
But when the dreams turned black and twisted seven years ago, I stopped craving sleep.
I don’t mind the insomnia anymore.
The balcony has a fantastic view, but I can’t concentrate on anything right now. Not even the scotch seems to help.
I down it anyway and head back into the bedroom.
I stare at the made bed, but I’m still twitchy with unspent energy. Which means I have some unfinished business I need to sort out first.
So with a pained sigh, I leave my room and head down to the wine cellar.
I find Marco sitting on a chair right outside the room that’s holding her. He’s groggy with sleep, but he snaps to attention when he sees me.
I wave him back down and push the door open.
Her startled gasp echoes off the stone walls.
But this time, she’s not on her feet. She’s curled into a corner of her dark cell, hunched in the shadows with her arms wrapped around her knees.
She looks up at me with visible loathing curdling in those steely blue eyes.
She looks exhausted.
She looks miserable.
But she certainly doesn’t look defeated.
Not yet, anyway.
“Let me out of here,” she says, but her tone makes it sound like a demand, not a plea.
“The power to leave this cell was always up to you,” I tell her. “So tell me. Do you accept my proposal or not?”
She stares at me, as though she’s trying to burn a hole in my face.
I see conflict flash across her eyes.
And then it dies.
Just like that, her hope gets snuffed out. Her own body betraying her.
She whispers something, but I can’t make it out.
“Come closer,” I order, crooking a finger to summon her up to the grille. “And say that again.”
I watch as she struggles to stand. But her legs are too weak with hunger and fear to support her weight. So, abandoning the effort, she crawls on all fours towards the grille that separates us.
When she’s close enough to grab it, she hooks her fingers into the tiny divots and pulls herself upright and presses her face against the mesh.
Her face is inches away from mine now. Blue eyes, ocean bright but clouded by exhaustion.
And fire.
And fury.
Both burning so hot I can nearly feel it radiating on my skin.
“Yes,” she whispers in a hoarse rasp. “I accept.”
6
Lucio
Breaking her in will take time.
I’m going to enjoy every fucking second of it.
Excitement surges through me as I step closer to the grille that separates us.
Her wide eyes are fixed on mine. I see glimmers of unease, uncertainty, and fear. But she’s doing a good job trying to mask it.
I take out the key in my pocket and unlock the grille. When I swing it open, she flinches infinitesimally. Like she’s scared now that there’s nothing to guard between us.
“Follow me,” I command.
I turn and walk into the cellar. I can feel her soft footsteps behind me but I resist the urge to glance behind.
Marco is on his feet, waiting for my instructions.
“You’re dismissed,” I tell him. “Get some sleep.”
“Grazie, Don Lucio,” he says, inclining his head.
I lead her out of the cellar and into the main foyer. As I turn for the grand staircase, I notice her eyes dart from side to side.
She’s trying not to show interest in her surroundings, but the sheer scale of the mansion is getting to her.
Which means it’s doing its job.
She follows me up the stairs to the third floor.
The room I pick for her has a beautiful view of the garden. Plush bedspread, a massive silver-edged mirror on one wall, a
nd a swooping iron bedframe.
It also has sealed windows and no balcony.
I swing the door open, turn on the lights, and gesture for her to go inside.
She pauses at the threshold, glancing towards me as though she isn’t sure if something is about to jump out at her.
I raise my eyebrows.
“You’re giving me a room?” she asks defensively.
“What does it look like?”
She stares at the space but makes no move to step into it.
“What are you waiting for?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says quickly. She stumbles forward.
I step in after her and shut the door. She pivots to face me. Her breath catches when she realizes I’m standing in a closed room with her.
No one to save her.
No one to stop me.
“What are you doing?” she asks, the panic evident in her tone.
“Settling you in. What does it look like?”
She looks from me towards the massive king bed that serves as the centerpiece of the room.
Then back to me.
Then to the dressing table with the vanity mirror.
Then back to me.
Then to the large, bow windows that overlook the darkened grounds of the compound.
Then back to me.
“Great. I’m settled in,” she says pointedly.
I almost smile.
“You could use a shower,” I suggest. “You look…”
“‘Ravishing’ is how you’re going to finish that thought, I’m sure.”
“Actually, I was going to say, ‘terrible.’”
Her jaw clenches and her blue eyes turn sharp. “Being abducted and held captive will do that to a girl.”
I gesture with my chin towards the door next to the dressing table. “Your bathroom, micetta.”
She hesitates for a moment before walking to inspect it. She turns on the lights, illuminating the large glass-walled shower. On the far side, a frosted window overlooks the gardens.
I lean against the door as I observe her drinking it all in.
She glances towards me, trying hard not to be impressed.
“Do all your other captives get this room?” she drawls.
“Just the privileged ones.”
“Am I supposed to be grateful? Fall on my knees and thank you for your generosity?”
I shrug. “That would be smart.”
“Threatening me isn’t going to make me fall into line, if that’s what you think,” she snaps.
I smile. “It wasn’t a threat. Just friendly advice.”
“We’re not friends.”
I straighten up and walk towards her slowly. She tenses instinctively, but she refuses to back away. I stop only when I’m inches from her.
The prickly heat of tension ripples between us.
“You couldn’t be more right,” I agree. “We are not friends. You’d do well to remember that.”
I can practically feel the shiver run down her body. I hold her gaze for a moment longer, and then I turn around and put some distance between us.
“Now, take off your clothes.”
She stares at me in disbelief. “What?”
“You heard me,” I repeat. “Take off your clothes.”
“Is that part of the job description?” she demands. “Fucking you?”
She sounds like a broken record at this point. Apparently, every man who has crossed paths with her has tried to fuck her at some point.
But I’m certainly not every man.
“I have no intention of fucking you,” I tell her. “But I do expect to be obeyed. You need a shower.”
She stiffens. “Just because I agreed to work for you doesn’t mean you own me.”
“Actually, that’s exactly what it means,” I respond calmly. “Now, remove your clothes before I remove them for you. I won’t ask again.”
We both know that I’m not asking at all.
And still, she just stands there for several charged seconds. I can practically see the conflict in her head. She’s torn between self-preservation and a natural instinct for defiance.
Then she sighs. Admits defeat.
But that defiance stays on her face as she rips the tight vest from her body.
She throws it to the ground at my feet, her eyes never leaving mine.
She’s no fool. This is about power. And she’s trying to maintain her own, even as she gives in to me.
She unbuttons the tight white shirt she’s wearing underneath to reveal a plain nude bra. There’s no lace, no motif. Nothing.
And yet the simplicity of it only highlights the perfection of her full breasts.
Like an unadorned frame on a priceless work of art.
She leaves her bra on and unzips her skirt. She pushes it violently down her hips and it falls to the floor, pooling around her feet.
She steps out and kicks the skirt towards me. Her panties are a similar nude to her bra, but they’re definitely not a matching set.
She’s skinny, the kind of skinny that comes from constantly skipping meals. Her stomach is flat, her thighs are slim and long, and her hips are just curvy enough to make my cock twitch.
The confidence on her face is not entirely convincing.
I’m still impressed.
“All of it,” I prod softly.
She doesn’t flinch as she reaches back to unhook her bra. She discards it unceremoniously on top of the rest of her clothes.
Her breasts are small but perky, topped off with hardened nipples blushing pink in the chill of bathroom.
In the same motion, she tugs her panties down her legs and steps out of them. She keeps her thighs pressed together almost unconsciously.
Like her mind wants to show me she’s not afraid, but her body is still tingling with fear of what I might do next.
She can rest easy—for now. I don’t plan on laying a finger on her tonight.
But there’s no telling what tomorrow will bring.
“Well done. Get in the shower.”
She moves quickly, happy to be out from my scrutiny. She turns the shower head on and gasps as a spray of cold water hits her from above.
She squeals silently in shock, then jumps out of the way, wiping the water from her eyes.
“Turn the dial to the left,” I tell her with a chuckle.
She does as I say. A moment later, steam begins to rise in soft spirals.
She steps under the shower again. The effect of the warm water completely changes her expression.
Her mouth falls open in a relieved O, and I feel my cock throb a little more eagerly.
For several more minutes, there is only silence. Charlotte just stands there under the running water.
It’s almost as though she’s forgotten I’m here.
But I know better.
Even though her eyes never land on me, her body moves deliberately, conscious that she’s being watched.
Her hands slide over her silky skin, lingering on her breasts and her pussy. At one point, she even moans a little. It’s soft and convincingly involuntary, but I know better.
She thinks she can play me.
My cock is at full mast now, and my fingers are itching to reach out, to touch her. But my mind has always been stronger than my physical urges.
“Enjoying this, perv?” she taunts bitterly. She’s looking at me over her shoulder. Anything to get a reaction.
I don’t answer.
I’m too preoccupied by the way the water is running down her stomach and pooling between the soft V where her legs meet.
My tongue would make short work of that pussy. I’d fuck her with my tongue until all her fight crumbled to nothingness in my hands.
“My face is up here,” she snaps.
I smile coolly. “Your face is not the most interesting thing about you.”
She glares at me. “Asshole.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You think you’re beautiful? Is that why you seem so certain I want
you to fuck you?”
“You like looking at me,” she says. “I can tell.”
“You’re used to men looking at you?”
“I’m naked,” she responds with false bravado. “If you weren’t looking at my body, I’d question your sexuality.”
Her eyes fall to my crotch. My erection is subtle from under my pants, but still noticeable.
I wave a finger in the air. “My face is up here, micetta.”
She fights back the blush on her cheeks and reaches for more soap.
“If you’re going to treat me like a piece of meat, then expect the same treatment in return. And stop calling me that.”
I shrug. “Objectify me all you want,” I say. “I have no problem with it.”
She grits her teeth. “You would if you’d had to fight off horny perverts your entire life,” she accuses. “Like I’m doing now.”
That gets a laugh out of me. “If you think you’re going to ‘fight me off,’ micetta, you have a lot yet to learn. It’s only a fight when both sides have a chance of winning.”
She narrows her eyes at me, cornered—and a little frightened.
As she should be.
“What do you want from me?” she asks quietly.
“I’ve already told you,” I reply smoothly. “I want obedience.”
“Then get a fucking dog.”
Anger flashes across her face, but her body is giving her away.
I can see how hard her nipples are.
I can see that her irises are dilated.
I can see that her anger is punctuated by desire.
And she knows I see all of it. She understands how transparent she is, how vulnerable, how utterly at my mercy.
“You get off on the power trip, huh?” she asks.
I picture myself sucking on those swollen pink nipples and I resist the urge to touch my cock. If I wanted to, I could discipline her with it here and now.
But that would be too fucking easy.
She keeps going when I don’t answer her taunt. “Well, the ball’s in your court right now,” she admits. “I can’t argue that. But you’ll never have all of me.”
“I don’t want all of you,” I answer without hesitation. “I don’t want any of you. You are nothing more than a glorified maid. A cheap and temporary nanny.”
