by Eva Charles
“Do you want me to?”
“No,” I say without hesitation. That’s the last thing I want.
“Then I won’t. Those toys are for you. Aside from one or two things, we’ll rarely use toys when we’re together. I think you’ll find my cock is more than enough for you.”
I roll my eyes, even though I suspect it’s true.
“Choose one of the silk bags—any one—and take out the toy.”
40
Daniela
I pick up a silver pouch and take out a pink vibrator from a Swedish company. It’s curved and smooth and firm, the size of a cock. I’ve wondered about vibrators. But it’s the kind of thing Isabel frowned on, and somewhere along the line, her way of thinking became mine.
“I’m not a whore,” I whisper. Trading sex for their survival doesn’t count.
“True exploration begins without judgment.” He pauses, and I hear his breath catch.
“And you are a whore. My whore. Just like you’re my woman. My princesa. Soon my wife, and, perhaps one day, a true partner. I’ll take you roughly, without permission or apology. I’ll mark you with my teeth, my hands, and my seed. But I’ll also take care of you. That includes giving you more pleasure than you think you can take. And when I’m done, and you’re curled up under the covers, warm and sated, I’ll watch over you while you sleep.”
Something about his words—his deep, buttery tenor—is arousing. The flush creeps up the back of my neck, and I’m grateful he’s not here to see it.
“I have no interest in these toys, or any others.” Liar. “You can take them back. I won’t be using them.”
He doesn’t say anything for a minute or two.
I finger the ribbon while I wait for a response. I don’t know exactly what it’ll be, but there will be one. I guarantee it.
“I’m not giving you a choice, Daniela. Each morning, before you get out of bed for the day, you’ll choose a toy and play with it until you orgasm. Every morning. It’s not up for negotiation.”
I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I hope you’re happy, Papai. This is what you did to me.
“I’ll know if you defy me,” he continues, like the asshole he is. “If I even suspect, I’ll start requiring photos with the toy inside your pretty pink pussy. If you manipulate me, I’ll send someone to take a video of you writhing on the bed with a vibrator pulsing against your clit. Then after he brings me the video, I’ll slit his throat, because no one lives after seeing your pussy.”
The thought of anyone watching me come—not a lover, but a random person—a man not of my choosing, but of his, is repulsive. I blink back the tears. “Why? Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because you need it. Because someone has been whispering in your ear that sex is shameful. That pleasure is the devil’s work. It’s all a lie, Daniela. A huge lie. Those days are over. Now I’ll be the only one whispering in your ear, coaxing you to take every drop of pleasure. I’m going to whisper louder, and louder, until the only voice you hear is mine.”
“You don’t know anything about my morals or beliefs.”
“I know you’re burdened with old-fashioned, pious beliefs. I think you’re a passionate woman who needs permission to enjoy her sexuality. I could give you that permission, but at this point, I’m not sure it would be enough. So I’m taking it one step further. I’m demanding your compliance. And we’re going to start now. Right now.
“Take the vibrator out of the gold pouch. That’s a good toy to start with—straightforward and not too intimidating. It’s already been cleaned, but you’ll need to clean it again after you use it. Read the instructions.”
“Antonio. Please.” But even as I plead with him, I remove the vibrator from the gold pouch. It’s purple and not as intimidating as the pink one.
“Take off your clothes,” he commands, ignoring my pleas. “All of them. Don’t talk. Don’t think. Just listen to my voice—and feel. Let me guide you to a place where there’s only pleasure. And more pleasure.”
“I can’t,” I whisper. “It’s too much, too soon.”
“Should I send someone to assist you?” he asks in the same way a porter would ask if I need help with my bags.
“No,” I gasp. I don’t think he’d actually send anyone to assist me, but he’s not above coming to do the job himself.
“Tell me when your clothes are off and you’re lying on your back, in bed.”
It’s okay. He can’t see you naked. He can’t see anything.
I pull the nightgown over my head and fold it neatly, wasting time. When the last wrinkle has been smoothed away, I get into bed. My limbs are tight and heavy as I slide them over the mattress.
“I’m in bed,” I say softly.
“Put the phone on speaker, and place it on the pillow beside you.”
“What if someone hears?”
“No one will hear unless you have the volume turned up all the way. Just relax,” he murmurs in that smooth timbre. “Focus on the sheets under you. How do they feel against your skin?”
“Soft. Cool.”
“Mmmm. Soft. But not as soft as you. I wish I was there right now, Princesa, running my tongue over your soft, luscious flesh.”
My breathing is shallow and quick. Everything about this feels so dirty. But I don’t hate it as much as I thought I would—or should. I don’t hate it at all.
“Rest both palms on your breasts,” he murmurs. “Rub circles, wide, then tighter and tighter until your nipples are hard and peaked. Use a gentle touch at first, barely skimming the silky skin. Then firmer.” His tone is even. His voice whisper-soft, and cajoling. “Are your nipples firm little peaks?”
“Yes.”
“Squeeze them. Hard. Then let go quickly.”
His voice is hypnotic, and I’ve surrendered to the spell, doing as he asks. “Ahhh.”
“You’re such a good princesa. So beautiful. When you stroke your breasts, do you feel the throb in your pussy?”
“Yes,” I whisper into the dark room.
“Let your hands roam over your ribs, and across your belly. Go slow. Enjoy the velvety skin under your fingers, and the flutter and pulses enveloping your core. Don’t rush. Take your time, pretty girl.”
His breathing is choppy. He’s aroused too. I imagine him stroking his thickening cock, like he did the night he punished me. I wet my lips as my back arches off the bed.
Everything is happening in slow motion around me, but a frenzy of sensations are building inside.
“Spread your legs for me, Princesa. Let your knees fall to the side. Do you feel the cool air on your pussy?”
“Yes.” I do feel it—the cool air licking my bare pussy, making it quiver.
“Are you wet? Check for me.”
I slide two fingers over the sensitive flesh. “Mm-hmm. Very wet.”
“I like you wet,” he murmurs. “Bring your fingers to your mouth, and suck on them like you would my cock. Make them nice and clean. Enjoy every drop of your sweetness.” His cadence has slowed even further. He’s demanding, but patient. “Tell me how you taste.”
I stop thinking about every command. Stop the negative internal chatter. The judging. I just listen and obey like a well-trained pet. It’s easier. And it’s what I want.
“A little salty,” I croak from somewhere deep inside my chest.
“That’s how I remember you. A little salty to balance all the sweet. You’re delicious, Princesa. I need to taste you again. It’s all I think about.”
I swallow hard, starting to feel overwhelmed by all the sensations.
“Spread your juices all over your pussy—make it nice and slick for me.”
I’m so aroused, the lightest touch of my fingertips causes a sultry moan to escape into the quiet room.
“The sound of you pleasuring yourself makes me rock hard. If I was there, I’d use my dick to smear the juices all over your cunt. I’d slap it against your clit while you begged to come. Would you like that, Princesa?”
I don’t answer. I just squeeze my eyes tight. Not to shut out his dirty talk, but to savor it.
“Take the toy and turn it on a low setting. Then place it flat against your pussy.”
“Oh,” I gasp, arching off the bed. Even on low, the vibrations are powerful, sending zings of pleasure through me.
“That’s it. Move it up and down your slit. Slide the head over the swollen little nub.”
My hips buck as I drown in pleasure.
“It feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.” So good.
“Turn it a little higher. Not all the way up yet. How does it feel now?”
“Good.” The word tumbles off my lips.
“Just good? I want it to feel amazing. Turn it up a little higher.”
“Oh God.”
“Is your belly tightening?”
“Yes.”
“Turn it higher. All the way up.”
I moan loudly as I writhe against the mattress. I’m so close.
“Let go, Daniela. Just feel. Surrender to the sensations. You’re safe. Let go. Let me hear you.”
My legs shake. And my jaw falls slack as I submit fully, not just to the orgasm—but to him.
“I want to feel you come, Princesa. I want to feel your pussy throbbing around my cock.”
“Ahhhhh,” I cry as the muscle in my stomach balls, almost painfully. The orgasm rips through me, shattering every wall I’ve erected, leaving me limp and gasping for air.
It’s quiet as I catch my breath. Only my heart thumping.
He’s gone.
I reach for the phone. I don’t even know when he hung up. Something inside my chest contracts, leaving an ache.
I’m alone. In some ways more alone than ever.
Bastard.
I hate you, Antonio, for making me feel things I don’t want to feel. I hate you.
I fling the vibrator across the room. It bounces off the chair and lands on the rug, barely making a ripple.
It’s almost Friday. When you’re gone, he won’t be able to play his games with you anymore.
I bury my face in the pillow and cry myself to sleep.
41
Antonio
I’m in a Douro Port Wine Foundation meeting, ready to tear my hair out while I listen to board members whine incessantly about trivial matters, sounding more like spoiled toddlers than CEOs.
Tomas is seated at the table, too, shooting me mean looks from time to time. What a pussy. I don’t know whether he expects me to piss my pants at his scowls, but all he gets from me is a smug smile.
It’s a good thing there are no pressing matters on the agenda today, because all I can think about is Daniela and that damn vibrator sending her over the edge last night. Her voice was breathy and dreamlike, and those little moans and gasps are addictive. If I’m not careful, they’re going to be my undoing.
Talking her through the experience hadn’t been part of my original plan. I meant it when I told her the toys were for her. But damn, I’m not sorry about the way things turned out. Although it only made me hungrier for her. That part doesn’t thrill me. Wanting something too much can lead to disaster—especially where women are concerned.
My phone lights up, and I smile when Gray Wilder’s name appears on the screen. He’s returning my call from last night.
I grab the phone and step out while some blowhard is complaining about the quality of the rubber hoses he purchased in bulk. He actually brought one with him so we could see for ourselves. I was three seconds from grabbing that hose and flogging him with it.
Gray’s always had impeccable timing.
I met him while studying in the US. Two cocky rich boys who bonded over fathers who were monsters. We each had one. Had being the operative word. In the end, they both got their just deserts.
“Hey.” My relationship with Gray is not as tight as my relationships with Cristiano and Lucas, nor does it have the firm roots, but we share a unique friendship—at least from my perspective.
“Hey, you ugly sonofabitch, what’s good?”
I laugh out loud. Gray doesn’t care who I am. He never feels the need to defer to me, ever. He’d tell me to fuck off in a heartbeat, and has, many times. Around him, I’m never hampered or weighed down by the responsibilities of my position. I can put aside the crown Manuel D’Sousa placed on my head more than twelve years ago, and just be. It’s liberating.
“It’s all good on my end. And you?”
“Can’t complain. How’s your mom, and Rafael?”
“My mother’s well. She’s so busy these days she doesn’t even have time to stick her nose in my business. And Rafael is biding his time with babes and booze, but from his grades, it seems he’s opening a book here and there too.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“Sounds like a lifetime ago. How are your brothers?”
“Chase is elusive, as always. I’ve given up trying to figure him out. And JD is pussy-whipped like you wouldn’t believe.”
“That’s what he said about you when he called a few weeks ago, begging for a case of my best Port.”
Gray laughs. “All true, man. All true,” he confesses, although he doesn’t sound one bit sorry. “Did you call last night to shoot the shit, or is something up?”
“I’m always happy to shoot the shit, but I called because I’m going to be in the US in about a month, and I thought we’d come down to Charleston. Maybe I can finally meet Delilah. I’m beginning to think she’s a figment of your imagination.”
“Trust me, she’s real. But more importantly, who’s we?”
“My wife,” I reply hesitantly. Not because I don’t trust Gray, but because the word still doesn’t roll off my tongue easily. “Or at least she will be then.”
“You’re getting married? Jesus. When?”
“Less than a month.”
“Less than a month.” He whistles. “Is this some kind of shotgun wedding? Because I don’t remember getting an invitation. Her daddy already polish his rifle? That’s never a good sign.”
I scoff. “It’s going to be a very small event. Mainly for show. Once the harvest is over, we’ll have a big celebration for family and friends, and I fully expect you and Delilah to come. Maybe spend a week or two with us after.”
“Another good man falls. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” It comes out awkward, maybe because it’s still new, or because congratulations feel like the wrong sentiment when you’re forcing a woman to marry you.
“I didn’t even know you were dating anyone, you sly dog. Tell me about the unlucky bride.”
He means it as a joke, but it needles me more than it should. “The marriage was arranged some time ago, so it’s not exactly sudden. I’d appreciate your discretion, for the time being.”
“Don’t give it another thought. Tell me about the bride. Is she good with it?”
I know what Gray’s getting at, but I’m not having the discussion with him. His world is different from mine.
“She’s a decade younger than us, quite pretty, and has a good heart. Loves the region, maybe as much as I do. It’s in her blood, like it’s in mine. She’ll make a suitable partner.”
Gray is quiet for a moment. “A suitable partner. God, you’re such a romantic,” he quips finally. “Do you even like her?”
“Yes. I like her.” More than I care to admit. “Romance isn’t part of the equation. In my world, marriage isn’t about love. It’s about building alliances.”
Gray’s quiet again, like he’s trying to wrap his head around it, or maybe it’s pity I hear in the silence.
“I understand marriage is hard work, even when you’re in love,” he says carefully. “Are you sure you want to do this? Because you sure as hell don’t sound like it.”
“I’m sure. It’s complicated, and I have a lot on my mind. That’s all.” Starting with the way the men sitting in the conference room, right now, are going to go ballistic when they find out not only about the marriage
, but about Quinta Rosa do Vale. Especially about Quinta Rosa do Vale.
“I don’t pretend to understand the nuances of your world, and I’m the last person to judge anyone. As you know, my family’s pretty fucked up. All I’m going to say is if you’re coming to the US, you better make damn sure you stop in Charleston. You’ll stay with us. Maybe take your new bride down to the club, after hours.”
My dick twitches at the thought of having Daniela in the dungeon, or the stable, or any one of those well-equipped rooms. “I’m not sure she’s ready for the club, even after hours.”
“That’s what you get when you rob the cradle. But at least you’ll have someone to push around your wheelchair in a few years. And wipe the drool off your face.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Right back at you, baby.”
After we say goodbye, I brace my shoulders against the wall.
Daniela might be ten years younger, and she looks it, but in many ways she’s an old soul without the carefree spirit of a young woman.
I understand marriage is hard work. Especially when the bride has to be dragged kicking and screaming to the altar.
Although Victor claims she’s acclimating, coming down for meals, and taking walks with Paula. Only time will tell. For now, I’ll give her some space to adjust. But it’s not easy. I want her—bad—especially after last night.
Fortunately, for the next week I’ll be traveling around the EU, representing the foundation’s interests. Otherwise, she’d become a permanent fixture in my bed, sooner than advisable. The timing of the trip couldn’t be better.
42
Daniela
It’s Friday, again—finally. With any luck, things will go better today than they did last Friday.
This morning, I sent Antonio the final done. That’s what I text him after I play with the toys. The first morning, it felt shameful to text him, but then it became routine—all of it. And while I’d never admit it to him, I’ve been so anxious the orgasms have been heavenly, helping to wash away some of the stress.
