Savage Prince (DeSantis Mafia Book 2)

by S. Massery

  The door crashes open, and Aiden storms through. His gaze swings around, and it lands on me. His face is etched in fury.

  Cat’s arms slip off me, and I glance at her pale face.

  Uh-oh.

  The people surrounding us quickly back off. Aiden projects his anger, silencing the room. He stalks over to me and grabs my arm. He lifts me out of the chair and hauls me over his shoulder.

  I squeal, grabbing his shirt. My ass is in the air. Humiliation burns through me, but I don’t resist him. That darn self-preservation has kicked in again, hoping to lessen the damage. I raise my head and catch Jack’s eyes. He seems confused and slowly shakes his head at me. Cat bites her lip, but no one stops Aiden from sweeping me away.

  He carries me to the elevator and doesn’t set me down when it jolts into motion. We ride in silence, my face pressed against the small of his back. There’s a faint metallic smell clinging to him.

  We enter his apartment, and he locks the door.

  It’s only when we’re upstairs that he leans forward, throwing me on the bed.

  “Are you deaf?” He’s too calm.

  He loosens his tie, and the motion draws my attention to the front of his shirt. He’s covered in blood. Dried, judging from the rusty color, but blood.

  His jaw tics.

  “I’m not deaf,” I say.

  “Stupid, then.”

  I narrow my eyes. “No.”

  He yanks off the tie and sheds his leather jacket. His fingers work at the buttons of his shirt, until he stands before me in just his black pants. “There must be some reason you disobeyed me, little girl.”

  I stand and plant my arms on my hips. “I’m not a dog. You can’t just say stay and—”

  “You’re not a dog,” he says. “You’re a fucking doll to sit on the shelf and look pretty. You don’t speak. You don’t leave. And you certainly don’t make fucking decisions to play poker with my whole fucking family.”

  I flinch. My anger is waking up, fanned by his passive face. There are too many emotions under both our surfaces—we’re going to explode one of these days. I went to bed every night while he was gone, trying to picture where he went. What, exactly, carried him away.

  Hunting, he said. I get even angrier, with both of us. For allowing myself to think that he might care about me. Why would I even delude myself into thinking that?

  It’s bullshit, just like this engagement.

  “Blackjack.” I grit my teeth. “You’re an asshole. This isn’t how you treat someone—”

  “This is how you deserve to be treated until I say otherwise.” He comes forward and traces my jaw with his finger. “And I think we need to make sure that sinks in.”

  “Fuck you,” I spit.

  His eyes light up.

  Psychopath, my mind whispers.

  “Give me your hands, Gemma.”

  A thrill goes through me. I understand the warning in his voice and narrow my eyes, but I do as he asks. For once.

  Maybe for the last time.

  Call it curiosity, or the stupidity he accuses me of having, but I want to see how this plays out.

  He retrieves his tie and turns me around, pulling my arms behind me. He wraps the tie around my wrists and binds them together, then rotates me back to face him. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed and stares at me like he doesn’t recognize me.

  My body trembles. I can’t stop it. Fear blooms on my tongue. I lace my fingers together.

  “Who did you talk to while I was gone?” He tugs me forward a step by the waistband of my shorts, then fingers the button. It pops open, and he pushes the fabric down my legs. He catches my panties with his thumbs. They make small circles on my hips, and the sensation sends shivers up my spine.

  I step back, but he grips my hips and drags me closer.

  I’m naked from the waist down. I’m sure he can see the way I quake, but he doesn’t comment on it. Anticipation underlines my fear.

  Slowly, he unbuckles his belt and slides it from his pants. “Gemma.”

  I jerk. “What?”

  “Names.”

  I can’t rat out Cat. He’d probably kill her just to spite me—family or not. I press my lips together. Jack, Mac, Darcie, Tim. They were innocent parties.

  Too quick to process, he guides me forward and down. I exhale sharply, lying flat on his thighs. One of his hands presses down on my spine between my shoulder blades. His fingers catch in my hair.

  No.

  “Names, Gemma,” he prods.

  He barely waits a moment for an answer. The leather belt hits my ass, and pain explodes across my flesh.

  My scream lodges in my throat. Call it pride or vanity, but he wants me to suffer. Loudly, I’d bet.

  “No one can hear you,” he tells me. “So scream.”

  “Fuck you,” I repeat.

  He hits me again, and I buck against him. He’s got me thoroughly captured. My shoulders protest the angle of my arms, but it’s a reflex to try to make myself smaller. I can’t stop fighting. The fight or flight urge rises like a tidal wave, and nausea spins my stomach.

  Smack.

  Smack.

  Smack.

  It goes on and on until I do break.

  My scream rips out of me. My ass is on fire, and when he switches to the other cheek, it’s somehow worse. At some point, I register an awful heat spreading through me. It grows with every strike.

  But it isn’t awful. It’s the same way I felt when he shoved me against the wall and thrust his fingers into me. Like the helplessness is just another fire to burn under my skin.

  I cannot be turned on by this. By him. I bite my cheek, wrangling my emotions. They’re out of control—I’m as out of control as Aiden.

  Tears run down my cheeks when he finally stops. The belt is on the floor, but I can’t think. I don’t know how long it’s been there, how long he hit me with his hand instead of the leather.

  His fingers dig into my ass cheek, harsh and then gentle.

  I groan. This new sensation is good.

  The only noise that fills the room is our twin breaths—both labored.

  His finger slides into me without warning. A whimper slips out past my clenched teeth, and he growls.

  “Fuck, Gemma.” He continues a lazy rhythm, dipping in and out of me.

  I tense around his finger and rotate my hips, trying to get more friction. This is agony and foreign pleasure winding together, and it might be sweeter torture than the spanking. No one’s hit me like that… well, ever.

  My cheeks flush hot when I realize I didn’t mind it. This precarious position only serves to make his finger push deeper inside me.

  And all at once, he stops. The loss of him shocks me. I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood.

  He puts me on my feet and unties me, then disappears into the bathroom. I sag to the bed and rub my wrists. The sudden quiet… my stomach is in knots. There’s no relief in this ending, just an ache between my legs.

  Tentatively, my fingers creep toward my core. I lie back and close my eyes. I’ve avoided exploring my sexuality, but now it’s easy to find my clit—it pulses with its own homing beacon, alive from Aiden’s touch.

  Just a touch, just a moment.

  I can’t help but whimper again, and I rub in tiny circles. The climb is familiar, but I don’t stop. I grind my hips into my own hand. My legs tremble, and I press my toes into the floor. The rational side of my brain wants to stop. To stand and pretend this didn’t happen.

  But I just keep driving myself to the edge.

  I make the mistake of opening my eyes.

  Aiden stands in the doorway to the bathroom. His cock is in his fist, and he strokes himself in quick, jerking movements. His gaze is fastened to the apex of my legs.

  “You’re afraid,” he says.

  My face is on fire, my ass throbs. My abdomen clenches when I take in his erection. I have some sick fascination in the way he’s sliding his hand up and down his length.

  No, I almost
say, but I don’t have it in me to lie.

  I sit up and close my legs, flushing. “I haven’t—”

  He tilts his head.

  “Done any of this,” I finish lamely.

  He pushes off the wall and stalks closer. “Kiss?”

  I purse my lips.

  “Besides me.” He tsks, like that caveat is obvious.

  “No.”

  He kneels on the floor and pulls me forward, until my knees bracket him. “Sucked someone off?”

  “No.”

  “Touched yourself?”

  I hesitate. “Until now, no.”

  He meets my gaze. “Orgasm.”

  My cheeks heat.

  “Sex?”

  My gaze flicks to the ceiling. “You know I haven’t.”

  He slowly lowers himself and touches his lips to the inside of my knee. “You’re so fucking pure.”

  I try to draw away, but he holds my calves firm.

  “Poor princess,” he breathes on my sensitive skin. “I left you hanging, didn’t I?”

  He’s inching his way higher. Up my thigh, his breath hot on my skin. He licks me without warning, and I jump. His tongue dances over my clit, alternating sucking and teasing me. I squirm and slide my fingers into his hair.

  He groans.

  The vibration is a new type of sensation, and I let my head fall back. And then his mouth moves a bit lower, and his tongue plunges in me.

  “Aiden,” I moan, squeezing my eyes shut. “Oh God.”

  He fucks me with his tongue relentlessly, but it’s the sudden switch back to my clit that sends me flying. It doesn’t take much—I was already sensitive from his belt and hand on my ass. My grip tightens in his hair, and I try to tug him away. It’s too much. He ignores me and slides two fingers inside me. I clench around his finger and ride out my orgasm.

  I soar for too long, and my body is slick with sweat by the time I’ve returned to my body.

  Embarrassment is quick to follow.

  He just…

  He stands and takes my hands, drawing me back into a sitting position. But he doesn’t stop there. I must be his puppet, because I’m letting him guide me wherever he wants.

  To my knees. He tilts my head back and stares down into my eyes.

  “Open your mouth like a good little doll,” he orders.

  Loathing cuts through the bliss, but I do as he says.

  “If you bite me, I’ll knock your teeth in.” He runs the tip of his cock over my lower lip. “Nod if you understand.”

  I nod quickly, my lips still parted.

  He keeps his hand on the back of my head and pushes his dick into my mouth. It’s obtrusive—too big. Saliva fills my mouth, and I try to fight it. I plant my hands on his thighs.

  “Relax,” he says. “Suck.”

  I allow my tongue to curl around his length, retreating slightly.

  He hisses.

  Naïve as I feel in this moment, it doesn’t feel like rocket science. My hands creep up from his thighs and grip the base of his cock, helping guide it in and out of my mouth. I mimic his movements, fast and then slow.

  “Gemma,” he grunts. “God, why are you good at this?”

  I refuse to grin. He tastes unique, and I’m shocked that I like the flavor of him.

  He rocks his hips forward, and he hits the back of my throat. I gag around him. Tears spring into my eyes. Something savage takes over—not only in him, but me, too. I let my hands fall away, and he pounds into my mouth. I do my best to keep up, but he doesn’t care. My eyes flick up and meet his.

  He comes with a guttural yell, spilling down my throat.

  I swallow around him.

  He pulls out carefully and sinks to his knees in front of me, so we’re eye to eye. He brushes the tears from my cheeks, and I wipe my mouth.

  I sniffle.

  “You okay?” he asks in a low voice.

  I nod once and stand. My skin crawls with what we just did. The horror of giving in to Aiden DeSantis is overwhelming. I grab my underwear and tug it on, followed by sweatpants I snatch off the floor.

  He eyes me without comment.

  I leave the room. I can’t… I can’t be in the same bed as him. He just fucked my mouth, and some dark part of me enjoyed it. So, yeah. That’s a big no. I need distance and mouthwash and maybe a lobotomy.

  I settle on the couch and toss the blanket over me. I’ll wait for that mouthwash once he’s asleep. Yep, I’m hiding from my future fucking husband.

  Maybe he’ll let me out of it.

  I dismiss the thought immediately. He doesn’t seem like the type to go back on his word—ever.

  I squint in the dark, sensing movement. I tense a moment before Aiden grabs me, throwing me effortlessly over his shoulder. It’s his go-to mode of transportation for me, I’m learning.

  “Put me down.” I struggle against him, raining my fists down on his back.

  He doesn’t say anything until he drops me on the bed. I move to get up, but he blocks me.

  “No,” he says—he’s the epitome of calm. “You can’t run from me. Or hide. Sulk, if you want. Be fucking embarrassed that we gave each other orgasms. But you can do it in front of me or not at all.”

  I cross my arms. “I happen to value privacy.”

  He laughs. “You had days of it, and you threw it in my face the first chance you got. You’re mine, Gemma. Now, in a week, on our wedding day. It doesn’t fucking matter. And one day, maybe you’ll feel the same. Either way, you’re here and I’m not letting you go.”

  I groan. “I need to brush my teeth.”

  He doesn’t stop me from rushing into the bathroom. I slam the door shut, feeling for all the world like a dumb kid. I press my forehead to the frosted glass and say, “You don’t like me, Aiden. You want to own me. That’s completely different.”

  He doesn’t respond.

  But then again, I didn’t expect him to.

  9

  Gemma

  The whir of the remote-controlled shades wakes me up. I face the windows, so the sun hits my face before I even open my eyes. I groan, flipping onto my back. I’m not ready to be awake. There’s no agenda, no plan for me. Nothing to do but waste away hundreds of feet off the ground while Aiden searches for my brother.

  Someone steps in front of the sun, blocking it, and I squint back in the direction of the windows.

  Aiden crouches in the center of my drawings, the ones I managed to forget about. The ones I should have packed up and kept in the nightstand, or ripped up and flushed down the toilet. He stares down at them all, not moving to touch them. They’re just cityscapes, anyway. Some other drawings from memory, or imagination.

  He glances at me.

  “You’re talented,” he says quietly.

  I say nothing.

  One catches his eye. He scoops it up, then folds it in half and sticks it in his pocket.

  “You—”

  He silences me with a look and comes over, kneeling beside the bed. He raises his hand and smooths back my hair, and the gesture is so unexpected, I almost flinch.

  Almost.

  “Get dressed,” he says.

  I raise my eyebrow.

  “Cat is taking you shopping for clothes that actually fit.” He frowns, maybe already regretting his words. “You’ll be accompanied by guards.”

  That means there’s a catch—or this is a test. Or a reward for a stunning blow job last night.

  Ha, I crack myself up.

  Once I worked up the nerve to come out of the bathroom, I laid on the edge of the bed. Aiden dragged me to the center and rolled me to face him. I couldn’t help but notice how careful he was of the healing burn on my back.

  But he wedged his thigh between mine, snaked his arms around me, and told me to sleep. And even with claustrophobia pressing in, and a sense that I should be trying to get as far away from him as possible, I relaxed.

  I slept.

  Now he’s giving me an inch of freedom?

  “Are they there t
o keep me safe, or just keep me?”

  His brow lowers. “Let’s just say both, for the sake of argument.”

  “You do realize I came here willingly, right?”

  “That doesn’t mean you might not regret your decision.”

  I glower. “I’ll only regret it if you keep searching for my brother. He’s not involved.”

  It’s the first time I’ve denied it. I don’t actually know if he had anything to do with the shooting because I refused to ask him. I thought it would make me safer, but now… now I wish I knew one way or another.

  “Lies,” Aiden dismisses. “You’d say anything to save him.”

  That’s… true.

  “You don’t have proof, do you?”

  I can’t concentrate with his hand stroking my hair. The gentleness of his actions versus our harsh conversation.

  “Why are you letting me leave the tower?” I ask instead. “I thought you’d keep me locked up here until you forced me to marry you.”

  I sit up and wince. My ass stings with the remnants of his punishment. His hand slides off my head, and he smirks like he knows exactly the issue. He remains crouched beside the bed, though, so I’m looking down at him. I don’t like this new side of him. Him being cordial, at the very least. Nice, even. It sets me on edge, and I’m not fully awake yet.

  “Cat convinced me that you being locked up would do no good in the long run.” He rises. “Get dressed.”

  In the long run? I shudder. “How long will you keep me?”

  He pauses in the doorway and glances back, his gaze inscrutable. “Until Wilder walks back into the DeSantis tower alive, princess. Which we both know isn’t going to happen.”

  I close my eyes.

  He leaves me. I slowly glance around, like the walls will spill his secrets for me. I don’t think I moved at all while I slept—a surprising change from previous nights. But then my attention snags on the other side of the bed, the dented pillow. The comforter and sheets are folded back into position, like when he woke up, he took a moment to make it seem like he wasn’t ever there.

  My stomach twists.

  My weakness smacks me in the face. Aiden’s demonstration last night just proves how helpless I am in this situation. How much control he holds. He’s right: he can control me.