Dominic: a Dark Mafia Romance (Benedetti Brothers Book 2)

by Natasha Knight

  He didn’t speak when it was over, and I opened my eyes to find his locked on mine as he rose from the bed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. We stayed like that for a long time until finally, I blinked, turning away, humiliated, and he walked back out the door and locked it behind him.

  I wept silently for so many things. For my brother. For myself. For the shame I felt as cool air dried my pussy, dried where he’d licked me to orgasm. I cried, knowing I’d come under my enemy’s tongue, knowing this was only the beginning, knowing there would be so many betrayals, so many concessions. I wondered who I’d be by the end of this. If I survived, that is.

  And I hated myself for not wanting to be left alone anymore. Hated myself for my weakness. My fear.

  5

  Dominic

  Eating her pussy didn’t involve penetration. It wasn’t the same as fucking her. Not that I didn’t fuck the other girls. I did. Some. Not all. Only if they were virgins in any way. Well, that was mostly true. It would be better for them, easier, if I took that from them. I’d never eaten one out, though. I’d never wanted to. I’d played with them, I’d enjoyed fucking the ones I did, but it was just that, a fuck, a piece of ass. This was different. Maybe it was like kissing. Too personal.

  And I’d kissed her too. Or tried to. Hell, I should have thanked her for nearly breaking my nose.

  I don’t even know what made me do it. Yes, my cock was already hard after our little struggle, but hell, that was the norm, and in the last couple of years, I’d gotten to know my fist pretty well. And when I wanted a woman, I paid for it. Anonymous sex, exactly how I liked it.

  So why the fuck had I eaten her out?

  And why couldn’t I stop thinking about how she tasted? How she sounded when she came? How she thrust her hips at me, wanting more, even as she resisted me?

  I’d felt it again, that strange sense of familiarity, when I’d walked into the room and she’d been sitting on the bed, watching me like that. It was those damned haunted eyes. Haunted? Or haunting. They’d seen evil. They saw through me and into my evil. She’d survived evil. But would she survive me?

  Yet it wasn’t just that. I knew those eyes. As ridiculous as it was, they were connected to some distant memory, something brief, something…better than this.

  Hell, this was all ridiculous. I just needed to focus here and do my job, and if it meant I fucked her while I was at it—virgin or not—then so be it. Stupid fucking rule anyway, considering I trained them to become sex slaves. What difference would it make for them if I did fuck them? None, that’s what. And I needed to remember this was a job. Any nostalgic feelings, any attraction to this girl—it would have to get gone. She was a fucking job. Granted, a job with a restriction: no penetration. But hell, if it happened, it happened. No one would give a fuck, not in the end.

  I finished my coffee, closed the shutter letting the too-bright sunshine into the kitchen, and walked into her room. She lay awake, but the moment our eyes met, she blinked and looked away. I closed the door and locked it behind me, walked into the bathroom where I’d left the chair, and brought it into the bedroom. I set the blanket I’d carried in on it.

  She eyed it.

  “Chilly in here,” I said casually.

  She searched my face, my eyes.

  “I’m thinking you need to use the bathroom?”

  She nodded, her gaze settling on a spot just beyond me. I guessed she’d be embarrassed after last night’s impromptu session. I hadn’t intended to do what I’d done. I’d just meant to fuck with her a little. I’d been reading, and all her racket had been annoying, quite frankly. She had to know I wouldn’t keep her somewhere she’d be found so easily, so why the screaming?

  “Did you sleep well?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and tracing the edge of one of her ankle cuffs.

  “How well do you expect me to sleep in this freezing room bound and naked and fucking humiliated?”

  Well, no elephant in this room, then. She was straightforward. I liked that. I brushed a strand of hair from her face, and she shook her head to rid herself of my touch. I gripped her chin and forced her to look at me. “Getting my cock sucked puts me out like a light. The way you came, I’d thought you’d have slept into next week.”

  Her face grew warm beneath my touch, and I had to smile at the blush creeping up her neck and cheeks.

  “The least you can do is thank me.”

  “I hate you. You’re the worst of them all.”

  “Worse than the men who branded you?” I raised my eyebrows, although truly, I didn’t care. Fact was, she was right. I was the worst of them all.

  “The worst,” she spat out.

  “Then we have no misunderstandings between us.” I undid her ankles first. Then I unhooked her from the ring at the top of the bed but kept her wrists bound. “Go.”

  “With my hands tied?”

  “Call me when you’re done. I’ll wipe.”

  I almost laughed when her face got so red I thought she’d explode. Truth was, it was an act, this flat, uninterested tone. Not that I cared, I just…that hint of conscience crept in through the cracks in the fucking walls of my chest. It seeped through the tiniest fissure, and it fucked with me. I didn’t like it.

  She walked into the bathroom. I noticed the bruises on her ass. I hadn’t whipped her too hard, but hard enough they’d serve as a reminder to behave every time she sat down.

  While she took care of what she needed to, I went to the chest, unlocked it, and took out what I needed: the collar and the crop. A few moments later she returned, wiping droplets of water from her face with her hands.

  “I need a toothbrush.”

  “Isn’t there one in there?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “No.”

  “Funny, I could have sworn…”

  Her gaze fell to the things I held, and I could see the effort it took for her to stay in place.

  “Would you like to earn a blanket?” I asked. “Maybe get some more water and food?”

  “What do I have to do?” The question came out slow and cautious as a crawl.

  “Kneel.”

  She studied me, distrust in her eyes, hesitation in the way she bit her lip. “What are you going to do?”

  “Put this collar around your neck.” I didn’t feel like playing all of a sudden.

  I could see her mind working, trying to figure out what to do, what was expected, perhaps what would earn her the least amount of pain. But slowly, she knelt. It surprised me.

  I stood motionless, looking at her. She turned her gaze away, distancing herself perhaps. I cleared my throat and walked to her, collar and crop in the same hand. She remained as she was, but she looked at me again, her eyes turned watchful. I circled her once, looking down at the top of her pretty head, at the smooth flesh of her toned if not too skinny body. I’d have to feed her soon. For all I knew, that granola bar was all she’d eaten in days.

  When I stopped behind her, she craned her neck to look back.

  “Face forward unless you’re told otherwise.”

  She gave me a wary look but did as I said. I smiled. Pain and pleasure, the threat of the former and the shame of the latter. Remarkable teachers, that pair.

  I picked up the hairbrush I’d left on the nightstand, sat on the bed behind her, and set the crop and collar down so I could pick up her hair. I brushed the length of it, taking care to work out the knots, appreciating the weight of it, the shine when brushed. Once I finished, I braided it into one long, dark pleat down her back and secured it with an elastic wrapped around the handle of the brush. I got off the bed, squatted behind her, and took her in, appreciating how she knelt so quietly, so obediently, waiting. I wondered how hard her heart pounded, and when I swept the back of my hand over the curve of her neck, she shuddered.

  I stilled.

  I think we both held our breath.

  I forced myself to continue and picked up the collar, raising it over her head to secure around her neck, locking
the small lock at the back, one only I had the key to and the one she would wear until she was sold. I stood, with my hand on the top of her head and the crop held in the other, and circled to stand where she could see me.

  She lifted her pretty gaze to mine, the green of her eyes bright, the pupils dark, dilated. There was a stillness about her. Her nipples tightened, and a scent—her scent, as I’d come to know it last night—hung in the air between us.

  She was aroused.

  I turned my hand into a fist and gripped the hair at the back of her head. She flinched but remained as she was, keeping her hands together on her lap. I brought her cheek to me, to the hardness just behind the fabric of the jeans.

  “Men will want you.” Why did the thought not please me? “They will pay to have you.” In fact, the idea of it made the fist in her hair tighten. I only noticed it when the first tear slid from the corner of her eye, but I didn’t loosen my hold because right now, all I wanted were her lips around my cock, her tongue licking its length, her sucking me off. What I needed was to shoot down her throat, and when she choked, to come all over her, to mark her as mine, to destroy her. Because that would decimate her, and that was what I needed to do. Take her to the point of breaking, but keep her just on this side of that abyss.

  Beauty knelt at my feet.

  And I would be the beast who would break her.

  The monster who would destroy her.

  Better me than another.

  She’d be mine then, in a sick, unnatural way. In a sick, unnatural mind.

  “What happened to you that you’re like this?”

  Her quiet voice broke into my thoughts, accused me.

  “That you can do this?”

  Our gazes locked. I felt the shift in my chest, a flashback of me as I’d once been. As Dominic Benedetti. A man with a place, a home, a reason to live. A man with the whole world at his feet.

  And then the realization of how I’d lost it rushed in on the heels of that memory, dampening everything else, regret and loss smothering me.

  “What?”

  I wondered if in that millisecond, she’d seen a flash of emotion cross my face.

  I felt hot, sweaty. I felt—

  “I changed my mind. I want to know your name.”

  I blinked to dislodge this hold, this strange, new thing she held over me, but it didn’t work.

  “Tell me your name,” she said.

  My fist in her hair went limp. “Why? Why does it matter?”

  “I don’t want to call you Death.”

  I must have looked as confused as I felt.

  “Your mask. The way you act. You try to be cold, like you couldn’t give a fuck, but I know that’s not it. There’s something else. There’s more there.”

  I tightened my fist and grinned at her pain. “Don’t fool yourself. There’s nothing else.”

  “Then it won’t matter if you tell me your name.”

  “What are you going to do for it?”

  “You can make me do whatever you want anyway.”

  “Making you and you choosing to are two different things.”

  “I get the feeling you’d like making me.”

  “You’d be right,” I said, then squatted down so my face was inches from hers. I inhaled and searched her eyes, let my gaze drop down to her mouth, then back up. “Don’t think my eating your pussy means something. It’s just part of the job,” I lied, then leaned in closer, close enough to trace the curve of her ear with my tongue. She shuddered. “I smell you, Gia,” I whispered. “I smell your sex. And I bet if I slid my hand between your legs, you’d be wet.”

  She didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. I watched her, challenging her, and when she remained silent, I rose to stand, feeling victorious.

  “If I—” She cleared her throat. “If I sucked your cock, you’d come too. It doesn’t matter, doesn’t mean you have some power over me. It’s physical. That’s all.”

  “You want to suck my cock?” I knew that wasn’t what she meant.

  “No. I was making a point.”

  “What point?” I asked callously. “I missed it.”

  “I hate you.” It started out angry, but when she repeated the words, tears glistened in her eyes, and she turned away.

  “So you’ve told me.” I looked down at the top of her head, glad she wasn’t looking at me anymore, glad she couldn’t see my face right then, not until I collected myself. Remembered myself. “You should hate me.” The words carried no emotion.

  She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes.

  I stepped away and readied the crop. I needed to get my head in the game and move. I was overthinking things. Overthinking her. “Forward. Hands and knees. Doggy style.”

  “Wh…what?” The word seemed to trip out of her mouth, caught between tears and a sob.

  “Forward!” I raised the crop, and she flinched.

  “That’s what you do, isn’t it? You beat women. You tie them down and beat them until they’re so scared and broken, they have no will left. No will to defy you.”

  I slid my fingers through the space between her collar and her pretty little neck. I hated what she said, but she only spoke the truth. “That’s right,” I said, tugging so she had to put her hands out in front of her or she’d fall on her face. “It’s what I do.”

  “Fine!”

  She tried to pull away, but I held her.

  “You want to whip me? Fine. I’ve had worse. I’ve survived worse. You’re nothing. You can’t even tell me your name.”

  I brought the crop down on her ass, and she bit back a scream. “Crawl,” I said, tugging her forward before releasing the collar, sending her scrambling to break her fall and striking again.

  “At least I knew who Victor was!” She wept but crawled forward a little, pausing to wipe her face.

  “I didn’t tell you to stop!” I drew her forward again, and she moved, hurrying to get out of the way of the crop. “Faster!”

  “I can’t go faster, you sick prick.” She fell forward, her bound hands hindering her progress.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked sharply as I delivered another stroke.

  She glanced at me, and I saw the answer in her eyes, heard it in the way her stomach growled.

  “Then you’d better move. Are you cold?”

  She sucked back tears and paused again to wipe her face.

  I struck, aiming where she’d been branded.

  This time, she let go of a scream and fell to her side, protecting her hip, watching me accusingly.

  “You’d better get used to this. Get used to being treated like this.”

  “Like a fucking dog, you mean.”

  “That’s a good way to think of it. This is obedience training, and you’re my bitch.”

  “You’re a coward. You hide behind a mask. You carry your weapons, against what? Defenseless, bound women who are half your size?”

  “Fuck you, Gia.”

  “It’s what you do. Own it. But you have to own what it makes you too. A fucking coward.”

  “How’d you get yourself caught, anyway?” I asked, gripping her collar and hauling her up to her knees. She fought like an animal. I leaned down so my face was inches from hers. “I’m getting the feeling you weren’t some random pickup.”

  “Let me go. You’re hurting me!”

  “How? Tell me.”

  “I wasn’t a random pickup you fucking prick.”

  She shoved at my chest, but she wasn’t nearly strong enough.

  “Piss off a boyfriend? He finally get enough of your bitchy mouth?”

  Tears pooled in her eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks, a raw and complete pain intensifying the green.

  “You don’t know anything about me. Not a thing!”

  “Tell me!” I shook her hard, lifting her to her feet and pressing her against the wall. I held her there by her throat.

  Her face reddened, and she watched me. I wasn’t sure if she was able to speak or not. Rage hotter than hell b
urned through me, and I squeezed her neck.

  “Fucking tell me!”

  She choked out a sob, and when I loosened my hold, she began to cough.

  “Did he order your branding as punishment?”

  “He wasn’t my boyfriend,” she choked out.

  I released her, and she dropped to her hands and knees, still coughing.

  “He’s a murderer. A monster.” She paused, turned her face up, and added: “Like you.”

  I narrowed my gaze, although we both knew she was right. The room stood strangely quiet, her on her knees at my feet, eyes red, cheeks wet with tears, hate spearing me.

  “Just like you,” she said again, sitting back on her heels and lowering her gaze, giving herself over to the tears that seemed unending. I watched like the monster she accused me of being. The monster I was. I just stood there and watched her come apart until she quieted, and then I pulled the chair closer and sat down, my gaze still on her, as if I’d never seen this before, never seen a person come unglued.

  She sat up and wiped the last of her tears, the look in her eyes telling me hate fueled her now. Hate kept her upright.

  “I normally don’t give a shit about the girls that pass through here, but you’re different. You’re like me, Gia. You’re filled with hate.”

  “I’m nothing like you.”

  I ignored her. “Maybe I won’t bother taking you to the auction. Keep you for myself until I wear you out instead. Until there’s nothing left.”

  She stared at me. Was it fear that left her mute? That pushed tears from her eyes?

  “That’s a scary thought, isn’t it?”

  “It would be if there was any truth to it, but you’re a peon.”

  Her voice broke, betraying her panic. But she kept going.

  “You’re a nobody. You work for them. You don’t get to decide. You don’t get to choose what happens to me.”

  I swallowed hard. She was right. She was exactly right. She paused, and I wondered if she could read my face. I needed to end this, to take back control.

  “You don’t know anything about me,” I defended.