by Robinson, M.
My mind acted on its own, and I fought against his skilled fingers.
“No!” I screamed this time, louder than before.
He chuckled against my back, working my clit, knowing exactly how to touch my pussy.
“No!”
The bastard didn’t let up, and my defiance only made him work harder. Simply proving that there was nothing he couldn’t just steal from me if he wanted to.
Faster and harder, he manipulated me in this sick game of authority that I wanted to escape, but I was trapped in this room.
In his arms.
In his hands.
I tried to manage my emotions that were being solely governed by his voice, by his touch, by his erection that was still pressing into my ass.
“You’re going to come for me, Juliet. And then you’re going to thank me.”
His words were fueled by my fire.
My restraint to prove him wrong.
But it was impossible.
He was too skilled.
Too precise.
Easily playing me like I played the piano.
Holding me tighter, firmer, never wanting me to feel anything other than what he desired. He roughly and determinedly moved his fingers, making me groan out in frustration and surrender. He was going to make me do it just to show me that he could.
My legs trembled.
My core locked up.
My eyes rolled to the back of my head.
I couldn’t hold back any longer.
Resist it.
I saw stars as I came apart from the most intense orgasm I had ever felt.
“Good girl, Juliet,” he praised me as much as he punished, and I knew it was just the beginning.
I laid there against him, immobile, lax, complacent.
“Now, hold still.”
My body shuddered as he continued to mark me, cutting the ties of my hands.
When he was done, he once again stood in front of me before crouching to my level. For the first time, I could see him, really take a good look at him. His hair was dark and slicked back, emphasizing his chiseled cheekbones and five o’clock shadow. His broad shoulders and muscular chest were a few of the things I noticed as my gaze found the cross tattooed on his neck. That captured my attention the most, considering he was holding me hostage with a religious sacrament forever embedded onto his skin.
Bringing my attention back to his lips, he slid his wet fingers into his mouth and groaned in satisfaction.
My cheeks burned.
I was confused—both embarrassed and aroused.
Torn.
Sedated.
Was this his plan?
When he realized I appreciated his ruggedly handsome appearance, he grinned. It must have been my curious gaze that I couldn’t hide from him. Not when he’d just stolen another part of me which he now owned as well.
With his stare narrowed in, he looked deep into my eyes and bit, “I won’t love you. Ever.” His jaw clenched. “Make no mistake, though, your days as Juliet Sinacore are finished. But your days as my pet have only just begun.” He nodded toward the piano. Then ordered, “Play for me, Juliet, but first, where’s my thank you for making you come?”
Instead of fighting for my emotions, my freedom, my hatred for him, I gave in to his request. “Thank you,” I breathed out before turning to the piano.
Seeking refuge in music and not his wicked games.
CHAPTER TWO
Donovan
She did well. Better than I thought she would. After all this time, I finally had her. After four years of waiting for her, she was now a twenty-two-year-old woman.
A Sinacore.
I wanted her.
I had always, always wanted her.
Her innocence.
Her beauty.
Her body.
I’d been counting down the days to have her here with me. Away from everyone—her family, her friends—no one would find her. I made sure of it.
Images of Juliet flashed through my mind.
Her soft hair.
Her intoxicating scent.
Her sweet, salty pussy.
The way she cried.
Moaned.
Begged.
Mine.
Control wasn’t given. Power wasn’t handed. It was taken, exactly how I had taken her. My body relaxed, thinking about her in all the ways I shouldn’t.
Slowly, I rose to my feet, adjusted my tie, and made my way out of my office. It was morning, the next day. Twenty-four hours since I had my first taste of her, and already I was craving more. Fully aware that nothing would ever be enough when it came to her.
It never was.
With each step, I felt more and more like myself. The grand hall of my mansion was empty, and its gold-plated ceiling seemed to glisten as I let myself in the room where Juliet would be waiting for me.
Two guards stood by the door.
“Open.”
The guard jerked the heavy metal door to the side, and I walked in, nodding for them to close the steel door me. The entire room was blanketed in white, matching her complexion, but it was perfectly decorated with all the things she loved, including her beloved piano. Or should I say mine? I remembered the first time I had watched her play, in complete and utter awe of what she could do with her hands.
Her talent.
Her passion.
It poured out of her like the blood on my hands.
She was sleeping, passed out on a bed made for a queen. I watched her for most of the night from the cameras that were set up in her room. Even after I left her alone, she played the piano. Barely touching the food and water I had delivered to her. Each piece she played was darker, sadder, more intense than the last. Every emotion she felt was let out through the keys of black and white cords. It was all color. She was bright and bold. Fucking glowing from the inside out. Making my cock twitch at the sight of her. Images of me grabbing her by her sinful hips and fucking her up against the wall skated through my mind. Not to mention making her deep throat my dick between those perfect, pouty lips.
I tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and inhaled. She smelled like sunshine, rain, and life itself. Possessiveness washed over me as I pulled in every single emotion I had that was screaming at me to touch her more, to hug her.
Offer comfort when I had none to give.
Comfort was a lot like love—once you give it, there was no taking it back.
She would need it to survive, and then I’d fuck it out of her when it was convenient for me. I tried not to focus too much on the thought of her beneath me, blindfolded as I thrust into her.
The vision was too tempting.
I’d make her fall in love with me.
And in the end, if she didn’t…
She’d die.
Juliet
My eyes fluttered open, feeling him staring at me. He was sitting in a chair beside my bed.
Talk about fucking creepy.
As soon as my sleepy gaze connected with his, he ordered, “Strip,” in a rough, demanding tone.
I didn’t know what came over me; my father always said that my defiance would get the best of me one day.
Well, that day had come.
He simply stood, commanding respect and obedience. I didn’t back down, lifting my chin higher and glaring at him. In one fluid motion, he unhooked the cufflinks of his collared button-down shirt and rolled up the sleeves. Through my stupidity, I still didn’t cower. Instead, I sat up, tucking my knees under my body, and pretended like I wasn’t scared as if I was a child. Unbuckling his belt next, he graciously pulled it out of the loops from his slacks. At first, I thought he was going to push himself on me. I could have been ready for that. Not once did I think he was going to do what he was about to.
With a snap of his belt in the air like a whip, I jumped. Instantly, I opened my mouth to tell him I would do what he ordered, but I was too late. He had other plans, and I only had myself to blame.
“You can’t say I didn�
�t warn you.”
“What are you—”
He raised his hand and swung the belt down, right by my leg. I loudly gasped as it hissed through the air and then slapped against the mattress. My eyes widened with fear, immediately cowering away from him. Gripping the belt tighter, he whipped it again, by my ass this time. The sound echoed off the walls, and I shuddered, panting profusely.
“I’m sorry!” I shouted, hoping my apology would be enough to suffice him.
I was wrong; if anything…
It only provoked him.
His grasp white-knuckled the belt the whole time, not letting up on his assault. “Now, let’s try this again. I. Said. Strip.”
“Or you’ll hit me?”
“Or you’ll like it.”
Just to prove that he would, he struck the belt to my ass, and it bit my skin. It didn’t break my flesh, but I could feel my skin swelling. It was enough for me not to have to be told again, basically throwing off the clothes I was taken in. My naked body shook while my knees buckled, and my chest was rising and falling with each second that passed between us.
He didn’t just look at me—he stared through me, seeing every last inch of me.
I swallowed the shame I felt, yet again, at my body’s response to him. It wasn’t the violence that got me; it was the look in his eyes that reminded me of all the men my father was always around.
Soulless.
“Happy now?!”
He moved so fast I barely had time to register that I was stumbling backward until his hand was on my neck, shoving me against the wall behind me. My mind pleaded with me to search for something sharp to stab him with, while my horror held me captive with his tight hold over my windpipe. This was when I noticed how tall he was; he towered over my small frame.
“I’d be happier if you obeyed my orders. That was me being kind to you, Juliet. Disobey me again and watch how fast you’ll live to regret it.”
With that, he cruely let me go and nodded toward the bathroom. Once we were both standing in there, he turned on the shower, and I didn’t have to be told this time. I stepped inside, only to be met with freezing cold water.
I shrieked and jolted back. “It’s cold!”
“Of course it is.” He leaned against the door, folding his arms over his solid chest. Relaxed as ever. “You get hot water when you deserve it.”
I was naive to think he wouldn’t punish me. “What happened to you?”
He stood, belt in hand, and the sound of it twisting between his fingers would be forever burned in my mind. “Did I say you could ask me questions, Juliet? Did I say you could even look at me?”
I clenched my jaw, shaking my head.
“Get your ass in the shower before I change my mind and teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget.”
I hesitantly stepped inside, shivering under the cold water, trying to ignore his words as I washed the horror from my body. I dug my soapy fingers into my skin and ignored the terror I felt building up in my soul. Squeezing my eyes shut, I prayed I could do this.
Live through this.
I started to think about my family. My life. The future I still desperately wanted to have that didn’t include this sociopath. Until a scream erupted from my lips after his first lash, and then second, third, and fourth. He whipped my ass, the back of my thighs, my stomach, and my breasts.
“Please!” I dropped to my knees and begged.
Crying.
Frozen.
Fucking dying.
And then he was behind me, leaning forward, massaging the tender skin with his fingertips.
I hissed in pain. In agony. Trying so hard to not feel broken.
“You said you weren’t going to hurt me unless I didn’t listen to you. I listened! I was in the shower, wasn’t I?” I’d never forget what he spewed next. It was now a part of me, embedded deep into my bleeding skin and becoming one with him.
Kissing my cheek, he confessed, “I couldn’t resist watching you hurt for me.”
CHAPTER THREE
Romeo
“Say it again. Slower this time.”
I circled the beaten bodyguard and tried to keep myself from ripping his head from his shoulders with a fucking smile on my face.
Alessandro lowered his head with a wince. “It was fast, Romeo. Two men in all black, they looked like ours. It’s all I saw.”
I couldn’t speak.
I simply reacted.
Throwing the first chair my hands could find against the wall, followed by another, and when everything was in chaos, my eyes fell to Alessandro, wondering if his head would split in two against the soundproof concrete room? Only one way to find out.
I charged toward him. He was the one who was supposed to be watching her, and they could have taken my son Naz too. They could have taken my wife, and my whole world would be in shambles.
Instead, they kidnapped my sister. Which was just as bad. He shouldn’t be living; hell, he shouldn’t even be fucking breathing.
“What do you think your punishment should be? For allowing Juliet Sinacore to slip from your grip and into someone’s grasp? Huh? How should I fucking kill you?”
The only sounds that could be heard were his bones crunching, and his screaming filled my ears like a calming symphony. Only reminding me of my baby sister playing the piano for me.
His death wouldn’t bring her back, but I didn’t care. Does that make me any different than the men who took Juliet?
Blood splattered.
His last breath.
My eyes locked with his, so he would only see me in death.
In Hell.
Because let’s fucking face it, that was where we were both going in the end.
Donovan
I trailed my fingers across the angry red skin of her flesh, gripping onto the belt in my left hand. I watched the way the water streamed down the blood on her skin and toward the drain making it disappear from her body. Whatever remaining human part of me that still existed was screaming in outrage, even though I was smiling.
I wanted her to fight me so bad it burned and ached inside of me.
“Do it, Juliet. I fucking dare you.”
I could see it in her eyes—she wanted to try me. Her gaze shifted toward the belt in my hands before she stepped out of the shower, and I snapped the belt to her ankle. Not enough to draw blood, but to get my point across.
“You don’t move unless I tell you to. Understood?”
Even her wet hair was tempting me as it draped down her breasts.
Jesus, she was breathtaking.
She nodded with tears still cascading down her flushed face, and I resisted the urge to fix the wounds I’d just inflicted. I would, but not now. The moment had come for me to start the process of truly making her mine in every sense of the word.
“Turn around.”
Her vulnerability was almost too much for me to bear as she spun, following my orders. I stepped behind her while she faced the mirror. Grabbing the scissors from the pocket of my slacks, I skimmed the cool metal against her fair skin.
Her breathing caught, and with wide eyes, she watched in horror through the mirror as I ran the steel down her arm.
Across her chest.
Over her heart and then back up to her neck.
One of the first steps necessary in breaking her was getting rid of her old life and having her fit mine. In the way I saw her, wanted her, she belonged to me now, and I wouldn’t stop until she fit my fantasy perfectly. I glided my fingers through her wet, heavy hair and then jerked it with my fist.
“Every woman wants to be you. Every man wants to fuck you.”
Tears pooled in her eyes, and I forced her to look up at me. I cut the final thread in her mentally, emotionally, physically… With one snip, and then another, and another, a waterfall of tears poured down her cheeks while I battled the desire to lick them off her face with my tongue against her soft white skin.
Her hair fell from my fingers onto the ground, surroundi
ng her in a broken halo. I hacked her dark hair until it was to her shoulders, holding up the last piece in front of her eyes so she could see how serious I was in who she belonged to.
“You hid from the world through your long, thick black hair, and I won’t allow you to hide from me. Nothing between us, not even your luscious hair.”
Her lips trembled, seeing herself in the mirror. The bruise on her temple, the lashes on her chest and stomach, along with her new haircut.
“Where’s my tough girl, Juliet? Where did you she go?”
She didn’t reply, and I could see she was going into shock.
“If you pass out, I’ll only revive you and finish what I started. There’s no escaping me, and the faster you realize that the easier this will be for you. Now, what do you say?”
Her mouth opened, and a strangled noise followed as she whispered, “Thank you.”
“Now, say it like you mean it.”
Fire flashed behind those tears. “Thank you,” she firmly stated.
I leaned down and tenderly kissed her forehead. Then uttered, “You’re welcome.”
Juliet
I choked on my tears of betrayal, bitterness building inside my soul until my heart felt like it was going to drown with it. I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me.
She was a stranger.
An imposter.
Lost.
My eyes shifted to his handsome, deceiving face through the mirror in front of us. I knew there was no place to run for cover.
Protection.
All I had was him.
The fucking villain.
And how pathetic was I that even through my tears of hopelessness, I still tried to turn to him for comfort—for sympathy, for anything really that would trick me into thinking this was a fairy tale when it was anything but that.
I was in his hell.
He wrapped his arms around my naked body, without morals, without rules, without a heart; he held me against his sturdy chest and allowed me to bawl my eyes out.
I was falling to the ground.
Fallen.
Gone.
And still—to my villain, I clung.
CHAPTER FOUR
Donovan