by W Winters
The thought makes my gaze drop to the fire behind her and it only returns to her when she adds, “But I don’t know why you’re lying to me.”
“Because you don’t need to know,” I tell her simply and at first her lips part, ready to tell me off, but then she questions herself.
“You’re biting your tongue so hard that I imagine you can taste blood,” I point out and try to force a smirk to my lips.
“I’ve asked you two questions and you haven’t answered either truthfully,” she tells me and then glances at the fire behind her. “What’s the point?” she asks no one in particular with a faint whisper.
“Maybe you’re asking the wrong questions,” I offer her although my entire body is alive with fire. Yesterday was hard on her and she performed exactly as I wanted, but her defiance today is uncontained, and I have no idea how to handle her. Not when she needs me to give her comfort. I wish I’d had her when I was in this same position years ago.
Even knowing that I’ve had enough of her insolence.
Those hazel eyes pierce through me at that moment, as if she heard my thoughts. The turmoil inside me twists into a knot until she asks the one question that solidifies my decision to leave her on her own for a few hours, so she can feel the need for me once again.
“Are you still going to let him kill my father?” she asks me. Her voice is steady, with maybe even a hint of provocation there.
Let him.
Let Romano.
She doesn’t know that if I could do it myself, I would. If I could be the man to pull the trigger, I’d do it without a second thought.
The silence is only broken by the burning wood, now cracking and hissing. As our conversation continued, the sun has set and with the dimming light from the windows, shadows play along Aria’s small form.
“I have to go out tonight.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” she’s quick to reply, not taking her gaze from me.
“The game is over.” My voice hardens, the anger pushing through.
She is mine. She will obey. Or I will risk everything to reign over her. There is no question in my mind what will happen if she doesn’t take her place beside me.
“How convenient,” she responds and that’s when I meet my limit. There’s only so much she can push.
It only takes three large steps until I’m towering over her. One swift motion and my hand is around her throat. My fingers press against the pulse in her veins as her fingers wrap around my hand. Her eyes widen but not with fear, not even with shock. They widen with hate, with anger… They widen with a spark of fight that rivals the roaring fire behind her.
She’s never looked more beautiful to me than she does now.
Her nails dig into my skin, but she doesn’t pry them away. She just wants to hurt me. She wants to show me what she’s capable of.
Oh, songbird, I already know. She’s the one who’s only just now realizing what she’s capable of.
I lower my lips to hers, deliberately placing a knee between her thighs. Invading every inch of space that separates us.
With the heat of the fire igniting the tension, I whisper against her cheek, “You’ve forgotten your manners, Aria.”
“Manners,” she bites out as if the word disgusts her and with the small bit of movement, I squeeze a little tighter. She can breathe, she can speak, but my grip on her is unyielding.
My other hand roams her body, drifting down her waist as I nip along her shoulder and then the fleshy bit of her earlobe. My fingers trace down her thigh and then back up, pulling up her skirt as I move back toward her waist until I let my fingers slide to her inner thigh.
And she moans.
She fucking moans, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back slightly. Even with the fight in her, she craves pleasure more than anything.
“What should your punishment be, songbird?” I whisper against the shell of her ear. The shiver that it ignites in her makes my dick harden to the point that it’s painful not to thrust inside of her.
Her answer is a muted moan followed by an attempt to swallow. I don’t loosen my grip to aid her; instead, I force her to look at me, to open her eyes and answer me.
“How should I punish this mouth of yours?” I ask her in a low and deep voice, not bothering to contain my desire for her.
“Fuck you,” she barely pushes out and then licks her lower lip. Ever the defiant one.
“You would love that, wouldn’t you?” I whisper against her lips, letting the words mingle with the heat from the fire and the lust between us.
Her hazel-green eyes swirl with a concoction of everything I know she’s feeling. The anger and fear, but more than anything, the longing to be pleasured and cared for.
“Get on your back so I can play with your cunt,” I command her the moment my fingers loosen on her throat, nearly making her fall backward. But she catches herself, then lies down as I told her to, one elbow at a time, her eyes never leaving mine.
“You obey so easily when you know you’re going to get off, don’t you?” I toy with her and the hint of a smirk pulls at the corner of her lips. Her intuition will be our downfall. She thinks she knows who she’s playing with. But she doesn’t realize what’s at stake.
A gentle push on the inside of her thighs has her pulling them apart for me. My pointer trails up the thin black lace of her panties, dampened at her core with her arousal, and then to her swollen clit. Her head falls back, and her nails dig into the threads of the rug as she attempts to hold back the moan that threatens to spill from her lips. I can already hear it though. She’s so fucking close. So in need.
“You need to get off. I should have done it last night.”
The lace tears easily as I hook my thumb through it, ripping it from her sweet cunt to give me full access to her. With a quick intake of air, she lifts her head to watch me.
All that anger means nothing when I can give her this.
I shove two fingers inside her ruthlessly. Her hips buck and her lower back comes off the floor with the sensation it elicits.
I splay my other hand across her belly and push her back down, not stopping the brutal strokes against the ridges of her front wall.
Her head thrashes and she bites her lip. “Fuck,” she says but her plea is only a whimper. Her fingers move to my hand on her belly and then up my forearm. Never stopping, pulling, and searching for something to hold on to.
“Let go,” I tell her and for a moment she lets go of my arm, but that’s not what I meant. “Give me your pleasure. Let go of everything holding you back from falling,” I whisper in the air above her as I watch the light dance across her face. Her lips are parted and make a perfect O although her forehead is scrunched with the strain of holding back her strangled cries of pleasure.
The scent of her arousal permeates the air and precum leaks from my dick, begging me to slam inside of her.
With my cock pressed against my zipper, I finger fuck her furiously, pushing a third finger inside of her and my thumb against her clit. “I’m not going to stop until you cum on my hand, Aria. I’ll fuck you like this until you can’t think straight if you don’t give me what I want.”
Her head thrashes from side to side and then her back bows. I have to push harder with my hand on her hip to keep her down and strum her faster.
“You want another finger?” I ask her and then kiss the inside of her knee. She’s so fucking tight I don’t think I could though. It’s an idle threat, but the idea of stretching her to the point where I could fist her cunt and give her undeniable pleasures she’s never felt, has my hand moving harder and faster in unrelenting strokes and I don’t stop.
Even as she cries out my name.
Even as her pussy spasms.
Her body rocks with the force of her orgasm and I don’t stop, drawing it out and taking every bit of pleasure from her that I can.
It’s not until her breath comes back to her and her eyes find mine that I pull away, sucking each of my fingers while she watche
s.
“Your cunt is so fucking sweet,” I tell her and watch her reddened cheeks blush even more violently.
“I’m growing to love your punishments,” she says breathily with her eyes closed and the power I feel vanishes. My dick, still pulsing with need, begs me to push her onto her stomach and rut between her legs. She’d cum again. And again.
The worst thing a man of power can do is to issue a false threat. Yet, I’ve done it with Aria. More than once.
My goal isn’t to punish her though; I only want her to obey.
Just as I begin to unbutton my pants, my phone vibrates in my pocket, the timer going off.
Time is up.
With her eyes closed and an angelic look of content on her face, I question leaving her, but I have to.
“Clean up and make yourself dinner.” I stifle a groan as I stand, hating that I won’t be able to get lost in her touch for hours.
“I’ll be back later.” I give her the parting words and start to leave. Each movement makes my hard cock ache even worse, but I’ll have her tonight.
“Carter?” Aria’s soft voice cuts through the air and stops me just as I’ve started to leave.
“How long will you be gone?” Traces of fear and loneliness linger on her question. This is the new side of her I’m not used to.
The side I’ve only seen since last night. Back to being the girl behind the broken wall instead of the woman who’s angry at being left alone for so long.
“A few hours, maybe.”
Her expression falls as she slowly picks herself back up. She only nods in understanding as she covers herself again.
“Do you want anything while I’m out?” I ask her out of instinct, wanting to see her eyes on me again. Wanting her to show me more of this vulnerability. I can offer her so much more than she ever dreamed.
The very thought spikes awareness through me.
She’s the one with control. Topping from the bottom. Sly girl. I need to take it back, for her own good. She needs me to have control, even if she doesn’t want to give it to me. Even if she has no idea how much she needs to give it to me.
“No,” she answers me with a small shake of the head. “Thank you, though.”
“Manners and all,” I say to play with her as I leave the room.
Her sweetness numbs the thoughts of demanding more from her, but only so much.
Chapter 36
Aria
Hours have passed since Carter left. The smell of garlic is still fresh on my fingers as I head into the dimly lit wine cellar. With a flick and a click, the cellar lights up and a beautiful array of wine bottles shines in the light.
An easy breath leaves me at the thought of getting lost at the bottom of a bottle. One glass or two, and I’ll still have my wits with me.
But the wits can go fuck themselves tonight. I don’t know what to think or feel. I don’t know anything anymore. The memories of what once was and what I am today are playing tricks on my sanity.
I’m acutely aware of it but helpless to do anything about it. That’s the worst part.
That, and how I feel about Carter.
It’s an ever-changing relationship, but I’m fully aware of the cracked wall between us. He’s pretending it’s not there, and maybe I’m a fool to think something has changed, but I see the pain and sadness behind his eyes. He can’t hide it any longer.
He’s broken. It takes a broken soul to know one.
Even what I’ve been through in only the last twenty-four hours, pales in comparison to how broken and shattered Carter’s been for years. And I desperately want to heal him. I want to take his pain away more than I’ve ever wanted to heal myself.
Deep inside, there’s the inkling of some other part of him. If only I could show him.
The pain that claws at my heart only grows at the thought, but with a deep breath I let it all go. I don’t know what I am to him anymore. But I care for him regardless, especially after last night.
And until I know what haunts him for sure, there’s not a damn thing I can do to change anything. And so, wine it is.
I crouch down at the first row, gripping onto the steel bar of the rack and glancing at each of the labels. Pinot noir. Burgundy. Each of them. I love a good glass of red with spaghetti and Bolognese, and right now, I prefer Cabernet. The next row makes my lips curl up, for the first time in God knows how long.
I can pretend that there’s nothing wrong. I can pretend for a short moment. I’m good at doing that. At continuing to go through the motions even though deep inside, I know nothing is okay and there’s no way to right the wrongs.
The heavy bottle of dark red wine means I can have a moment. A small, seemingly insignificant moment, to simply breathe.
Well, only while I stay in the kitchen. The thought steals the happiness from my lips and as I stand, I feel my muscles tense once again. At least, until Carter comes back.
When Carter leaves, I’m scared to go anywhere other than the four rooms I’m familiar with. The den, his office, the kitchen, or his bedroom. This place is huge and I’m curious to see more of it. But his brothers are here. Somewhere. And they’re the enemy.
It’s easy to forget when I’m with Carter. He has a compelling power over me. Just being in his presence sets my body on fire and I move with him. Every step, every breath.
But the moment he’s gone, I’m so very aware of everything.
“I just need to eat, to drink…” I whisper as I flick off the light and head back with the bottle in my hand to retrieve my dinner from the kitchen island, the aroma wafting to greet me as I shut the door.
But the second I hear the door close, my heart drops at the sound of another person in the kitchen.
“Damn, this smells good,” Jase says as he walks closer to the large pot sitting next to the stove. I’ve already mixed the pasta and meat sauce. He towers over it, picking up the serving spoon and smiling down at my dinner.
My grip nearly slips on the bottle; my palms are so sweaty.
“You make enough for all of us?” he asks me with a charismatic smile.
A truly charming expression graces his face. With his stubble growing out longer than I’ve seen before, he looks different, but the similarities between him and Carter are still striking.
I can feel myself swallow before I attempt to answer him, but just the sight of him reminds me of last night. I can see him sitting in the chair to my left, smiling while my gaze drifts back to Stephan.
My heart pounds in my chest like it did last night in the shower. I can feel the anxiety and adrenaline mix and it takes everything in me to stand up straight.
“Whoa,” Jase says as the spoon hits the steel pot and he practically jogs around the island to come closer to me. As soon as I register that’s what he’s doing, I instinctively take a step back, my shoulder hitting the closed cellar door. Every time I blink, I see Stephan. Sitting at the table, glancing between Carter and me. Waiting for me to kill. Waiting for me to become a murderer.
He knew. They all knew. And they let Romano walk away.
With both hands raised, Jase widens his eyes and slows his steps, even dropping his stance a few inches and crouching down. “You look a little dizzy,” he says softly. “You already have a bottle?” he asks me and to my disbelief, a short huff of a genuine laugh leaves me.
Of course, he would think that I’m drunk and that’s why seeing him would cause me to react with significant panic.
It’s not that I saw him only last night, a few rooms away as I murdered a man who’d haunted me for years and continues to do so. It’s not that I’m still forced to stay here even though I so badly wish I could run home and hide in my room from all the terrors that plague me. My body heats with anxiety, but the knowledge that I have a grasp on the present gives me much needed strength.
He takes another step closer and I shake my head, pushing off of the door and going around Jase. One of my hands grips the neck of the bottle, the other runs through my hair. “I’m
just having a moment,” I finally answer him weakly although my back is to him as I walk back to the counter where my wine glass is.
My heart races again. It won’t fucking stop. Off and on all day, it’s been like this. I need Carter. The bottle hits the counter hard and it’s only then that I risk a look over my shoulder at Jase.
Jase’s eyes are narrowed and he’s still standing where I left him. I can’t take my eyes away from his as he pins me in place with his gaze. Much like Carter does, but Jase is assessing me.
I have to give him something, but all I can think of is to answer his earlier question. Whether or not I made enough food for everyone else.
“I made the entire package, so there’s definitely enough.” With the answer coming out easily, I turn back to the wine and opener. Easily uncorking it as I talk to him although I can feel my hands start to tremble again, and my heart threatens to trot out of my chest.
“I wasn’t sure if anyone would want a plate, but I was going to save it for leftovers if not.” I can hear Jase walk back toward the pot slowly, even though he’s still assessing me. The second the wine glass is full, I lift it to my lips.
“So, wine is your therapy?” Jase asks as he stalks over to stand only a few feet from me but leans his lower back against the counter.
“We all have our vices,” I offer him and lick my lips. The sweet taste offers little aid to the chaos coursing through my blood. But his soft expression does something to me. It loosens something hard and sharp that was lodged deep inside of my chest, suffocating me.
“I get it,” he tells me, his forehead smoothing as he turns and reaches for another glass in the cabinet. “Mind if I have one?”
The shake of my head is weak, but not because I don’t want to share. I don’t mind at all, especially, if it will give me a chance to win over Jase. I remember a thought I had that feels like forever ago, a thought about using Jase to gain my freedom. Or maybe to ask for mercy for my family.
No, the shake of my head is weak because Declan joins us, striding in as if I called a meeting.
Jase stands beside me, glass in hand as Declan takes Jase’s former spot, repeating the motion Jase did when he first walked into the kitchen. “Oh, damn,” he says over the pot with a reverence in his voice. “You made us dinner?” Declan asks with a boyish grin.