by Tess Summers
His cock had been leaking ever since he’d caught sight of her on the new cameras he had installed—separate from the existing system, which she’d hacked. She was as beautiful as ever, and he’d been aching all day to touch her. Nighttime, which was when he assumed she’d make her move, couldn’t come fast enough. When he saw her on his monitor, maneuvering easily onto the balcony of Cassandra and Lucas’ room, he knew his assumption had been correct, and he was immediately hard again. He was out of his office chair and up the stairs to Cassandra’s room in an instant.
Now, Keni’s petite body was slumped against him, the shot he’d just given her having rendered her unconscious. He scooped her up, breathing in the familiar scent of her floral shampoo, and carried her through his bedroom and into the walk-in closet that led to the secret room on the other side of his dressing area.
The room’s original purpose had been one of two panic rooms in the house, but when he discovered he might get Kennedy back, he had decided to turn it into a playroom, away from everything and everyone. No one would know she was even there until he decided she could be trusted, and he could keep her safe. In the meantime, Little Miss Kennedy Jones was going to serve her penance— locked away from the world, on her knees worshipping his cock.
****
Kennedy
The room slowly came into focus as she opened her eyes. Where was she?
The events of Cassie and Lucas’ rescue came back to her, but as she looked around the little space, she was still confused. She deduced it was daytime by the brightness of the room, but how long had she been unconscious? Was she still on Dante’s estate? She’d never seen this room before. It was small but comfortably furnished in his elegant style, with neutral colors and plush carpeting that still smelled new. The cameras throughout the room were nestled in the high ceiling close to the small windows—both out of reach, the stucco walls rounded… Bingo! She knew where she was. She’d asked Dante a few times about that part of the house when they’d walked his estate and neared the curved walls, which always reminded her of turrets on a Spanish castle. He’d laughed and told her it was just part of the exterior architecture, then assured her the interior had been framed and stuccoed to hide the round walls. She’d known he was lying but hadn’t figured out how to access the rooms. She’d been able to deduce that Dante’s master suite abutted it upstairs, as did his office on the first floor, but had been unable to locate its entry point.
Keni sat up in the comfy bed, noting the high-thread-count sheets and fluffy white down comforter. Her hands glided over the luxurious peach silk and ivory lace of the gown she was now wearing. At least she was going to be a prisoner in comfort, she mused. Then she noticed the tray with juice and pastries on a small round table for two in the corner.
“Bella, you’re awake.” Dante, dressed in a navy suit and open-collared white dress shirt, seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. At his arrival, she realized the only door in the room was the one to the bathroom. Where the fuck did he come from?
She stood, her bare feet sinking into the expensive carpeting, but made no attempt to cross the room, even when he held out a chair at the small table and gestured for her to come sit. “You need to eat and hydrate to get the drugs completely out of your system.”
Kennedy narrowed her eyes at him as she strutted toward the bathroom. “I’m not even going to waste my time pointing out how hypocritical that statement is,” she said, and slid the pocket door shut with an aggressive, satisfying thud.
Through the door, she could hear him chuckling. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
Home.
It was funny—and probably a touch on the Stockholm syndrome side—but that’s exactly what she had whispered in her head yesterday as she and Luke slipped into the trees outside the estate’s walls, and she surveyed the grounds. She’d thought about all the nights she and Dante had strolled the property arm in arm, laughing and talking. How she’d lean her head against his shoulder, and he’d tug her off the lighted path, pin her to a tree, and kiss her senseless, which often led to a clandestine tryst under the night sky. She’d gone inside more than once with grass stains on her knees and elbows. When she’d agreed to help retrieve Cassie and Lucas, part of her had been worried this was a suicide mission, but part of her wanted—needed—to know what Dante would do if he caught her.
She finished brushing her teeth, splashed water on her face, and took a deep breath. She guessed she was about to find out.
Rolling the door open, she saw him seated at the table, looking as handsome as ever. It annoyed her how sexy she still found him. She shouldn’t want to straddle his lap, wrap her arms around him, and kiss his neck—he was holding her hostage, for fuck’s sake.
He stood when he caught sight of her. She could say this about him: His mama raised him to be a gentleman. A filthy-talking, money-laundering gentleman who loved to yank her hair while he shoved his cock down her throat—but manners counted for something, right? Besides, she rather liked the filthy talk and dominant sex.
But not anymore! Got it, hormones?
“Come and eat, Bella,” he said as he pulled out her chair. “You’re going to start your penance later, and you’re going to need your strength.”
She slowed her approach to the table, eyeing him suspiciously. “What do you mean, my penance?”
“My sweet Kennedy, you’re going to have to pay for your betrayal.” His words were way too pleasant for the meaning behind them. He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Just so you know, I knew about Ruby Rhodes from day one. It just took me a while to learn your true name.”
She sat down, fighting the urge to cross her arms over her chest like a petulant child.
“Then why didn’t you stop me, if you knew all about me?”
He sat down opposite her, putting a napkin in his lap. “Because your mission benefitted me. The fact that Enrique’s death was already in the works before you came into the picture may help me keep you alive once the family finds out you’re here.”
“How long before they know?”
“I’m not sure. I had to report that Cassie and Lucas escaped, so I will face my uncle’s wrath. I just don’t know if he will come here to do it, or if he will summon me to him. Hopefully I won’t have to offer you in exchange to appease him.”
“You would do that? Offer me as a trade?”
He eyed her for a moment, and poured her a glass of orange juice from a carafe before responding. “No. If all goes according to plan, I won’t be asked to.”
“And what is the plan?” She took a sip of the juice he set in front of her, but his answer made her spit it out.
“To get you pregnant with my baby. After thoroughly punishing you first, of course.”
Chapter Five
Dante
Her reaction was what he expected. Too bad; it was happening.
While he was taking off her clothes last night, wondering how the hell he was going to keep her alive, an image of her—her belly swollen, with his baby inside—popped into his head, and suddenly, the solution to this whole mess became clear.
Put his baby in her belly, marry her, and say that he’d been in on her plan to kill Enrique the whole time. Letting Cassandra and Lucas go was simply collateral damage to make things look good for her handlers.
Now he just had to convince her to buy into his plan and not bolt the moment the opportunity arose. Because if she did, she was a dead woman walking. Ramon would find her—eventually—and have her killed. The only way to keep her safe was to make her a Guzman and a mother to little Guzmans. His father would be thrilled, and he had even more influence on Ramon than Dante did.
“Why would you want to get me pregnant? You know I wouldn’t keep it if you did.”
“Over my dead body,” he stated matter-of-factly.
She defiantly stared him down with a raised eyebrow, and he sighed. “Oh, Bella. For as smart as you are, there’s so much you still have to learn. But make no mistake, little one, you ar
e going to get pregnant, and you are going to keep it. I don’t care if I have to keep you locked in this room until you’ve given birth, it’s happening.”
“No, it’s not,” she hissed. “I’m not having sex with you.”
That caused him to chuckle. “Sweetheart, I’m not asking your permission. I’ll tie you to the bed to take you and breed you. I’m actually looking forward to that.”
He could tell by the way her pupils dilated, the thought turned her on. Still, she feigned offense. “You wouldn’t dare.”
With one eyebrow raised and a cocky grin, he countered, “Kennedy Jones, you should know better. Not only do I dare, I’ll succeed. You’re having my baby, Bella. The sooner you accept that, the easier your penance will go.”
He hoped she’d need at least a little persuasion. The thought of breaking her, making her submit to his will, made his cock move.
Judging by the scowl on her face, he needn’t worry.
****
Kennedy
Was he fucking insane?
She wasn’t having his baby. She had her career and her future to think about—a child was not in the plan anytime soon, if ever. And definitely not the child of a Mexican mafioso. Forget career-ending, that would be life-ending if the CIA discovered it.
But Dante was making it sound like anything else would leave the Guzmans wanting her dead, and she believed him. She knew the cartel was ruthless when crossed. She’d seen the aftermath of lesser offenses. The thought made her shudder.
So which was it going to be? Death by her agency or death by the cartel?
Still, there had to be another way. She was going to have to escape and disappear again. But the idea filled her with mixed emotions.
Oh, for fuck’s sake, Kennedy, the sex wasn’t that good.
Liar.
She also knew it was a lot more than just sex with this man. She was in love with him. Goddammit. She was a federal agent, sworn to uphold the law; he was a fucking criminal. It could never work, not in a million years.
Right?
“You need to drink a lot of water today, little one. And you need to eat. You’ve got to be starving.”
Now that he mentioned it, she was hungry. Looking over the pastry selection, she realized he’d only included her favorites. She plucked a cherry turnover from the tray and put it on her plate while he filled her glass with ice water, then made his own selection.
“I’m sorry I can’t offer you a hot breakfast,” he said as he cut his cinnamon roll with a fork and knife. “Rosa isn’t coming in until later to prepare lunch and dinner.”
“You could let me make it,” she said with a smirk before taking a bite, forgoing utensils.
“Soon, Bella. Soon.”
“Or you could make it.”
The mere idea seemed to surprise him. Sometimes she forgot that he’d always lived a life of privilege, surrounded by people to wait on him and clean up after him.
“I will definitely try tomorrow,” he replied with a chuckle. He seemed to view making breakfast as a challenge.
He poured himself a cup of coffee, and she handed him the sugar bowl without a second thought, knowing he took two spoonfuls. The air of domesticity between them was so fucked up, considering the circumstances. They actually began a conversation about US politics, something they used to do regularly at the table when she was playing the role of Ruby Rhodes. She no longer had to lie about who she was or what she believed—not that she had ever truly hidden her beliefs from him.
He wiped his mouth with his napkin, then laid it on the tray and began gathering their dishes. He stood and picked up the wooden handles. “I’ll leave the water and pastries for you to snack on. Lunch will be served at twelve thirty.”
“You’re leaving? What am I supposed to do all morning?”
“There’s magazines, books, paper, crayons—sorry, I don’t trust you enough yet to provide you with pencils or pens—and television with limited channels. Unfortunately the satellite feed is hard to get in this part of the house.”
“You mean in the dungeon.”
His smile was sinister. “The dungeon part comes later, sweet Kennedy.”
He stood in front of the bookcase, and it silently opened. How the fuck did he do that?
“Don’t get any ideas,” he called, not even looking behind him. He didn’t have to, to know what she was thinking. “Or I will have to tie you up when I leave, and neither of us wants that.”
The door closed quickly and quietly. No wonder she hadn’t heard him come in earlier. It was an engineering marvel—and contrary to his instructions, she was totally going to investigate it.
Chapter Six
Dante
As he’d known she would, Kennedy was pressing, feeling, and patting the wall where the door came down. The key was facial recognition—his—on the camera aimed at the door, or his fingerprint on a hidden reader. There was another secret entrance with a staircase leading to the panic room off his office, which had an escape tunnel that came out in the garage.
He was a high-ranking member of one of the most notorious and profitable drug cartels in the world; his precautions were not because of the illusions of a paranoid man. He’d never had to use the panic room or escape tunnel for the reason they were originally built—knock on wood. But fuck was he looking forward to using the upstairs room for its new purpose—Kennedy Jones’ punishment.
He’d placed yoga pants, t-shirts, and sweatshirts in her chest of drawers, along with lingerie of various colors and fabrics in the very top drawer. No bras or panties though. He loved seeing her braless, and no panties meant easier access.
Since he was keeping her hidden, he was going to have to bring his meals in to share with her. He didn’t mind; he found her company stimulating, and they’d always had spirited conversations, bordering on debates, at the table.
If he had more time, he’d stay away from her, even make her eat her meals alone until she was begging for his companionship. Unfortunately, time was a luxury he did not have. Her penance was going to begin this afternoon.
After they’d finished lunch, he stared at her for a long time. Ruby would have coyly tucked her hair behind her ear and whispered, “What?” as she shyly looked away.
Not Keni. She met his stare, crossing her arms under her braless tits to push them up so he had no choice but to notice her stiff nipples under the fabric. So that’s how she’s going to play it. He liked it.
He reached over and lightly traced the outline of her nipple over her top. She didn’t flinch.
“I want you wearing something from the top drawer when I return later. You can choose what you’d like to wear, but I don’t want you in anything but that. Do you understand?”
She didn’t say anything, just stared at him defiantly, so he tugged hard on her nipple when he reiterated, “Do. You. Understand?” and twisted as he waited for her answer.
She smacked at his hand. “Ouch! Fuck! Yes, I understand.”
He stood and paused before picking up the tray. “I’ll be back at four forty-five. Be on your knees on the bed, with your hands on your thighs, head bowed, and your pussy splayed. I want to see the pink middle first thing when I walk through that door.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, her tone dripping sarcasm. He knew in that instant she wasn’t going to follow any of his instructions, and he was going to make her pay for it.
“Four forty-five, little one,” he warned and left the room, saying nothing else. His cock was already hard.
****
Kennedy
Unfortunately for Dante, the drawers in her dresser were interchangeable, so she switched the top drawer, housing the neatly folded lingerie, with the one containing yoga pants and t-shirts. That’s what she’d be wearing when he arrived later today, and she’d still be technically following his rules. Well, except the part about waiting on her knees with her pussy on display when he arrived.
She knew she was playing with fire, but she just couldn’t help hers
elf.
Which, if she stopped to analyze it, was really dumb. It wasn’t like she didn’t love being submissive to him. On the contrary, she had relished every moment of being taken and owned by him. But the dynamic between them was different now, and frankly, she felt like being a brat. He wanted her submission? He was going to have to earn it. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.
Or, as it turned out, for her.
She was curled up in a chair, twisting a strand of hair around her finger and reading a sexy book by Robyn Carr when he made his appearance at four forty-five on the dot, according to the decorative clock high on the wall. If Robyn’s words hadn’t already put her in the mood, the sight of him would have. Fuck, he was gorgeous. His tailor-made suit fit his athletic body perfectly, his perfect face always had just the right amount of five o’clock shadow to scream sexy, and those beautiful chocolate-brown eyes seemed to see into her soul.
He started unfastening his belt buckle as he stalked her way, the scowl on his face not making him any less handsome. But she hadn’t bargained on the belt. Shit.
He withdrew the leather strap from his belt loops in one long pull and folded it in half, tapping the loop end against the palm of his opposite hand as he came to stand in front of her chair.
She swallowed hard before looking up into his eyes. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Not the belt, Dante, please.”
He encircled her neck with it and tugged on the end like a leash. The book in her lap fell to the floor as she scurried to her feet to get upright and avoid being choked.
“I warned you, Bella,” he snarled in her ear. Then he hauled her toward the bed and sat down on the edge, toeing his shoes and socks off.
“Strip.”
How the hell she was supposed to do that with the belt around her neck, she had no idea; if she were in a less vulnerable position, she’d have asked snarkily. But, since she was trying to avoid having a leather strap against her ass, she decided to do what she was told and began to tug on her yoga pants.