by Eva Charles
I draw a breath, and then another, as the shame spreads like an itchy rash, inflaming every cell of my body. This is about the people you love. This is your life. Fight for it. Take control, or cry in the corner, like a sheltered princesa, because life’s become too hard. Too degrading.
“I have a deal for you,” I blurt ungraciously.
He raises his brow but doesn’t give anything away. “A deal?”
I nod. Feeling braver and more confident than my half-baked scheme should allow.
“I’m listening.”
23
Daniela
All of a sudden, money for Isabel and Valentina isn’t enough. I want my freedom. But there’s little to no chance he’ll let me go back to the US. If I take the risk, I might end up with nothing.
“You can do whatever you’d like to me”—I swallow the bitter pill—“sexually. Before the wedding. I won’t complain. In exchange for my—my cooperation, you’ll deposit the money that you planned on letting me spend into my bank account in the US for Isabel. I’m the sole breadwinner. Without me there, they have no source of income.”
“And what will you do, walk around bare-assed?”
I can’t tell if he’s game, or if he’s angry, or indifferent. His expression gives nothing away.
This is humiliating—carved so deep, I’ll never get the stench off.
“There’s enough clothing in the guestroom closet to last me a lifetime. I don’t need material goods. I need the peace of mind knowing that they have food and a place to live.”
He stands, dumping me off his lap. I lunge for the edge of the table so I don’t fall on my face.
“You’re willing to let me fuck you before the wedding?” he asks, his voice tight. “How generous.” The words whorl with biting sarcasm. “You think I’m going to wait to have you until some arbitrary date? Why would you think that? You’ve already spread your legs for a man you weren’t married to.”
Bastard. Like he hasn’t fucked anything and everything within a hundred-mile radius.
“What makes you think I’m going to wait for my turn?” he asks, stepping closer.
I don’t respond. It doesn’t require a response, nor does it deserve one.
He studies me while the gooseflesh rises on my arms. “Whatever I like, huh? Oh, Princesa, you’ll rue this day.”
My knees wobble, and I clutch the back of the chair to steady myself.
“My own personal fuck toy, and it’s not even my birthday or Christmas.”
It sounds so crass from his mouth, I feel like I’m going to vomit.
I can’t do it. There’s got to be another way. Think, Daniela. Think.
“You might not like the cards fate has dealt us,” he says with a bitterness that makes my stomach coil. “I don’t like them either.” He looks at me pointedly. “I’m not a good man. I’ve been up-front about it. But I came here this evening with good intentions. You came to play me. Remember that while I give you everything you asked for—and more.”
What have I done? “Please. Be reasonable.”
“It’s too early to beg, Princesa,” he sneers. “And don’t waste your breath. Begging won’t get you anywhere with me tonight.” He takes a lock of my hair, rubbing the strands between his fingers.
“I made a mistake. I need more time.”
He lets go of my hair, like it’s coated in poison, and slams his fist on the mantel.
“Do you think I care whether you need more time? I own you like I own your family’s vineyards. You’ll spread your legs and twine them around my waist anytime I ask. How many men have fucked your tight little pussy?”
I won’t be part of this filthy game.
“How many men have been inside that cunt? Answer me.”
“Why do you have to be so vulgar?”
He pauses for a heartbeat. “I’m plainspoken, and I don’t pull any punches. A woman willing to trade sexual favors for money is in no position to call anyone vulgar.”
Asshole.
I pull my shoulders back. “I’ve given myself to one man.”
“Josh.” He spits out the name like sour milk. “The man who owns your heart. Isn’t that why you really want to go back to the US?”
“We’re not even together. I don’t know why you’d say that.”
“And yet you don’t deny it.” He grabs my wrist and pulls me to him, scaring me now.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you what you asked for.”
My insides are trembling. This was your stupid, stupid, stupid idea, Daniela.
“I told you. I changed my mind.”
“You don’t get to make an offer and then pull it back once the other party agrees. That’s not how it works. Maybe you can play games with boys like Josh, but with me, a deal’s a deal.”
I was foolish to try to play him. But this is the kind of deal I should be able to walk away from at any time.
“Why are you doing this? There are other women who would be happy to have sex with you as often as you’d like, in whatever way you’d like.”
“For all intents and purposes, you’re my fiancée. Are you suggesting I take lovers?”
No. “I don’t care. Yes. That’s what I’m suggesting.”
He grabs my chin and positions it so I can’t escape his raging eyes. “Within a month, I’ll have a beautiful young bride, and I don’t intend to satisfy myself with whores while you sit around fantasizing about a boy named Josh who you will never see again.”
He releases my chin, and I hobble back, out of his reach.
“Although, who knows? Maybe you’ll end up being the biggest whore I’ve ever fucked.”
I dig my heels into the rug so I don’t lunge at him and beat him with my fists.
“I want your pussy. Your smart mouth. Your tight little ass. And I’m going to have them.”
“No.” I shake my head. I thought I could go through with this, but he’s made it too ugly. I’m not sure I can do it—not even for Isabel and Valentina.
He pulls out his phone and places a call.
“Deposit five thousand American dollars into Daniela D’Sousa’s bank account in the US. Then text the maid, as Daniela, and tell her the money is for food and rent.” He smirks at me. It’s a gloating smirk, like he’s won everything—and he has. Or, at least, he’s minutes away from it. “Do it now.”
24
Daniela
Five thousand dollars for food and rent.
He hangs up and tosses his phone on the table, then rubs a palm over his unshaven jaw.
“You do realize I didn’t need to transfer a single penny. I could have torn off your clothes, splayed you on that table, and fucked you without fulfilling any promise. Do you think anyone would come if you screamed?”
No. I don’t think that.
“I did my part. Now it’s your turn,” he purrs, stepping toward me.
I’m shaking, inside and out. But he’s right. He did as I asked—and he was more generous than I expected. With what I already have in the bank, five thousand dollars will get them through at least a couple of months. That should give me enough time to get back to the US.
This was my idea, and I won’t risk having him take the money back.
It’s just sex, Daniela. You don’t have to give him your soul.
While I’m giving myself a pep talk, he cradles my cheek in his hand. “I’m going to punish you for trying to manipulate me,” he murmurs, inches from my head.
I shiver at the threat.
“I have a lifetime to use your body. I’m not going to fuck you tonight.”
A small whimper escapes. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice raw and hoarse. Not that I should have to thank him for respecting my boundaries, but I made a deal. And I would do it again.
“You’re maddening,” Antonio murmurs, “but exquisite.” He drags a finger around the curve of my ear to my collarbone. “Your skin is so soft.” He lowers his head and drops a kiss on my throat. “And it smells del
icious.”
I close my eyes, squeezing them tight. Not because I’m afraid, but because I’m so conflicted.
Antonio brushes a gentle hand over my hair before sweeping his arm across the table, shoving the dishes and utensils to one side. A cup teeters before toppling over the edge, spilling black coffee on the antique rug. But he doesn’t seem to notice as he lifts me onto the table and nudges my knees apart.
“I won’t fuck you tonight. You have my word,” Antonio promises, standing between my legs. “As much as I’d like to,” he mutters under his breath.
A sense of relief washes over me as my inner thighs press against the outer edges of his. I don’t know why I believe him, but I do.
He lowers his gaze, following his fingertips as they trace the bruise blooming on my arm. The mark he put there. “Does it still hurt?”
“No.”
“That will never happen again. You’re not a punching bag. I’ll never lay my hands on you unless I’m firmly in control of my emotions. You have my word on that too.”
It falls short of an apology, but I suspect it’s more than most people get from him. In a strange way, I believe this too. At least I want to believe it.
Antonio lifts my chin and sweeps his mouth over mine. “You’re mostly safe with me.”
Mostly.
His kisses move from gentle to rough and insistent, and I feel my hands clutch his shoulders, my fingers sinking into the tight muscle.
My reserve melts away, slowly at first, until the heat between us eviscerates every good instinct standing between me and ruin.
In my mind, my conscience bites. I should listen. I know that everything about this is wrong and that I shouldn’t enjoy it so much. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am a whore. But as my tongue slides against his, I don’t care.
Isabel and Valentina are taken care of, for now. Tomorrow, I’ll plan an escape.
Tonight, I’m going to forget he’s holding me captive. I’m going to forget that his family tortured my mother and slit her throat. Tonight, I’m going to focus on the boy I fell in love with before everything went to hell. I’m going to enjoy his hands and his mouth. His kisses. I’m going to enjoy all of it. God forgive me.
He draws back, dipping his finger into a glass of Port. His eyes darken as he paints my lips with the ruby wine in the same way I might apply a stain. Although his finger is thicker than mine, stronger, and he’s not careful to stay within the lines. But still, not even a swipe of Chanel gloss could make me feel this beautiful—this alluring.
When he’s done, he sucks every sweet drop from my mouth. He’s thorough and meticulous, and I’m panting softly, small gasps slipping out into the thick air.
He inches closer, reaching behind me for a bottle and refilling the glass. As he moves, my skirt hikes up, and my legs edge farther apart. When I tug at the hem, he pushes my hand away.
“This isn’t the time for modesty. Let the cool air lick your pussy. It’s overheated, isn’t it?”
I respond, not with words but with a small mewl.
“Are you wet for me?” he murmurs, dipping his finger into the Port again. “I’ll bet you are.” He traces a finger over my throat and between my breasts, his warm mouth following, lapping the luscious droplets from my flesh.
I’m hot. So hot. And my heart hammers as he sucks the liquid from my neck. Tomorrow there will be a bruise there too. But this is different, I tell myself. He’s in control now—I feel it—not only of himself, but of me too.
Desperate to soothe the throb between my legs, I tighten my thighs around his and slide a hand over his broad chest.
His heart is pounding, too, powerful and steady. Instead of backing away, instead of heeding the warning that this is quickly getting out of hand, I lift my hand to his scruffy jaw and explore the sharp contours of his face.
Antonio rests his hands on my hips, his eyes boring into mine. He doesn’t move as my fingers travel along his skin—not at first.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his raspy voice enveloped in a lustful haze.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
He takes my hand and brings it to his lips. I purr when he places a small kiss on my fingertip, and while I’m soaking in the blissful moment, he lowers his mouth and bites into the soft flesh.
“Ouch!” I cry out from the surprise, not because the sting is painful. I jerk my hand away, but he doesn’t let go—not before he brushes his lips over the bite mark.
“Some women find a little pain heightens their enjoyment. Some men too,” he says, his fingertips skating up my inner thighs, searing the sensitive skin as they go.
“Do you enjoy pain?” I ask cautiously.
His thumbs move in a steady rhythm, sweeping closer and closer to my panties, until they graze the lace-edged gusset. “With you? I could enjoy almost anything.”
His thumbs slide under the lace, and I let my eyelids flutter closed. “Look at me,” he demands softly. “Yes. I enjoy pain. Inflicting it, mostly.”
25
Daniela
My heart stops, but his fingers don’t, and I’m too aroused to press him about the kind of pain he likes to inflict.
“So wet,” he murmurs. “So tempting. So innocent. I’m going to take your sexy panties,” he whispers above my ear. “Did you wear them for me?”
I gasp as he slips the underwear down my legs, slowly, stopping only to slide off my shoes.
“Before the night’s over, I’m going to soothe that little ache between your legs. You’ll feel so much better,” he coos.
Shame washes over me. But I don’t want him to stop.
“But first.” He grazes my lips, gently, and tugs at my blouse. “Take off this pretty flowered shirt for me. Show me what’s underneath.”
Suddenly I feel shy, and I hesitate. Antonio doesn’t urge me on. He doesn’t say or do anything. He’s patient, with all the confidence of a man who knows I’ll eventually do as he asks.
I swallow hard and avert my eyes while I pull the shirt over my head and unfasten the hooks on my bra. My mother’s locket dangles between my breasts, and I take it off and lay it on the table, hiding it under my wrap so I don’t have to look at it while he debases me.
When I had sex with Josh, he always took off my clothes. He never required me to hand them over. Antonio’s doing this because it adds an element of humiliation, like parading me through the streets while I carry the white flag of surrender for all to see.
The worst part is that I don’t mind—not really. There’s something about it that’s sensual, stirring the need in me beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.
He holds out his hand, and I place my clothing into his outstretched palm. He doesn’t give them a passing glance as he drops them at his feet.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs, cupping my breasts. He makes small, tight circles around my nipples. They bead for him, gladly, as though pleasing him is more important than anything else. Maybe even more important than what I want.
Don’t I want this? Isn’t this what I fantasized about on the long bus ride home from my night job, and later, alone in my bed?
The thoughts bleed away as he pinches a nipple, making it impossible to think about anything but the erotic sensation. “Ahhh.”
“Did you feel that between your legs, Princesa?” he asks, smearing my nipples with the ruby Port before lowering his mouth to a hard peak.
My back arches, and I brace myself on my hands while he lavishes attention on my breasts.
“I want your skirt,” he whispers, reaching for the zipper. When he does, his hard cock presses against my bare pussy, and I jump back.
“I gave you my word. We’re just going to play a little.”
He stands back, eyes burning, and watches as I squirm out of what’s left of my clothes without totally exposing the wet flesh between my legs. My efforts are of little use, but I squeeze my knees together as soon as I’m finished.
“I don’t think so,” he murmurs, moving my legs a
part as he steps between them. He’s large and looming, and I don’t know what to expect next as he hands me a glass of water. “Take a few sips.”
I hold the glass with two hands, trying to keep it steady.
Antonio is still fully dressed, making me feel more naked. More vulnerable.
His fingers play on my mound while I drink. It’s hard to swallow. Hard to even breathe.
After a few moments, he takes the glass out of my hands and sets it aside.
“Just feel. No judgment. No self-doubt. No shame. Let me make you feel good.”
“Yes.” My head bobs, but the movement is so small it’s barely perceptible. “Yes,” I repeat. Although it wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking for permission.
I’m not sure how I feel. I’m aroused, unsure, nervous. And then there’s the part of me that wants to tear open his shirt and feel the heated skin under my fingers.
Antonio hooks his leg around a chair that’s been shoved to the side and drags it closer, all without taking his hands off me.
He lowers himself to the edge of the seat and places his palms on my inner thighs, pushing them apart until it’s almost unbearable.
I’m exposed. Completely on display—for him.
“Stroke that pretty little cunt for me. Show me how you touch yourself.”
I draw a breath. Not sure of how to proceed. I can’t do it.
“I’ve never—” I’m too embarrassed to even form the words.
“Haven’t you ever made yourself come?” he probes when I don’t finish my thought.
“Never in front of anyone.”
“Do you have toys you play with? A vibrator?”
I shake my head.
He takes my hand and moves it between my legs, drawing my fingers through the slit.
“You’re going to get comfortable making your body sing for me. We’ll practice, but right now I can smell your arousal. It’s all I can think about. I don’t have the patience to teach tonight.”
I’m mortified, and the arousal he thinks he smells is starting to slip. He must sense it, too, because he slides his fingers over my mound and strokes my pussy.