by Lana Sky
“Yes,” I croak. But, before I can talk myself out of it, I run my hands down his chest, hoping to further distract him. I’ve already found the ridge of his surgical scar by the time he angles his gaze toward my rebellious fingers, his brows furrowing. “But I was just curious,” I murmur, letting my voice meld with the hum of the shower spray.
He inclines his head, betraying the fact that he’s listening to me at all. Yet, he has enough pride not to ask me the question my coy answer demands.
So, I give it to him anyway. “I was curious,” I say, arching against his chest. This close, I can feel his breath catch, his muscles going rigid. Especially when I bring my mouth near his ear. “I wanted to know how quickly I could come on your cock. How good it could be… So that when you sell me, I can be confident I’ll please my buyer—”
Snarling, he snatches my throat, bucking his hips at the same time. Fire. I’m suffocating and stuffed…and it’s…
Incredible. A cry builds and sticks in my lungs as he tightens his grip, shoving me down onto the bench. He releases me, only to snatch my legs, one in each hand, and hike them against his hips as he pistons.
The harsh surface beneath me bites into my lower back like a brutal anchor as my thoughts become less coherent with every punishing thrust.
I’ve never been used like this. Ridden is the only term I can think of to describe it. Taken.
And thoroughly enjoyed by the bastard doing so.
Grunting, Domino throws his head back, his throat cording, nails piercing my flesh with every stroke. He couldn’t hide his pleasure if he tried, and the more I watch him, the easier it is to forget. And hate.
And ignore how long I craved to have him inside me just like this.
Soon, it’s too dizzying to look at him. I just close my eyes, surrendering to the pleasure ripping through my body, piece by piece. My impending orgasm is a death sentence and looms closer with every harsh stroke of his cock. Each brutal shove as he draws me into him.
But it isn’t until I hear his voice, hoarse and grated, “Fuck… Ada—” that I finally feel it hit with the force of a crushing blow.
I hate that it feels as good as it does.
I hate that he’s proved my little dare to be a reality—he can make me come like this, with only his cock, deployed as a weapon however he sees fit.
I’m still writhing when I feel him pull out, shoving me away. Boneless, I slump off the bench, landing on my knees against the damp floor as the water continues to pelt us both.
I hear him move, and I look up to find him snatch a rag from a built-in shelf and briskly wash himself off. Then he throws it aside and steps from the stall, storming into the bathroom, presumably to get a towel.
I don’t know how much time passes before his voice finally reaches back to me. “We’re done. Get out.”
The water shuts off a heartbeat later, leaving me drenched, but still unclean. His seed mingles with the droplets of moisture dripping down my inner thighs.
A fact he is well aware of, I realize, as I look up to find him barring the entrance, a cream-colored towel slung around his waist. He doesn’t offer me one of my own. Instead, he jerks his chin. “I said get out.”
Rather than argue, I stand, surprised to find myself limping after him. I must have struck my hip when I fell, but I welcome the pain. Every fiery, throbbing jolt grounds me, reaching past the drunken haze of sex to reinforce the grim reality lurking beneath.
He’s a bastard who sold me and killed my parents.
What the hell am I doing here?
I go still mid-step, pondering just that. I’m so lost in the daze that I miss the second he comes for me until it’s too late. He already has a grip on my forearm, forcefully steering me back against the row of granite countertops.
Without a word of explanation, he snatches my hips, lifting me unceremoniously so that I’m sitting on the hard surface—with him standing in between my legs. I instinctively try to close them, but he doesn’t budge, fixated on my left thigh. Already, a deep red mark is visible, stretching from my hip to my knee. I can tell merely from how it aches that it will bruise.
“At least I’ve proven I can ignore pain,” I croak, hating how conditioned I sound already. Broken. “That will please my buyer, too. You might get a better price—”
He hisses through his teeth, silencing me mid-taunt. I just watch him instead, riveted by the slow, careful way he drags his finger along the mark, pressing down so hard I wince. It’s as if he’s remembering every mottled bit of flesh, noting how easily I bruise.
Not to denote on some fucked-up seller’s manifest.
But so he can do it all over again.
And again, and again.
“Get dressed.” He pulls away without remarking on the pile of clothing I’ve already selected for myself. I’m sure he can tell from the shape and color who they belong to.
He must be too distracted by his own thoughts to engage in another battle of wills so soon. Or, he’s preoccupied with another matter entirely. His hand lands on the counter just beyond my reach, snatching up a familiar brown object as I flinch—his watch. Coiling his fingers over it, he cocks his head toward me. “By the way, Ada-Maria,” he adds, his voice ragged. “At La Guarida del Tigre, they won’t care how much pain you can endure. They’ll only want to hear how loudly you can scream. I suggest you think about that as you process how little time you have left.” Still sporting his towel, he strolls onto the balcony and disappears from view.
I collapse, landing hard on my knees, tasting blood as I bite my lower lip to smother the scream still building in my throat. I almost succeed, reducing the noise to just a pathetic gasp that echoes for a split-second before I scramble to my feet, drowning it out.
I eye my carefully selected outfit and consider just leaving this room naked. I feel trapped again. Like even if the thought felt like my own, wearing his shirt would only cement this strange hold he thinks he has over me. Ownership. The ability to decide whether I live or die.
And how.
But as my gaze flits to the doorway again, I realize that the second option is far less appealing, knowing that Alexi Rojas is lurking somewhere beyond this room as well, ready and waiting to gloat.
I snatch the shirt and pull it on, then scramble into the boxers. By the time I cross the balcony and re-enter his room, Domino is already dressed, buttoning a crisp black shirt all the way up to his neck.
I watch him, hating the glimmer of appreciation that hits my chest before I can help it. He can seem so graceful when he wants to.
And so cruel when he needs to.
He rakes his gaze over me before strolling into the hallway. Automatically, I start to follow, and I’ve barely reached the threshold when I find the door slammed in my face.
A harsh click warns that he locked it, though I test the doorknob anyway. It won’t budge.
“Domino!” I slam my hand against the wooden surface, but the only response I hear is the sound of his steps retreating down the hall, away from me.
The bastard locked me in, but for whatever reason—in the grand scheme of everything he’s done within the past twenty-four hours alone—this unnerves me the most. It heralds a different mode of operation apart from his usual indifference when it comes to my captivity.
This is possessive. Or selfish. Is he keeping me from Alexi on purpose, afraid of what she might say? Or of what I could learn…
Though, the most likely explanation is that he’s gone to fuck her uninterrupted.
Of all the people in the world to trigger the crippling jealousy biting through my chest, it has to be them. A childhood enemy and a longtime hidden threat, both who hate my family and me for their own reasons.
The devil himself couldn’t have picked a better pair. They belong together. I hope he fucks her raw in the shower and they both trip, earning lethal concussions that will make my escape a literal walk in the park.
I try not to imagine it—but it’s too late; I already am. His body
hunched over hers, that sly, stupid smile on her lips, her perky tits bouncing.
He wouldn’t bite her, I bet.
He wouldn’t fuck her hard enough to bruise.
He wouldn’t swear one minute that she was his and sell her to a stranger the next.
The only man who should be on my mind is Jaguar, my supposed buyer—or at least the owner of the place Domino sold me to, La Guarida del Tigre. Despite my limited knowledge of the Spanish language, I can hazard a guess as to the meaning—The Tiger’s den.
“The world is a zoo,” my father told me once, his voice roughened by his nighttime cigar. It was the hour before he usually retreated to bed, when he’d exchanged his suit for a robe and slippers. That wasn’t the most jarring change, though—that time of night was one of the rare few when his trusty Domino wasn’t by his side, already having retired for the evening.
The lack of his “shadow” humbled him somehow. He could have been a normal man—if you ignored the gleam in his eye that warned he was always scheming, no matter who was in his orbit.
The world is a zoo, Ada-Maria. You can either be a warden or a beast. Do you understand that? He reached out, grazing my chin with the tips of his fingers. Without me, all those bastards would be salivating to eat you alive. No matter what happens with this fucking indictment, you remember this—you are a Pavalos. Without me, you are nothing but a morsel they can’t wait to devour. Together, we will always hang on to the keys to this kingdom. Loyalty, that’s what matters. You fucking remember that...
His voice fades beneath the squawk of a nearby bird, and I shiver despite the stifling heat.
If that memory serves a purpose, it’s to remind me that Domino is no longer my main obstacle. In fact, I should ignore him entirely.
The world is a zoo, and I need to fend for myself, damn him and the cage he’s designed around me. Shedding his shirt, I give in to the petty rage and step onto the balcony naked. The sun is just starting to rise, though hidden behind a swath of gray clouds. This section of the estate feels more secluded than the sprawling terrace. I can only see the tail end of the structure from here, as well as the shadow of two people strolling across the second level of it.
Alexi. I’d recognize her slender frame anywhere, her clothing so skimpy it just resembles lines of color across her torso and hips. She’s standing beside someone taller, their bulky frame etched onto my psyche.
Domino.
He locked me in here just in time for a morning stroll. I don’t know what feels worse—knowing that I’m just a hole to him? Or realizing that he doesn’t even think highly enough of me to throw the fact that we’ve fucked in Alexi’s face.
He’s hiding me here out of shame.
How sweet.
The rush of anger blinds me to everything else—like the fact that another figure is standing within view of me, though from a different part of the property. On the far right, a section of circular, flat stone is visible—near the front of the house, I realize, though positioned diagonally from the terrace as a whole. Set within a section of hedges and tended flower beds, I assume it’s a driveway, given the set of black cars parked there. Beside one, holding the driver’s side door partially open, stands a man whose shape makes me go rigid. Him, I don’t recognize as easily as Domino.
Not until I hear his voice.
He whistles, his laughter booming enough to echo across the property. “Well, good fucking morning,” he calls to me.
My cheeks sear as I realize that he can see me—and my lack of clothing—clearly. Automatically, I raise my hands, attempting to shield myself.
Then I stop, my fingers raised just beneath my nipples.
From the corner of my eye, I see the distant shape of Domino go rigid, like a speck of darkness over the otherwise bright landscape. I know he’s watching me. I can practically feel his eyes raking over my skin with that unspoken possession.
Don’t. I can almost hear him voicing the warning in his signature unstable rasp. Don’t you fucking dare.
I don’t take my eyes off him, even as I lift my hand and wave toward the figure in the driveway. He chuckles, whistling even louder. Something in the sound sends a shiver of unease through me. It’s primal, like the way one of my father’s dogs would snarl when it had a bone it didn’t want to share with the others.
A warning.
When I look back at Domino, however, he’s gone. It’s like he vanished, leaving Alexi standing alone.
At least until I hear a door open and slam with the force of a gunshot.
Chapter Three
“What the hell are you doing?” His voice is softer than it should be, perfectly controlled to not be overheard by anyone beyond this room. “Come here—”
“Why?” I’m still watching Jaguar and his posse. They look dangerous, even from afar. The sort of men my father would meet miles from the city when he thought no one saw him. A reporter did once and threatened to blackmail him, using photographic evidence.
Until my father sent me to charm my way into his office and plant materials that he reported stolen from our house earlier that week, ensuring the man was jailed and unable to access his so-called evidence. At least until he was released on bail and found all of his electronics smashed to pieces. Such was the way my father handled any threat.
With vicious, underhanded tactics or outright bribery.
Whatever he wanted protected, he hid under lock and key, deploying them only when necessary. Whether he realizes it or not, Domino’s been acting the same way—obscuring his hatred toward my family, then revealing Pia’s diary…
And by taking me now?
Trying to decipher his motives hurts my brain. Banishing all thoughts of him, I relish the heat of the weakened sun on my body, counting down the seconds that pass without him dragging me inside.
Then, some harrowing moment between Jaguar’s next whistle and my own heartbeat, I realize that he won’t. He can’t.
Because to do so would risk breaking his façade before the one person he seems determined to hide me from. Alexi or Jaguar?
That’s the real question.
When I turn to face him, I can’t glean an answer from his expression alone. All I find is pure, molten rage.
His teeth flash, the only break in the shadows that shroud most of his expression. “Get in.”
I don’t refuse him outright. I just brace my elbows against the balcony on either side of me and lean back, feeling my heart race like mad. I’m terrified. I’m also resigned.
Honestly, in this moment, I feel like I wouldn’t have any problem at all with leaning back further. Too far. Falling over this balcony entirely and landing on the rugged terrain below.
He must realize that, but the prospect alarms him enough to stalk forward, coming into view of our audience below. I watch his eyes, waiting to see who they flicker toward first.
Unsettlingly, they remain fixated on me, a writhing mass of brown and flecks of green, promising a wrath unlike any I’ve experienced from him so far.
For a second, I rock on my heels, testing how much force it would truly require to actually hurl myself over the edge.
Too late.
He reaches me within a fraction of a second, palming the side of my face to pull me close.
“You have no idea what game you’re playing, Ada-Maria,” he murmurs, his tone so level and soft it’s damn near gentle. His hands betray his malice, however, shaking against my skin as if it’s requiring every ounce of restraint he has just to keep from ripping me apart.
“I think I do,” I counter, shocked by how hard my voice sounds in comparison to his.
His eyes narrow—he’s shocked as well.
Possessed by whatever boldness has taken hold of me, I keep talking. “I think I’m showing the man you sold me to what he can expect once he completes his purchase.”
I wince at the intensity his eyes take on. Something beyond anger, beyond rage.
“Oh, how I will punish you for that,” he growls, lower
ing his mouth against my ear. “You have no fucking idea of the danger you are in. The sheer stupidity of what you’re doing—”
“Then tell me.” I’m louder than he is, threatening to break the show he’s putting on.
Touching me like this…
From the outside, I know what it will look like. Like I’m out here with his permission—that his relationship with me is cordial enough to permit him to stroke my cheek and stand so close.
But why? It’s not the expected behavior a man would show toward a woman he’s brutalized and kidnapped.
And relenting to his touch isn’t the way one would expect such a woman to act toward her captor.
I must twitch or make some move to pull away because he’s closer, using his body weight to practically crush me against the railing.
“Get the fuck inside.” His tone loses any shred of control; it’s rippling, verging on something too primal to be considered speech. “You dumb, stupid cunt. You have no idea what you’ve done. None!”
But said ignorance isn’t any fault of my own. It strikes me now that, against his demands, I have one last card to play, however fragile it may be.
I raise my hand, cupping the back of his. As a result, his nails scrape against my cheek in a silent warning—but I’m playing along.
For now.
“Then tell me,” I demand.
Finally, his eyes dart away from me, and I have my answer as to whose presence has him on edge—Jaguar’s. Whatever he sees triggers a flicker of alarm across his expression.
The next thing I know, his mouth is on mine, his hands roughly cupping my hips, pulling me into him. From the outside, it must look like a sexy, heated kiss filled with lust and passion.
In reality, his teeth seize onto my lower lip, preventing any chance I could easily pull away. With his strength, he snatches me to him, maneuvering me from the balcony and within the room in seconds.
Once we’re away from view, he shoves me so hard I go flying, barely managing to catch myself on the edge of the mattress.