My eyes fly open, and I look up at Lorenzo, who is looking back at me with hungry eyes. It dawns on me why he had me tied and gagged even though I said I was going to come without a fight. It turns him on. He likes me like this.
As if I needed to be any more helpless than I already am.
His fingers dance over my face, his thumb swipes over my bottom lip before he trails his fingers down my neck. His touch is gentle, almost soothing, and I have to remind myself of what kind of things these hands have done.
He doesn’t stop at my neck, his fingers move over my collarbone, then down my chest. My shirt is already ripped open, exposing part of my bra. Lorenzo must feel like it’s not enough because he rips the shirt further.
For a moment, he simply enjoys the view. When he gets tired of that, he cups each of my breasts through my bra, massaging them and rolling my nipples between his fingers.
“I can’t wait to suck on these,” the bastard murmurs. “I’m sure you’re gonna love it.” He continues fondling me for a few minutes, the bulge next to my face growing until I can feel the tip of his erection on my cheek.
I pull my face back, but he cups the back of my head and pulls me closer. With a groan, he rubs my cheek against his cock through the material of his pants while kneading my breast with his other hand.
My body feels funny. Confused. Hot and cold at the same time. His touch is warm and comforting, igniting something deep inside of me, but everything else is wrong. He is wrong, this place is wrong, me being tied up is so very, very wrong.
I try my very best to numb myself. I don’t want to have any of these feelings, especially not with him–a man who hurt my father and took me as payment.
After he is through with my tits, his hand brushes over my stomach. A shiver runs through my body when he gets to a spot right over the band of my jeans.
With his jaw relaxed, and his lips tucked up into a smile, he looks amused by the way I react to him. His smile only widens when his hand reaches between my legs, cupping my most private part.
“I wonder just how innocent you are, my sweet Amara. I’ll guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
The car suddenly slows down. I glance out of the window but can’t see anything besides trees. Only when we move again, do I see the edge of an iron gate.
Lorenzo unties the fabric holding the gag in place, then pulls it off completely. A thank you is sitting on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it and the saliva and fuzz from the fabric left in my mouth. I will not thank him for taking out a gag that he put there.
A few moments later, the car stops again, and the engine is shut off. I guess we’ve made it.
“Come untie her ankles. I don’t feel like carrying her inside,” Lorenzo orders his man up front while he starts to undo the rope around my wrists.
“Are you going to kill me?” I ask foolishly. I can’t help it; the question is burning a hole in my head. The door at my feet opens, and a man comes up to follow through with Lorenzo’s orders.
“I might be a criminal, dear Amara, but killing beautiful women isn’t something I enjoy doing. I only do it if necessary. If you do as you’re told, I won’t hurt you.” His deep, silky voice invades my body and my senses. I shudder as my palms sweat, and a slick coating of fear fills my belly.
When my limbs are free once again, Lorenzo gets out of the car. I sit up, and he motions for me to get out. Sliding out, I clasp my shirt together with my hand and take in my surroundings.
We are parked in front of a large house, two men are guarding the front door, and three more are standing close to the car. I wonder if that’s my welcoming committee or if this place is always so heavily guarded.
My feet touch the gravel, and I fight the urge to run, knowing I won’t get far anyway.
Lorenzo holds out his hand as if he wants me to take it. I stare at it, unsure what to do.
“Take it,” he orders. “I can hear you thinking about running.”
“I wasn’t going to,” I murmur, but still take his hand. He leads me up to the front steps while his guards eye me like I’m a sandwich they’re about to snack on.
“Welcome to your new home.” Lorenzo’s words are anything but welcoming as I enter his house… my new home… excuse me, my new prison—it’ll never be home. I massage my wrists where the rope rubbed my skin.
My world seems fuzzy and discombobulated as I take everything in. My mind is still trying to play catch up with this whole situation. It’s so absurd, it still seems like a dream and not my life.
Yesterday I was a student at North Woods University. Today, I’m standing in a mobster’s home. Well, actually it’s more like a mansion—the kind you see in movies that have three pools and twenty-five bedrooms, more bathrooms than bedrooms, and live-in help... You know what I’m talking about, right?
“Is this to your liking?” he asks sarcastically.
“Your home is beautiful,” I reply softly. In such a large space, my voice can hardly be heard. Just from my view in the entryway, I know this house is magnificent. The floors are marble, sleek and glistening under the lights. There’s a grand, sweeping staircase ahead of me. I admire the high ceilings, large windows, and expensive artwork. I know to see this house in the daylight will be amazing.
Lorenzo lets go of my hand and nudges me to follow his men up the staircase. I comply immediately and quietly. We walk down a long hall, passing numerous doors. I’m not sure If I want to know what is behind them or not. We finally reach two French doors at the end of the hall.
“Leave us,” Lorenzo says. I turn around to watch his men walk away like he had ordered them to. My heart sinks into my stomach.
I made a terrible mistake agreeing to this. If I had known...
No. Stop it. You didn’t want them to continue hurting your father, and you know you wouldn’t be able to live without him, I tell myself.
Without my dad, I’ll be all alone. He is the only thing I have left.
The voice in my head stops me from saying anything. I can’t possibly tell this man that I’m having second thoughts. He wouldn’t care. He would kill me or my father, or both.
I watch as he opens the door and walks into the large room. His body relaxes as the tension within him seems to dissolve. It seems as if he is a completely different person in his surroundings. Almost like he’s really human. Almost.
“Come, piccolo,” he demands. Piccolo—is that Italian? It sounds that way though I have no idea what it means. Without comment, I obey him and walk into his room slowly. There is a king-sized bed sitting on the far side of the room that looks like it’s right out of an expensive hotel. It is large and lavish with big, fluffy pillows and beautiful, luxurious blankets.
An incredibly comfortable looking couch is centered in the middle of the room. A television with numerous movies and games sits in front of it, and on the far wall is a desk area. None of these things matter nearly as much as the view that lies before me. Two French doors lead out onto a wraparound balcony.
My breath catches in my throat as I walk across the room to the open doors. The sun is setting in the distance, and the waves of the ocean break against the jagged rocks that line the shore. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
I wonder if I actually get to stay in this room or if he is just bringing me here for sex and then putting me in the servant quarters or maybe a dungeon of some sort.