“Yes!” He knew it anyway; why he had to humiliate me like this to get me to admit it was beyond me.
“Good girl,” he said, his touch sliding between my thighs. “Bad girls get punished, but good girls get rewarded.”
Then, without any warning, his fingers found my sex, and I sucked in a breath.
I tensed, squeezing everything tight, but Salvatore tickled and stroked until I relaxed my legs and let them fall open, my back arching of its own accord as he smeared my own arousal over and around my clit, rubbing soft, then hard, pinching, making me cry out.
“What did you find in my bedroom?” he asked, still rubbing.
When a moan escaped me, I hung my head, wanting to disappear. How could I be enjoying this? Enjoying this humiliation?
“No…”
“Remember, good girls are rewarded, bad girls punished. Lying would make you a bad girl.”
“I hate you,” I said, not believing it myself.
“No, you don’t. You just feel powerless and are acting out in response.”
“I’m not a child.”
“I know that. Tell me what you found.”
He started on my clit again, rubbing harder, faster. “God.”
He chuckled. “God would be a first.”
“I’m…”
“Focus, Lucia,” he said, the fingers of his free hand taking one of my breasts.
“Restraints,” I said, my eyes about to roll to the back of my head when he kneaded my nipple.
“And how did it make you feel to find them?”
He eased off my clit, and I groaned, arching back again, wanting to—needing to—come.
“I...I don’t know.”
He struck my pussy, and I gasped.
“What did you feel?”
He rubbed again, and I melted into him. “Curious.”
Was it possible to hear a smile? Because I did. And then, I came. I came hard in his hand, the sounds I made foreign to my own ears, my body going limp over his thighs, my eyes closing, sleepy. When it was over, I felt him unbind my wrists and lift me, cradling me in his arms and leaning back against the sofa.
“Lucia, Lucia, Lucia. You surprise me.”
“You’ll still take me to my sister?” I asked, burrowing into his body, my eyes half-open.
“I told you I would. And we need to go shopping to find you a dress.”
“A dress? For what?”
“My father’s birthday party.”8LuciaBeing locked away with the nuns for five years had been easier than this. I didn’t have to face anything. I could think about it. I could get angry about it. I could blame everyone and everything, but I didn’t have to face them. Now I sat beside Salvatore in his car as he drove me to what should have been considered home to me. Thing was, I didn’t know what was home anymore. I didn’t know where I belonged, who I was. Who I was meant to be.
I looked at Salvatore, at his profile. At a glance, the set of his jaw told of power, of strength, while his eyes betrayed a depth beneath this outermost layer. Gave a glimpse into the darkness there. He kept his attention on the road while I studied him, wondering who this man was. What was expected of him.
Wondering what the hell had happened between us yesterday.
They’d examined me on the day of the signing. His father had wanted to be certain I was intact. A virgin. Was it only to humiliate me? To break my father to the point he could no longer be repaired?
I shook my head, trying to erase the memory of my father’s face when I’d finally been able to look at him. How his hands had been fisted, his shoulders slumped. He’d been made to stand by and watch his daughter’s degradation. Why?
Yesterday, Salvatore hadn’t forced himself on me. He hadn’t tried, and he’d had the opportunity. Multiple opportunities. And, he might argue, the right. He owned me. But he hadn’t taken anything I hadn’t given up. And I’d given it. I’d lain there and let him bring me to orgasm. I’d felt his cock pressing against me throughout both the punishment and the reward, but he hadn’t taken his pleasure from me.
I fumbled to turn up the AC, feeling too hot suddenly. Our fingers touched when Salvatore adjusted it for me, and it was like a bolt of electricity. Our gazes locked, but I quickly blinked and turned away.
“If you get off at this exit, I can show you a shortcut.”
He made his way over. Once we were off the exit, I gave him directions. We weaved our way through the narrow streets near my childhood home.
“Want to get a cup of coffee first?” I asked when we neared my favorite bakery, wanting to put off our inevitable arrival. Afraid Isabella would see right through me. Would I be a traitor then?
He seemed surprised by my offer. “Sure.”
“Right here, you can park at the curb. The parking lot is usually full.” And I wanted to walk through the streets, see the houses and neighborhood I didn’t realize I’d missed. “You don’t mind walking a few blocks, do you?” I asked once we climbed out.