"No." I swallow. "No, Master."
"Good girl."
I flush, and his gaze intensifies. His nostrils flare, and something like satisfaction settles over his features. He seems so confident, so pleased with himself. Damnit, did I make the right choice? Should I have left when he gave me the chance? I glance from my drink to his empty glass. "Where’s yours?"
His lips curl.
"Why are you smiling like that?"
"You’ll find out," he murmurs. "Open your mouth."
"What?"
"Open. Your. Mouth. I won’t repeat myself again."
I part my lips.
He clamps his fingers around the nape of my neck, then he reaches for the glass of grappa, takes a sip, then leans in, and puts his lips to mine. He dribbles the grappa into my mouth. Heat flushes my skin and my belly flip-flops. My thighs clench and I swallow, so aware I am drinking from him. Oh, my god, this is so filthy. And so hot. So very hot. Why do I find it hot? Why do I not find it more disgusting? That familiar guilt creeps into the back of my mind. I shouldn’t find this so sensual, shouldn’t need this degradation so much. What’s wrong with me that I can’t enjoy vanilla sex like most of the population of this planet?
"Don’t." He peers into my face. "Don’t do it."
"What?"
"Don’t berate yourself."
"How do you know—”
"You’re so damn transparent, woman." He reaches over and scoops up a drop from the corner of my mouth, then he brings it to his lips and sucks on his finger.
My toes curl and heat sluices through my veins. How can such a simple gesture turn out to be so... so much more?
"Open your mouth, baby."
I oblige.
He takes another sip of the grappa then spits it at my mouth. Some of it hits my tongue and some of it slips down my chin; he follows the trail and licks it up.
He takes a third sip, and this time, he closes the distance between us and fits his mouth to mine. The warm liquid slips across my tongue and he chases it with his own. The alcohol drips into my veins, the scent of him envelops me, the taste of him fills my palate. He tilts his head, deepens the kiss, and a moan bubbles up my throat. My skin feels too tight for my body. My scalp tingles. My entire body seems to be on fire.Too much, too soon.He’s not just dominating me; he’s consuming me. He’s going to chew me up and spit me out, and I’ll never be able to deny him anything. My heart begins to race and my pulse pounds at my temples. I try to pull away, but he tightens his fingers around the nape of my neck and holds me in place. "Breathe," he murmurs against my lips. "I’ve got you; I promise."
Does he, though?
What if he decides I'm the cause of Nonna's death? What if he finds out how I am going to betray him? Will he still treat me with such consideration then? My pulse rate speeds up, and my knees tremble. I grip his upper arm and dig my fingernails into his biceps. His muscles are so solid, it’s like trying to hold onto a brick wall.
"I don’t want you to be gentle," I whisper. "I want you to treat me like I'm your slave. Someone you’ll use for your needs and discard after. Someone you don’t care about, except to make sure your desires are being taken care of. Can you do that for me?"
A crease wrinkles the space between his eyebrows.
"Please.” I lean in, close enough for my breasts to push into the unforgiving expanse of his chest. "Please, Master, use me. Abuse me. Treat me roughly. Tear into my pussy, maul my skin, take my ass, use all my holes for your pleasure, Master."
Color smears his cheeks. His nostrils flare, even as his gaze sharpens on me. His grasp on my neck tightens to the point of pain. Goosebumps pop on my skin.
"You don’t know what you’re saying."
"I do."
"You have no idea what would happen if I take you at your word."
"I want you to."