She had to come to terms with the fact that everything she was and everything she ever would be…would be mine.
“Let me make this very clear.” I started toward her, watching as she cleaned the wound. “You will never do this to yourself again. This is the last time. The only new scars that would mark your body from here on out will be those I give you. If you need release, you come to me.” I stopped right in front of her, grabbed a fist full of her hair, and yanked her head back, forcing her to look up at me. “Is that clear?”
She swallowed hard. “Yes.”
I pulled her head back some more. “Yes, what?”
“Yes…sir.”
“Good.” I let go of her hair and gave a step back. “Now go to bed.”
She stood up. “I’m not tired.”
“I said, go to bed.”
Her eyes narrowed, no trace of the tears she had cried earlier. She stepped up to me, her naked breasts touching the fabric of my shirt. “Thanks to you, sleeping is the last thing on my mind right now.”
I smiled. “I’m sure it is.”
“I’ll give you one guess what’s on my mind right now.” She cocked her head to the side, her golden hair falling over her shoulder.
I stepped closer, pushing my body against her, my cock already rock hard and ready to take her. Gently I brushed her hair away from her neck. “My guess is that you need something from me.”
“Oh, you’ve got that right. I desperately need something from you, yet you refuse to give it to me.” Her hands brushed seductively down her sides, avoiding the places I forbade her to touch.
I glanced down at her naked body, savoring the view of perfection. “You dishonored me today, and that cannot be left unpunished.”
Her sweet scent swirled around me, the air crackling as our sexual desire for each other started to thicken. She took the lapels of my jacket between her fingers and slowly stroked up and down, my cock growing harder by the second. Blue irises looked up at me, all traces of the pain reflected in them earlier gone. Now all I saw were shades of resolve and tenacity giving me a glimpse of the woman who had fought so well to survive the hell I had put her through.
Slowly, seductively she wrapped her arms around my neck, her touch making my skin hungry for more.
“I remember you telling me that you would fight this war against Vico with me by your side as your queen.”
“Is that what you want? To be my queen? To be at the side of a mafia Boss fighting a war in a world you know nothing about?”
“Maybe.”
I leaned down, letting my lips come within inches of hers. “You’re not strong enough. What you did today proves it.”
I could see the doubt overshadow the confidence she had mere seconds ago, but she tried her best to hide it.
Her gaze moved from my eyes to my lips and back up. “Someone once told me that just because he came on my stomach doesn’t mean that I know him. Well, in this case, just because you fuck me doesn’t mean you know me.”
I couldn’t help but smile at how she took my own words and turned them against me. Just when I thought I had her all figured out, something smart would come out of her mouth and surprise me. It was one of the reasons I was so intrigued by her.
She stepped back out of my reach, and with squared shoulders she looked me in the eye. “You need to decide whether I’m your slave or your queen, Castello. I can’t be both.”
She turned around and walked out of the bathroom. Her turning her back on me wasn’t something I liked—especially when done as a sign of disrespect. But she had knocked the wind right out of me. Her words rendered me speechless, leaving me without any intelligent or sarcastic comeback. All I could do was stare at her as she walked out.
Tatum was right. I needed to decide whether I wanted her to be the queen at my side…or the slave at my feet.
That night I sat in the chair across from the bed and watched her toss and turn between the sheets. It was dark, only the crescent-shaped moon casting a dim light through the room. At first I wanted to tie her hands to the bed to make sure she wouldn’t touch herself while I slept. But then I realized I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not only could I not get the image of Tatum cutting herself out of my head, I also knew, deep down, that it was my fault. I wondered how long it had been since she had cut herself before today. Judging by the way her scars had whitened, it had to have been a long time. She had conquered those demons for a while…until I dragged her right back into hell.
It was my fault. I punished her for doing something I had ultimately pushed her into doing. After everything this woman had been through by my hand, how could I have expected her to live and act like everything was normal?Nothingabout us was normal. If I had to draft a list of what was right and what was wrong between us, the wrong list would win by a mile. But there was one thing, one right thing between us…the way we unashamedly embraced each other’s darkness, turning something so wrong into something that felt so fucking right.
This all started with me wanting to be the devil she saw in her nightmares. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to see her cower at my feet in fear. I needed her to feel my pain, the pain of losing a brother. I demanded revenge.
Now I no longer cared about any of those things. In fact, right now as I stared at her sleeping restlessly, I felt a need to comfort her, to take away her fears and nightmares. I wanted her to feel safe—to feel adored, and to share my bed without fearing me. Yet, a part of me demanded to see her on her knees, begging me, pleasing me, giving me full control over her body. I wanted the best of both worlds, and there was only one way to do that…