“Tell me,” Luca says, his voice deeper than usual, almost a growl. “What else did you do while I was gone?”
A flush starts to spread over my skin.He knows. He must know, somehow—I try to imagine myself coming clean, telling him what I’d done. I try to form the words to tell my husband that I played with myself, out in the open, where anyone who walked in could have seen, where someone watching on camerasmighthave seen. I imagine Luca asking me what I was thinking about, questioning me further, and I can’t even picture myself beginning to explain that. It was already so far beyond the realm of anything I’d ever done, and to actually admit it out loud—
I can’t.
“Nothing,” I whisper in a small voice, and I see Luca’s eyes glint darkly.
“Lie number three,” he murmurs.
He reaches out, his fingers running down my chest and between my breasts, and I suck in my breath sharply at his touch. It’s the most gentle he’s ever been, his fingertips skating over my skin and trailing over the upper curve of my breast, and I’m so distracted by it that I don’t even notice him undoing his belt.
Until, with one swift motion, he wraps that free arm around my waist and heaves me back onto the bed.
Before I can move, Luca is on the bed, hovering over me as he grabs my wrists and yanks them above my head. The memory of that first night in the apartment comes back to me in a rush—him pinning my hands over my head against the door, kissing me for the first time, his mouth hot and urgent against mine—
There’s the pressure of something against my wrists, something pulling tight, and I realize with a mixed rush of arousal and fear that Luca has tied my hands together with the belt. His headboard is leather, so he can’t tie me to it—but I still can’t do much, even if I brought my hands back over my head. And Luca is too close to me for that, his knees on either side of my hips as he maneuvers me into place, his face hovering over mine.
For a moment, with a feeling of queasy terror in the pit of my stomach, I remember the hotel room I’d woken up in. But I’d beenboundto that bed, tied up with something like a zip-tie, not a leather belt. Not myhusband’sleather belt, and even as conflicted as I am about Luca, I can’t deny that this is different.
My body certainly isn’t.
I hate him. I’m sure of it. I could list off so many reasons why. The forced marriage, taking my virginity, all the ways he’s gone back on his word, the homework he gave me today, the way he seemingly wants to push me aside until it’s convenient for him to deal with me. The way he treats me like an annoyance, a burden—except in moments like these.
When I see my husband let go of his carefully honed control, these moments should be the most terrifying. And in some ways, they are.
But I’m also completely, undeniably turned on. I can feel it, how hot and wet and needy I am, my pussy aching—and just the thought of that word makes me flush all over again.
“I know what you did, Sofia.” Luca’s voice slides over me like silk, surrounding me like thick smoke, dark and seductive. “I saw the security tape. Don’t you think I watched it before I let you know I was home? Don’t you think I wanted to know what my wife was up to while I was gone?”
He reaches for the button of my jeans, and I try to squirm away from him. My shirt is still hanging open, my breasts covered by my bra, and Luca frowns as he looks at my cleavage.
“This won’t do,” he says, pressing a finger between my breasts. “You’ve been a naughty girl, Sofia. A slut. Spreading your legs where anyone might have seen, touching yourself, making yourself come. My guards watch those tapes if they think something might have happened that I need to be told about. Sometimes they even watch the cameras. Is that why you did it?”
He reaches into the drawer next to the bed, and I hear the sound of something being pulled out, though I don’t dare turn my head to look. My blood chills as I look up at him in the dim light of the bedroom as his hand moves into view, and I see a knife—the same knife, probably, that cut my thigh on our wedding night.
“Were you hoping my guards were watching? Were you hoping one of them was jerking off, seeing your pussy on display? Was that your way of getting back at me?”
“No!” The horror in my tone is real, and for a minute, I forget everything except convincing him that’s absolutely not the case. “No, Luca, I never even thought—”
“You didn’t think anyone was watching?” The knife lowers, and I squirm under him, all of my arousal fleeing in cold horror.He can’t possibly bethisangry, not after everything he’s done to save me, no, he can’t—
The knife presses above my breast, and I realize dimly that Luca is cutting through my bra straps. Dizzily, it becomes clear to me that he never intended to hurt me at all—my hands are bound; this is just his way of stripping me naked…as dramatically as possible. I can almostfeelthe blood rushing back to my skin, turning it pink and then red as he cuts away the rest of my bra and then my shirt, tossing the scraps aside to the floor. I’m so relieved that for a moment, I don’t even think about the fact that I’m naked—until Luca tosses the knife back in the drawer. I take in the sight of him kneeling over me, pinning my hips down to the bed, his eyes greedily running over my bare breasts.
I reflexively move to cover myself, my wrists jerking at the belt holding them together before I remember that I’m bound. Something about it sends a fresh quiver through me, and I try to squeeze my thighs together without Luca noticing, that ache returning.
“Oh, you don’t like this?” My husband smiles cruelly down at me, his lips curving in a cold grin. “But I thought you liked being exposed, after what I saw on that tape. I watched it twice, just to be sure I hadn’t missed anything. I saw the way you exposed yourself, running your fingers up and down. I saw how wet you were.” His eyes never leave mine for a second as he slides downwards, his hands going back to the waist of my jeans.
“No, Luca, please—”
He yanks the zipper down, grabbing both my jeans and the edge of my cotton panties before dragging them down my hips. I squeeze my thighs together for a different reason now, not wanting him to see me like this, completely naked and tied up on his bed.
Except—my body is saying something completely different. There’s a look in Luca’s eyes that I’ve seen before—the night before our wedding when he bent me over the couch. A hungry, feral look, something primal in his gaze that tells me that no matter what I say, he’s made up his mind what he’s going to do next, and nothing is going to stop him. And that makes me wet.
So wet, in fact, that I’m afraid he’ll be able to see the evidence of it on my inner thighs before he even touches me—if he plans to touch me at all.
For all I know, he just plans to strip me naked and taunt me.
“Three lies,” he says as he tosses the rest of my clothing to the floor to join the shreds of my bra and shirt. “Three chances, Sofia, to come clean to me about what you did while I was gone. Three strikes.” He reaches up, his hand just below my breasts, and he runs his palm down my flat, quivering stomach, stopping just above my pussy.