“Why?” she spews. “Because you’re the don? You think every woman—”
“No, because you’re a slut.”
Her mouth falls open, and hurt flashes across her face. She looks away from me and bites her lip.
“I don’t mean that as a bad thing. I just mean… well… you like cock. You let me fuck you when you thought I was some low-level soldier.”
“And that means you can just do whatever you want with me now?”
“No. The fact that you’re here, tied up, means I can do whatever I want with you. You liking sex is a happy accident.”
She says nothing, and I shift on the bed.
“I’m not the one who tossed you in the pot like a measly dollar bill.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
My jaw tics. This isn’t how I pictured things going. I wanted her to be uneasy, frightened even. This seemed like a good opportunity to explore kinks I’ve wondered about, all with the perfect girl for it. But I’m not a rapist.
Maybe the restraints were too much?
I place my hand on her shoulder and run it down her arm. She jerks to get me off her, and my jaw tics again.
I grab her hair and force her to face me. “Do you think I have a problem sleeping at night,Alexa?” My voice is ice. There’s no heat to my words because I’m not exactly angry, but I’m not used to this either. Respect. Fear. Occasionally admiration. But not overt disdain from people who plan on living.
She gasps at the force of my grip, and I drop her hair altogether. I pull my hand away and chuckle in an attempt to lighten the mood, but she doesn’t stop staring at me like she expects me to strike her.
“You know, you should go by Alexa. It’s sexy. Enticing. Alex is the name of my accountant.”
“Well, I’m not exactly trying to beenticing.” She keeps her voice even and low, still guarded.
“Hmm,” I say, running my eyes down her body. Her ivory skin could blend in with my bed sheets and be just as soft as the silk. “I guess that’s fair. You don’t need any help being enticing.”
She says nothing. I raise my hand to touch her again, but it hovers by her ear. I could touch her all night. Just run my hand through her locks and over her skin. It sounds almost as appealing as fucking her does.
“Tell you what,” I say, pulling my hand away. “I’ll undo the straps on your ankles if you agree to be nice. Sound fair?”
“Nice as in…?”
“Cooperative. At least more cooperative than you were with Hector. You hurt his feelings, you know. He may look tough, but he’s got a soft heart.” Sarcasm is etched into my tone, but I’m barely kidding. Hector hates when people point out his scar. Probably because it’s a reminder of where he got it. His old man was a drunk and took a broken piece of beer bottle to him when he was a kid.
“I’m not having sex with you, Settimo.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Again, she says nothing. I scoot behind her and undo the straps around her ankles. A sigh runs over her lips as soon as they’re loose, and she slouches, the muscles in her arms no longer so strained from the hog-tie.
A flash of pity breezes past me. It doesn’t stick for long, but I get a whiff of it, and I consider letting her arms free as well.
“This was never going to benefit Paolo, was it?” she asks, her voice sad. My muscles tense, my shoulders winding tight. I clench my jaw until my teeth ache and try not to say anything, but my respect for her is fading fast, and there’s no amount of pity left.
Still. Still, after this, she cares for Paolo. Why? Because of his power?
Fucking weak women.
“What are you going to tell him?” she asks, some of that fear from earlier back in her voice.
“What do you want me to tell him?”