Page 27

“Holy fuck, you smell so fucking good.” I let a finger slip past the waistband of her jeans, teasing, but I don’t let it go inside. I just drag it downward toward her core. I press my fingers against the hard material, cupping her through it. Hovering, teasing. “If I slip my fingers inside, will I find you wet?”

She doesn’t answer, so I bite down on her neck—not too soft, but enough to make her jump. “Yes…yes.”

“Good girl.” With one hand, I squeeze her breasts through her shirt and bra, fondling her through the material with enough pressure to make her arch her back off the wall. Meanwhile, the other hand presses a finger down into her pussy, nearly sending her flying out of my arms. “Why do you insist on defying me, Dolcezza? Do you like making me angry?”

I tighten my grip on her neck. “Answer me,” I command.

“N—n—no.”

“I think you do.”

“Remo, please…I’m not trying to do anything.”

My hand slips under her shirt, shoving her bra aside as I twirl a finger around her already-hardened nipple. “I think this is all part of your plan to provoke me, so I’ll teach you a lesson.”I tighten my grip on her neck even harder. “I think you want to see what I’ll do to you, and that’s why you constantly disobey me. You want to know just how angry I can be. How rough I can be when I hold you up against the wall and slam my dick inside you without any warning. How I’ll listen to your pleas and not slow down. How I won’t stop pounding into you until your pussy drenches my cock. How I’m going to thrust blindly into you like a fucking animal. Fist my hands in your hair like this…” I grip her hair tightly, pulling her back against me. “And fuck you like I fucking hate you.”

“Oh, Remo…”

“And then when I finally feel your orgasm coming, I’ll stop, flip you around, and spill my load on your tits and mouth, and watch you swallow every. Single. Drop. Suffice to say, I’ll make sure you think twice before running away from me again.”

Then I let her go, watching as she stumbles out of my grasp, her body collapsing against the wall.

My steps are deliberate as I make my way toward the sofa and sit down with the confidence of a man who’s always been in control. I stare at her like she’s the answer to every question I’ve never asked, every sin I’ve committed.

The silence is suffocating, and I can feel the weight of it settle between us as I let the room fill with the echo of my voice.

“Now take. Off. Your. Damn. Clothes.”

It’s a command more than a request, and I see her stiffen at the words. There’s hesitation in the way her chest rises and falls and a brief flicker of rebellion in her eyes. But she knows better than to defy me this time.

Her pride might be a shield, but it’s already cracked, and she’s learned—just like every other time—that fighting me only makes things worse.

With a sharp exhale, her shoulders drop. Slowly, deliberately, she begins to remove her clothes. Each movementis measured, and it’s as if she’s trying to maintain some illusion of control, but I can see through it. I see the way her fingers tremble when she takes off her shirt, how her breath catches when she shimmies her pants down.

She knows the game. She knows the stakes.

I watch every movement with a kind of cruel satisfaction, savoring the tension, the discomfort, and the way she moves under my stare. She doesn’t say a word as she stands there, now only in her undergarments, a strange mix of defiance and submission written across her body.

Her eyes meet mine. There’s that flicker of resistance again, a small ember of fight that refuses to be completely extinguished. I don’t let her hold it for long.

“Good,” I murmur, my voice low, almost a growl. I let the silence stretch, thick and heavy, before I lean back into the sofa and watch her with a hunger that’s more than just physical. It’s something deeper, something dangerous. “Now, come here.”

She doesn’t move immediately, and I see the war in her eyes—the part of her that wants to fight, that wants to scream and run, that knows she can’t escape me.

When she steps forward, I let her. But I watch her every move, the way she hesitates before taking that first step, the way she steels herself against me. Her breath is shallow, her body taut with tension.

But I don’t wait for her to reach me. I stand up, closing the distance between us with a few long strides, and take her chin in my hand, forcing her to look at me, to see the man who owns her every thought.

“You belong to me, Daniela,” I whisper, my voice low and threatening, sending a shiver down her spine. “You’ll never forget that. Not ever.”

Chapter 10

Daniela

When Remo Callegari focuses all his attention on someone, there’s not much you can do. I’ve seen the powerful effect of his stare—the way it says so much with just one look—and I’ve come to hate it. But now that he’s looking at me, my body doesn’t listen to the warnings from my brain. I should run while I have the chance. I should hurry out of the room, fight him, or scratch him. Anything to make him slow down or look away. But I don’t.

I want to see how this goes. I want to be the one he takes to the edge. I want to be the one he pulls into the storm, even knowing it will tear me apart. I want to feel what it’s like to be lost in that chaos, to be consumed by it.

And that thought makes me sick. Sick of myself. Sick of this whole fucking mess.