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I brush my thumb against my lip and start. “How do you know the Cuadrados?”
“I met them at the gala,” Catalina gasps. Her tits are starting to heave from panic. A mixture of emotions swells up inside of me. I can’t tell if I like seeing her like this or not... but I do know that seeing her body wriggle is so fucking hot. I shift in place, trying to disguise my arousal.
“Why were you at the gala?” I continue.
“To meet rich gentlemen,” she says, almost sarcastically. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I saw the hint of an eyeroll. Is she really giving me sass right now? When I have her chained up like this?
The guts...
“Why?” I ask.
“What do you mean why?” Catalina’s fighting spirit seems to inhabit her again for a split second, before she tries to yank her arm forward and the cold, rattling chain catches against her wrist, reminding her full well that she’s completely at my mercy.
“Why were you at the gala?” I clarify.
“For the same reason every other girl dressed in that stuffy traditional outfit was: because I want to be rich, too!”
“I’m rich,” I note.
“You’re no gentleman,” Catalina hisses.
I bite my lip. God, this woman is impressive; even more so than I originally thought.
“You don’t know that,” I tease her, starting to pace; making it clear that I’m the one with the freedom of movement here.
Catalina rattles her chains. “I’ve never heard of any gentleman who handcuffs hostages in damp dark dungeons.”
I shrug. “We’re all allowed to make mistakes once in a while.”
“And what about your little scene with Carlos’s father at the gala?”
I brush my lip with my thumb again, trying to hide my amused smile. Hell, this is turning out to be more fun than I expected. Maybe it’s just Catalina’s anger that turns me on so much, and not her fear. She was pissed after our l
ittle bike ride here, after all.
“I guess maybe I’m not a gentleman,” I capitulate.
This time, there’s no subtlety in Catalina’s eye roll. “How’d you figure that out, Sherlock?”
“With a little help from my Watson,” I smirk.
“Oh, I’d just love to meet him,” Catalina lilts sarcastically, still chained to the dungeon wall.
“My Watson is a she...” I taunt, “and she’s a little tied up right now.”
Catalina sneers at me, her cute nose scrunching into a button; in an instant I decide that this game is over. I’ve already learned enough from our first session; most important of which is that Catalina’s fear does little for me.
It turns out that scaring her yesterday wasn’t what made me feel so good. No. It wasn’t her fear that caused me to rumble with desire overtop of her, as she shook under my hunched and heaving body on the bike ride here—it wasn’t even the thrill of the confrontation that made my heart race and my pants tighten.
It was making her tremble.
I want to make her squirm; fear only plays a small part in that.
8
Catalina
By the time my bedroom door finally unlocks again, I’m nearly at my wits end.