Page 13 of Control (Dark Syndicate #1)

The words hit her like a punch. I can see it in her eyes—the fear she won’t admit, the understanding that no matter what she does, she’s tangled in my world now.

Her voice trembles when she speaks again. “You don’t own me.”

“I don’t have to,” I reply. “You’re mine either way.”

And that’s the truth, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter if she tries to run. She’s already mine. She just doesn’t know it yet.

I lean in, my tone colder, more commanding. “I guess I better start showing you.” Then, without breaking my stare, I say, “Take off your clothes.”

Her eyes flash with anger, but she doesn’t speak. For a moment, we just stare at each other, the tightness between us thick as smoke. She wants to fight. She wants to scream. But she knows she can’t defy me. She’s not stupid. She knows the kind of danger I can bring.

But she doesn’t give up. She never does. And maybe that’s what kills me.

“Don’t test me, Daniela,” I murmur softly. “You know exactly what I’m capable of when I’m angry.”

She says nothing, her stare hard and unwavering. I can see her body tense as she fights against the words bubbling up inside her, but she refuses to back down.

Neither will I.

Stepping closer, I grab her by the neck and push her against the wall, the impact making her gasp.

“Remo…what are you doing?”

“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 movement is 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.”