Page 71 of Dirty Mafia Sinner

Instead, he relaxes and closes his eyes. “There’s a shower in the casita. Go cool off.”

Emotional whiplash, that’s what this is. “Do you believe me or not?”

He pries one eye open. “Still here?”

“I don’t need a shower.”

He rolls up so fast, I jump. “You don’t get to decide what you need—I do. I say jump, you jump, or our arrangement is over. Capisci?”

My heart skips a beat. “What exactly am I agreeing to?”

His smile’s pure evil. “Offer accepted, baby. You’ve just become my personal fuckdoll.”

SANDRO

I giveher thirteen minutesexactlybefore charging into the casita after her.

Shock registers when the door’s thrown open and I interrupt her naked in the bathroom and drying herself off with a fluffy towel. I crook a finger at her, signaling for her to join me in the living area.

An antique bureau filled with toys sits on one wall. An enormous white sofa with perfectly rounded arms, a glass coffee table, and a decorative rug fill the center of the open space, anda spanking bench completes the unique setup. A small kitchen is on the far-left wall, and a short hallway leading to my fuck room is in the back.

I remove a leather belt from the bureau, and then crack it in the air a few times. Whipping her ass, though, isn’t today’s appetizer. My cock swells at what I’ve in store for her, just like it’s been doing since I first choked and fucked her against her bathroom door.

Did she know who I was and told Ciro about my visits?

Not sure now.

Does it matter, considering I’ve decided to use her for my own pleasure?

Not one iota.

My dark side’s snapped awake. When you deal with the devil, hell knows no mercy.

I feel her behind me. “Go stand by the sofa.”

Her soft footsteps confirm she’s obeyed.

“Tell me,” I silkily say, not gracing her with a look. “Did you put your uniform back on?”

“Yes,” she grumbles.

“What was that?” I get hard at her obedience, especially knowing she hates the uniform. “Louder.”

“I. Am. Wearing. It.” Each word is pronounced, like she’s telling me to fuck off without really telling me.

I smirk at her displeasure.

She clears her throat. “Is Emily okay?”

I flick my wrist, and she flinches as the belt uncoils in the air. “Such concern for Emily, Emily, Emily.”

“Will you hurt me?”

“Hurt you? In every way imaginable.” I hear her gasp. “But you’re asking the wrong questions. Ask me what the right one is, baby.”

“What’s the right one?” Her voice is barely a whisper.

“How far am I willing to submit to make Alessandro happy?” Because I don’t just want her broken. I want her begging me to break her. All the filthy, twisted things I held back from doing to her—denying myself, for the first time in my life, for fear of pushing her too far, for fear ofbreakingher—are on the fucking table now. “Uniform off and kneel.”