Page 5 of Sweet Torture (Torture Games #1)

“You call that humiliation? I see. You are probably this strong man who is used to getting his way every single damn time. Well, let me disillusion you on this fine night in this beautiful Italian restaurant. If you want to have me, you will have to play my game by my rules or get nothing at all.”

I slam my fist down on the table, and the silverware rattles. People are starting to stare at us, but I don’t give a damn. She literally has me by the balls, and I have never felt more alive.

“This is not how this evening was supposed to go. I had a plan. And you were supposed to give in,” I seethe.

Her laughter tinkles beside me and fills me with even more fury.

“Poor Griffin, no one has ever told you no before. Oh, how I would love to make you addicted to this” – she leans closer and whispers with her warm breath caressing my ear – “soaked pussy aching to play with you.”

She pulls back and acts as if nothing monumental has changed. My top lip is beaded with sweat, and I pick up a butter knife just to have something to do with my hands.

“Tell me about the rules,” I breathe through clenched teeth.

She picks up the papers I brought along and takes her time to scan through them. Minutes of grinding my teeth pass before she speaks again.

“This is cute, but I have something more comprehensive in mind.”

Cute! She thinks my contract is cute? I’ve elaborated on all the things I want to touch, taste, and strangle for my own pleasure, and she thinks it is cute?

“And what would that be?” My lips move involuntarily.

I can’t stop now. I am intoxicated, and if the only way to get this woman under me is by playing by her rules, then that is exactly what I will have to do. I have never had a deal I could not close. And I am not about to start now.

“I am looking for a situation that would be beneficial for both parties involved. I have a comprehensive contract that you are welcome to go through at your own leisure. Any questions or concerns could be discussed over dinner if you prefer. If you agree, this will be purely a business transaction where we both will be satisfied without any strings attached.” She turns all business and folds her hands on the table nonchalantly.

My breath hitches.

Are my ears deceiving me?

“ You have a contract?”

She looks up at me, and before I know it, she starts stroking her fingers through my hair, and I consider purring.

“Of course. A girl needs to be careful these days. We need to be clear about what we feel we deserve, don’t you think?” Her breathy whisper caresses my skin.

The waiter provides a slight reprieve when he places the breadsticks before us and a tumbler of whiskey to her left. She raises the glass to her lips with her open hand, never faltering in stroking my hair with the other.

“Bring me the steak. Angelo knows how I like it.” My words disguise how close I am to the edge.

The waiter turns away without hesitation, and I grab the drink from her hand. I take a big swallow, pressing my lips to the lipstick-stained rim.

“Why don’t we get to know each other better first? Tell me about your art.” The sip has grounded me, for the moment.

She takes the glass from my hand and downs the whole drink before she places the glass on top of my papers, ice clinking. A wet ring forms, and I curse inwardly.

She picks up a breadstick, bites it in half, and licks her lips before she deliberately chews slowly.

The moan she gives after taking the first bite assaults my senses.

I need to fuck this woman. Again. My dick is straining against the zipper, desperate for some relief.

This spell she has cast on me can’t be broken. I need to approach this differently.

“I own a marketing company. It is the tall glass building on Seventh Street.”

“That explains a lot. ”

Another bite and another titillating moan.

“What does that mean?” I challenge.

“Nothing, you just look so put together and in control. It must be exciting running your own company.” She takes her last bite, and I thank the gods that may be for ending the torture.

At least one of my businesses is exciting. Not to mention dangerous.

The waiter places the steak in front of me, grilled to perfection, as always.

“Oh, that looks good. Mind giving me a bite?” She bites her bottom lip in anticipation.

Even though my mind is whirling with conflicting thoughts, the atmosphere is pleasant enough.

The checkered tablecloths, low lantern light, and various murals painted on the walls mimic a true Italian bistro.

I pick up my cutlery and cut a generous piece of steak off to offer to her.

But before the bite can reach her mouth, I pull it out of reach.

“Are you asking about me or the steak?”

She leans closer, pressing her breasts into my arm, and my body turns immobile.

“Well, I know what I crave, but the steak will do for now.” Her fingers fold over my hand to bring the fork closer to her lips. I stare down at the blood-red tines. Her voice sounds innocent enough when she sees me staring.

“Oh, I am sorry. I wear this brand because I like marking the things that belong to me. Besides, can you imagine how sexy it will be to look down and see my lipstick marks around your needy cock?” Her words are a little more than a whisper in the wind, but my desperate body reacts on instinct.

She carries on moaning into her plate of risotto, but I have no choice but to abandon the food while I have an inner monologue with my throbbing member on the consequences of being hard constantly. He argues that it might be my best idea yet. I am on the brink of agreeing with him.

The night flows, and we order a bottle of Bordeaux wine that turns into two. She tells me all about her erotic painting empire and how, apparently, she is doing quite well for herself.

“What can I say, sex sells,” she adds with a shrug.

She does elaborate that she is bound by bouts of creativity, and then she disappears from civilization for days, if not weeks, to concentrate on her work.

She also adds that she steers clear of most social events and prefers her anonymity to protect her privacy.

I can understand that in more ways than one.

I tell her about the part of my business I can divulge. And the responsibility it takes to have so many employees’ livelihoods in your hands.

We laugh, I whisper inappropriate suggestions in her ear, and she strums my dick discreetly under the table until I feel like I am about to explode .

When the bill comes, she takes out her purse, and I grab it from her.

“I asked you out, therefore, it is my privilege to pay.”

I take out my wallet to swipe my card and hand the machine back to the waiter.

“Privilege, you say? And by that reasoning, will I have to pay when I ask you out?” she asks nonchalantly.

I take the slip and put it back in my wallet. I offer my hand to help her out of the bench, making sure to walk behind her so I can enjoy the view.

“Never. You would be mine to spoil,” I absentmindedly reply.

At the door, I take her coat and hang it over her shoulders.

“That does sound enticing. Might make it worthwhile to contemplate my proposal,” she purrs. She draws a line with her nail on my chest, and my body instantly inflames with need.

How could I not? The feeling that I am getting into something unknown is only strengthened when we reach her car in the parking lot.

I open the door after she unlocks it with her fob. She throws her purse on the passenger seat and suddenly turns into my body. I feel her hands crush my lapels as she forcefully turns the tables and pushes me up against her car door.

“You need to understand, Griffin. I need a man who would raze this city to ashes just to please me. But oh, the things,” – she licks my earlobe – “the things I would do to you.”

She straightens, flattening my lapels, and slips a piece of paper into my breast pocket. Then she turns around, gets in her car, and drives off into the night.