Page 51 of Mafia Princess

He lets go of my throat, and I suck in air as I cough and wheeze.

“Fear keeps people balanced. If we don’t fear, we don’t feel. And if we don’t feel, we lose ourselves to the dark.” He stands upright and slowly unbuttons his shirt, revealing a chiseled torso covered in tattoos, and a sprinkling of chest hair. His muscles ripple as he moves to take his shirt off before he discards it on the floor.

I swallow, taking in all that is this man before me. He’s rugged and masculine, his scent is intoxicating, weaving its magic over me. I feel a low throb between my legs and try to fight it. I can’t be this turned on by someone who is meant to be my enemy.

“Are you joining me in the dark, Principessa?” He cocks his head to the side, a dark glare pointed at me.

I nod in agreeance, afraid if I open my mouth, I’ll try to deny him and that’s the last thing I want. I need this man to consume me, I need him to make me forget my demons and take me to a place darker than hell.

“Strip,” he growls, as he moves around the bed to a black chest of drawers.

Ripping off my top and sliding my pants off, my heart beats like a tribal drum, steady and loud, as I watch him with curious anticipation.

Opening and closing each draw, he finally finds what he’s looking for and walks toward me with a length of rope dangling between his long agile fingers. A look of pure evil plastered on his face.

“On your knees at the edge of the bed, Principessa,” he instructs, the low drawl of his voice depraved and intoxicating. He watches me carefully, waiting for me to obey him as I sit on the bed, unmoving. “I won’t ask again.”

I hesitate and eye the rope, uncertainty tainting my judgment. Struggling to hold on to the last bit of my control, I do as he asks, speculation winning the tug of war playing in my mind.

He drags the tip of the rope along my collarbone and down my nipples, sending tingling vibrations through me. He continues his pleasurable tease and skims the rope between my legs, bringing it up the back roughly, and smacking me hard. The sound echoing around the room, and the sting burning my skin. I gasp in response and my nipples harden from the pain.

“Do you trust me, Principessa?” He asks but doesn’t wait for my answer, as he glides the rope around me.

Leaning over me, his woodsy cologne invades my senses, and I have the urge to tilt forward and lick his chest. To run my tongue over his tattoos. But I stay still and silent, waiting, and wanting his delicious punishment.

He bends and twists the rope gracefully, his hands working fast, his breathing even and controlled. He loops the rope between my legs again and pulls, the burning against my skin is almost painful, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek and peer up at him through my lashes. I watch him as he continues to weave the rope around me, securing my wrists and arms behind my back, before looping the rope through my parted legs and tightening it.

I try to move but I’m secured in this position with my arms pulled tight behind me and my legs spread. I look up at him as he watches me, admiring his handiwork.

“What now?” I ask.

“Now you’re going to tell me why you’re killing my men.” He leans down so we’re eye level, his features are a shaded mystery.

I shake my head at him and take in a deep breath. “Never.” I narrow my gaze.

He stands to full height and reaches into his pants pocket to take out two small gold clamps. Circling them in his fingers, he snakes his eyes over me, taking in my defiant look. In one swift move, he reaches out and pulls down my bra so my breasts bulge free, my nipples already hard pebbles.

“You’re going to have to talk eventually.” He studies my breasts before he clamps both my nipples with the two little gold devils.

Instant pleasurable pain shoots through my body, diving deep into my core. “Fuck,” I hiss, and struggle in my constraints, the rope burning my over-sensitized skin, adding to the pain already flowing through me.

Bending down, he stares into my eyes, a wicked smirk plastered on his devil of a face. “You okay there, Principessa?” He flicks one of the clamps, sending shooting pains through my nipple.

“Fine.” I grit my teeth, not wanting to show him how much I’m affected.

“So, tell me. Why are you killing my men?” He straightens and walks back to his chest of drawers, shuffling through the goodies in there.

I watch him carefully, wondering what torture device he’s going to bring out next. The only sound I can hear is the thudding of my heart in my ears, and the deep breaths coming out of m,e as I struggle with the sting in my nipples. My mind is a confusing mess, and it’s working overtime figuring out if it’s turned on or just in pain.

He saunters back to me, his muscles rippling as he moves, his skin glistening under the low light. “We’re starting slow, Principessa, I want to see how far I can take you until I break you.” He slaps the leather whip against his palm.

My eyes bulge at the sight of the whip and I tense in anticipation.

“It only hurts a little.” He winks at me.

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” I spit. My blood singing in my veins as I watch him stalk to the side of the bed.

A loud crack echoes through the room and I feel the sharpest of stings across my stomach, making me drop forward from the pain. “Didn’t even hurt?” I groan as I sit back up and throw him a shit-eating grin.

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