Page 13 of Bianchi

At my silence, he closes the gap between us. His footsteps are light, and I imagine him prowling toward me like a majestic lion. Every fiber of my being comes alive when his thick fingers grab my arm, rolling me onto my back. There’s a touch of hesitancy in his cobalt-blue eyes, as if he, too, can feel the energy passing between us. A shiver skates down my spine and my breath hitches as tingles race down my arm.

He releases me, and I fight against the urge to rub the spot that feels scarred by his touch. When he kneels on the bed, it creaks under his weight and I hold his stare as he brings his face to within an inch of mine.

My tongue darts out to lick my lips. His nostrils flare and he bares his teeth to me. Even as he pins me to the bed with a look of anger—red and flaming, burning into my soul—I can’t stop the defiant curling of my lips.

Do your worst, Romeo Bianchi.

He grips my chin in his fingers like a vise. Fear bubbles to the surface before I push it down, compelling the numbness I’m too familiar with to take over. Fear has no place in my emotions.

“You think this is funny? That you have a say in anything that happens to you? Your days of freedom are long gone, Aurora. I own every inch of you. When I say jump, you don’t ask how high, you just fucking do it. The sooner you realize that, the better.”

His words send a confusing mixture of excitement, powerlessness, and anger hurtling through my body, heating the nape of my neck. And yet, I don’t move or show him any sign of the emotions warring inside of me.

Forcefully pushing my face away, he grabs at the collar of my T-shirt, lifting my limp body from the mattress. I stare at the wall. The throbbing in my jaw from where he grabbed me is unbearable, and I blink away the tears that threaten to spill.

He drops me back onto the mattress, ripping the cheap cotton of my shirt down the middle. A gasp is torn from my lips when his knuckles graze my pebbled nipples as he exposes my bare chest. My eyes snap to his, and I bite my tongue to hold back a moan.

How can I want him when he’s behaving in such a vicious way?

I should be feeling humiliated, not turned on and… needy.

Shocked at what he’s done and my body’s betrayal, I make no attempt to cover myself. The cool air has goosebumps forming on my exposed skin and I search his face for a reaction to my nakedness. There’s no hint of regret or remorse in his striking gaze. The anger is still there, bubbling beneath the surface, but there’s also heat.

Holding my stare, he brushes his hand down my stomach. Instinctively, my hips lift a fraction, and I bite down on my lip to keep from begging him for more. The silence is deafening and I’m acutely aware of each breath I take as I wait. He moves in slow motion, popping the button of my jeans and lazily dragging the zipper down. I swallow thickly, anticipation and arousal heightening my senses.

Suddenly, he steps back, his height magnified from where I lie on the bed. It’s as if the moment never happened when he tugs on the cuffs of his shirt and snaps, “Get up, Aurora. I expect you to be showered and dressed in the next twenty minutes.”

The ‘or else’ remains unspoken, hanging in the air, as he strides out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

I allow myself two minutes to process what’s just happened before I move on autopilot, swinging my legs over the edge of the mattress. My concern about being watched is long gone, along with any modesty I had. He’s ripped them both away with my T-shirt, leaving me to feel wanton and dirty.

I undress, leaving what’s left of my clothes in a pile on the end of the bed, before grabbing the bottle of shower gel I threw on the floor earlier. Naked, I walk to the shower in the corner of the room. I have no clue what I’m going to wear now. Does he think I’ll walk around naked for his pleasure? No, he can’t be that callous.

Christ, Aurora. You don’t know this man or what he’s capable of.

I’ve worked so hard to keep myself out of this life. If I want to live, I should keep my head down and do as he demands. But I don’t want to live. Dismissing the dark thought, I reach into the cubicle, twisting the rusted faucets. They’re stiff and creak as I force them to move. Just beyond the wall, I hear water rushing as it makes its way through the pipes.

Cold water spurts onto the stained tile floor. After a few minutes of it not getting any warmer, I step under the spray. Of course there won’t be hot water in their torture room. Icy water pelts down on my goosebump-prickled skin. Tremors wrack my body, and despite the freezing water, I dip my head under it, holding still as I give in to the silent sobs.

There’s a safety to the water because I know that it will hide my fear, hurt, and humiliation from the world. It always has.

When my tears have dried up and I can’t take the torturous temperature anymore, I take a step back. Shutting off the shower, I turn in search of a towel. I don’t know why I’m surprised there isn’t one. It’s not a damn hotel, Aurora.

Swiping up the blanket, I use it to dry off my hair before dabbing at my body. The coarse material doesn’t absorb the water like I need, but it does a good enough job. My eyes fall to my torn clothes in a pile on the bed. I don’t have much choice. I’m going to have to put them on again.

Wrapping the blanket around my body, I tug my jeans back on; the denim clinging to my damp legs as I wrestle them up. I’m slightly out of breath by the time I push the button through the hole and pull up the zipper.

I hold up the my shirt, twisting and turning it as I try to figure out the best way to use it to cover myself. In the end, I slide my arms through the sleeves, putting the back at my front and tying the tattered edges behind me. It’s not perfect but it will do.

My body tenses at the reverberation of the door being unlocked and pushed open. I don’t turn to face him, but the way my body reacts, I know it’s Romeo. His frustration from earlier seems to have gone. I guess I should be thankful for that.

When he doesn’t speak, I finally turn. He’s leaning against the wall, observing me as I comb my fingers through my damp hair. Trying to be as covert as possible, I take him in. He’s dressed all in black with his hair slicked back, but still curling at the collar. My fingers itch to fiddle with the strands, and I tug on my own a tad too firmly. His jaw is smooth where he’s shaved, but it doesn’t take away from his handsome features. I still want to run my fingers over his full lips and trace the contours of his cheekbones and nose.

God, what is wrong with me?

“I’m glad to see you can follow instructions, cucciola.” He pushes away from the wall, stuffing his hands in his pockets. There’s an edge to his voice when he adds, “I’ll only say this once, Aurora, when you go upstairs, don’t try to run. Should you so much as think about it, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in the back of your head.”

Folding my arms across my chest, I tilt my head. “So, if I don’t want to be held down here against my will,” I look around the room, my lip curling in disgust before I meet his hardened stare and continue, “I should just make a break for it and you’ll put me out of my misery? Got it.”

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