Page 8 of Owed to the Billionaire

A shadow of a smile crossed his lips. “No, you don’t. But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk.”

I swallowed hard; the taste of the sandwich suddenly bland. “Talk about what?”

Vincent leaned closer, looking right at me. “Anything. Where did you grow up?”

The question caught me off guard. “Brooklyn. It wasn’t the nicest part, but it was home.”

He nodded, as if genuinely interested. “I’ve been there a few times. Rough place. How did you and Ryan manage?”

I hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. “We looked out for each other. Did what we had to do to survive.”

His gaze softened. “That kind of loyalty is rare.”

“After our parents died in the accident, we only had each other…. It was hard.” I revealed.

Vincent became pensive for a second. “I also lost my mother when I was very young. I miss her still….” He saw how my attention was suddenly on him and recovered quickly. “But you do what you have to do to move on. Right?”

“You do. I think that’s what my brother was trying to do….” I threw it in his face before I decided to change the subject. “What about you? Were you always... this?”

Vincent chuckled, a sound that was both warm and unsettling. “Not always. But life has a way of pushing you into roles you never expected.”

We lapsed into silence again, but this time it felt less awkward, more contemplative. I finished my sandwich and glanced at him. “Why are you being nice to me?”

He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto mine. “Because I want you to understand that not everything is black and white, Michael. Sometimes, even in the darkest situations, there’s room for... shades of gray.”

I stared at him, trying to decipher his meaning. “And what shade are you, Vincent?”

He smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “I’m still figuring that out.”

For the first time, I felt a sliver of connection between us—something beyond the roles of captor and captive. It was confusing and unsettling, but also oddly comforting. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to Vincent Salvatore than I had initially thought….

“I’m sorry I had to do this.” Vicent reached over, gently brushing the back of his hand over my swollen bottom.

“Are you?” I looked at him without blame or sarcasm.

He took a second to think and I could tell he was wondering the same thing himself. “Do you think I enjoyed punishing you?” He finally returned the question.

Did I think the raging hard-on I’d felt when he picked me up was related to my beating….? I couldn’t help but glance at his crotch for a split second before blushing. “I saw that you did.”

“I can’t say I didn’t…” Vincent’s thoughts came as a whisper. “Your naked body trembling under my crop, your little whimpers and moans….” Vincent closed his eyes, re-living the experience and, oh, my God, you freak…, did he just admit to that?

Aware of my reaction, he placed his hand over mine. “Yes, Michael, I definitely enjoyed those, but…. did I really enjoy your pain? Your fear toward me? I don’t think so.”

I looked at him in shock. It isn’t that I expected him to lie, but this man had absolutely no filter.

I couldn’t help but feel a chill in my stomach when I recalled the feeling of his body against mine, his muscular chest, his scent….

Sitting next to me, he caressed my back, staring at me with those piercing gray eyes. “Why did you wrap your arm around me earlier?” He asked with a frown of curiosity.

Why did I?

“I felt…. protected when you comforted me. Like I could be safe with you, even though you’re the one who hurt me.” I returned the honesty, not fully getting it myself.

Vincent looked at me and, for a second, he seemed almost vulnerable. “I’d much rather give you pleasure than pain, Michael.”

As he ran his fingers up to my neck, I closed my eyes to the touch, feeling him get closer, until the warmth of his breath brushed my ear. I shivered in anticipation, but Vincent must’ve thought about it twice, because he quickly recoiled.

“So why don’t you?” I asked, as surprised at my words as he seemed to be.

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