Page 50 of Blackmailed to the Altar

“Who the hell is Riccardo?” I snapped, my voice rough, still thick with sleep, and the tail end of that damn nightmare. I pushed myself up, my eyes narrowing on her in the darkness. “Are you seeing someone else? Is that it? Some lover you haven’t told me about?”

Mya looked at me, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. Her calm demeanor was only adding fuel to the fire that was burning inside me.

“Sebastian, it’s not what you think,” she said, her voice even, but with a hint of urgency. “It’s not some lover’s name.”

I glared at her, not wanting to believe it. The anger was still there, festering, but it was tangled up with something else now; a deep, gnawing fear. I was the one losing control, not her.

“You were calling me by his name,” I bit out, the words harsh and jagged. “Do you know what that does to me?” A war waged within me, between anger and sadness.

The anger wore out.

I rolled us over until I was on top of her. I saw a spark of fear in her eyes, and I craved more. She was responding to my dominance so beautifully.

Mya stuttered, “S-Riccardo is your alter, not another lover. I thought he was still here with me and having a nightmare. I was just trying to help.”

Quietly, I asked, “So, you’ve slept with him? You’ve cheated on me, future wife.”

Her eyes grew big and she stopped squirming in my arms, as she realized the implication of what I was saying. “N-no, I-I’m not. I w-wasn’t ch-ch-cheating.”

Her fear was intoxicating. I leaned forward to take a sniff of her neck. She flinched, and my cock grew hard. She thought she was so fucking smart. So in control. But I ran this shit. I didn’t give a fuck what she blathered about; alters or otherwise.

She thought she could cheat on me, and that shit wasn’t going to fucking fly. I’d deal with the rest, once my soon-to-be wife remembered her place. I placed one hand around her throat, and reached over into the nightstand with the other.

My glock rested on top, and I grabbed it and held it against her head. “So tell me, future wife,” I spat a bit in her face, laughing when she flinched. “Exactly how many men are you fucking?”

I held the gun to her head, and waited for her answer.

She shook her head a bit before the gun grazed her temple, then laid still like she was dead. “N-none.”

I almost believed her. I held her gaze for so long, I almost slumped my shoulders in relief. Then her eyes slid to the left, and she took a big gulp, and I didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.

Click.

I sighed and sat up, straddling her pelvis. I scratched my head with the gun in frustration. “You should’ve died.”

Mya cringed away from me. I couldn’t understand. She broke a vow. I didn’t know what she meant about a fucking alter, but I knew one thing, even in her dreams, if another man touched her, they both would pay the price.

“P-please, Sebastian. It was an honest mistake.”

I shook my head, banging the gun against my skull. “No, no, no, no, no, my little mouse. Stand behind what you said, and take your fucking punishment.”

Tears filled her eyes as she faced the unknown. My cock was the hardest it had ever been in my life. I needed to punish her, brand her, and fuck her, so she would never forget this.

Mya sighed, a grounding presence in the storm raging inside my head. “Sebastian, I know this is hard for you. But Riccardo is part of you. I wasn’t trying to upset you; I was trying to reach out to him, because I thought he needed help.”

I shook her off, allowing the rage to take back over. “No.” Since a bullet hadn’t killed her, I was ready to punish her.

I reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out a length of silk, winding it around her wrists with deliberate slowness. Her breathing quickened, and I could feel the tremble in her body, the way she leaned into my touch even as I bound her. When I was finished, I climbed off the bed and stood back for a moment, taking in the sight of her, vulnerable and restrained, her lips parted in anticipation.

“You need to be reminded who’s in control,” I murmured, my voice rough with desire. I could see the effect my words had on her, the way her pupils dilated, the flush spreading across her cheeks.

I moved, one hand running down the curve of her ribs before I pressed her down onto the bed, her wrists bound above herhead. I could feel the tension in her body, the way she was caught between fear and need. I leaned down, my lips brushing against her ear as I whispered, “You’re mine, Mya. And tonight, I’m going to make sure you don’t forget it.”

Something was missing. I stretched to reach under the bed, and slid out a small black duffle bag. I pulled out the perfect item, shoving a ball gag into Mya’s mouth. I fastened the gag around her head, and moved the ball in between her lips, before tightening the straps.

“Perfect.” I could feel the smirk on my face.

She shivered under me, her breath coming in shallow gasps. I wasn’t gentle as I entered her, driving deep and hard, every thrust a reminder of the power I held over her. Her muffled cries filled the room, her body arching beneath me, as I took what was mine. Each movement, each touch, was a calculated punishment, a lesson in submission she wouldn’t soon forget.

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