Page 47 of Sin & Sapphire

Angelo drew back, amusement dancing in his eyes. Violence was the one outlet neither of us permitted with the other. With both of us dominant and cruel, we’d found equilibrium in gentleness. I stilled, my nails digging so hard into my palms I drew blood.

Angelo took me in his mouth again, meeting his lips with his fist as he slid my cock down his throat, tight and hot. Electric pleasure coiled in my spine as he sucked me, as controlling of me as I was of him, even on his knees before me.

I stilled my hips, well aware he’d move away from me if I did, just as I teased him when I was in control. Edging each other, loving each other, was a dangerous game we played, where each of us needed control but neither could give it up.

Ana could give us both that.

Angelo sped up, sucking harder, flicking his tongue along the bottom of my length until I couldn’t restrain myself, thoughts of him and her mingling together in my head, filling me with disgust for my emotional betrayal of Angelo as much as I exalted in the fantasy of Ana in front of me, her skin flushed rosy from a flogger. I bucked my hips up into him as I came, bliss exploding from me as he drew a powerful climax out of me.

When I finished, I dropped back onto the couch, relaxed, exhausted, a smile teasing at my lips. Angelo cleaned me with his tongue, then reverently tucked me back into my pants as I caught my breath.

He surged up to kiss me, his lips dancing over mine, and I dragged him down until he sprawled against me. He laughed softly, then arranged himself on the couch beside me, lifting my arm to drape around his shoulders.

“Think of how much better that would have been if you could have hurt me.”

I looked at him sharply. “Absolument pas.” He had to know I loved him as he was, that I didn’t want him to change just because I was fucked up and twisted. He was content to love me, even though I’d never submit to him, never cede the total control that he sought.

“Think of how much better it would have been if you could have hurther.”

Merde.

“I’m fucking hungry!”Ana yelled from her room, rousing me from a deep sleep.

Angelo scrubbed his face, cursing in quiet Italian.

“I’ll do it,” I murmured, looking at my phone. It was time to begin her training in earnest. We had another week, if we were lucky, before Angelo had to return to the States to complete his consolidation of the Costa territory in Yorkfield. The Tchérnovs were burning through Costa properties, and Angelo risked losing control if we didn’t return soon.

Wearing nothing but silk pajama pants, I opened Ana’s door, only to find her yanking at her bonds, hollering for food, to let her use the bathroom, to, “fucking let me go right fucking now.”

“Ana,” I said softly.

She stopped immediately, her eyes flicking over my chest and my abs in a way that told me she wasn’t entirely immune to my charms. To be fair, I wasn’t immune to hers either, the way her soft breasts pressed into the air with every furious breath, or how she exposed her pretty pussy when she tried to twist her body, even though her wrists were tied together and attached to the headboard above her head.

“What do you want?”

She blinked, her green eyes sharpening. “Release me, motherfucker.”

“That’s not how we ask for things in this household,” I answered gently before striding out of the room and closing the door.

Screams and shouts followed me. With a deep sigh, I rifled through the duffle bags in the sitting area and found a pair of earplugs.

Angelo accepted them with a grateful sigh, then rolled over and went back to sleep.

Ignoring the tempting play of muscles across his broad back, I padded back to the couch and began scanning through my phone, wincing at the increasingly unhinged messages from Boris Tchérnov, demanding the return of our sweet (hah!) angel so Grégoire could marry her. No, so he could kill her. No, he didn’t want her at all, he wanted me to buy him a new fucking yacht.

Ana’s screams faded to hoarse cries, and then to silence as I made sandwiches of yesterday’s baguettes, high quality ham, and butter. Classic, French, and everything I both loved and loathed about the country.

I nudged her door open with my foot, and she began to struggle again, fighting and gasping as she writhed against her restraints. “Why the fuck are you doing this?”

I ignored her, showing her the sandwich I’d wrapped in a paper towel. “Food is earned, and you haven’t earned it yet.”

She silenced immediately, watching me with wary eyes as I rounded the bed and looked down at her naked form.

Disheveled.

Tracks of tears down her face.

Filthy.

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