Page 75 of Syndicate of Sin Bundle

I tightened around his cock, my pussy walls clinging to him.

He cut off the second strap and swept the knife between my breasts and along my bra line. “You’re so tight for me,” he said, starting to pump into me, each time making my breasts bounce and push further into the blade. “If I fucked you any harder, this pretty chest of yours might turn red with your blood.” He paused and glanced at me. “But you said you wanted it to hurt.”

Cristian thrust up hard into me, the knife pressing harder against my tits, and started to really pound up into me until I came out of the push-up bra completely. I moaned out and clutched the countertop, shoving my breasts forward because I loved this.

Too fucking much.

“Harder,” I pleaded.

Cristian forced the edge harder against my sternum as he rammed himself into me. Wanting, needing, desperate for more, I did what I’d never thought I could or would do—I raised a hand and smacked him right in the face.

“I said, I want it harder.”

Overcome with anger that I had slapped him, Cristian pulled himself out of me, turned me back over so my chest was against the counter, wrapped one hand around my throat, and pushed the blade against it with the other. He pushed himself back into me and fucked me over and over and over, his huge cock thrusting in and out of my tight hole.

My fingers dug into the countertop until they turned white. I gasped out for breath, moaning and clenching on him. “More. More. More. Please,” I pleaded, knowing that he was about to tip me over the edge.

He pumped into me one last time, and I screamed out, my legs trembling and waves of pleasure rushing through every part of my body until I could barely stand.

Cristian tossed down the knife, wrapped his arm around my waist, and buried himself as deep as he could get, coming inside my pussy. “My wife.”

63

roxie

Cristian lay in our bed, eyes shut softly and a five o’clock shadow on his face, looking as if he wasn’t the cruelest crime lord in New York City. I sat next to him with his phone in my hands and his messages with Chiara pulled up on the screen.

That video played over and over and over again without sound. And I couldn’t get myself to stop watching it. Cristian had fallen asleep hours ago, but I had stayed up all night after we had sex because … I felt both betrayed and angry that my own family could do that to me.

No matter how many times I shut the phone off and placed it in my lap, vowing that had been the last time I would ever watch it, I would pick it back up and glare at the video, at the sight of little Roxie being abused and not knowing why this was happening.

I felt her pain every time she opened her mouth, knowing that she was screaming in horror, shouting, “It hurts. It hurts. Please, stop.”

None of them had ever stopped.

It’d kept happening for years—until Cristian’s dad killed my grandfather.

And then maybe in private after that.

I couldn’t quite remember, and I didn’t want to remember either. I hated my entire family, should’ve cut them off sooner. I hadn’t talked to them in so long, but … that didn’t mean I didn’t think of them, that didn’t mean that I had been blinded for all these years by the facade they put on in front of everyone else.

In the video, little Roxie cried tears, her cheeks flushed red and her pouty lips swollen. I bit my lip to hold back a cry. I hated my parents and family so fucking much. I couldn’t wait to destroy their lives, just as they had destroyed mine. It wouldn’t make me feel better, but it’d stop the abuse now. It would end it. No other child would get hurt because of them.

“Have you been watching this all night?” Cristian asked from beside me, grabbing the phone from my hand and clicking it off.

Letting him take it, I pressed my lips together and glanced down at him. “I want to go now. I can’t wait another moment. They’ve hurt me so badly, and God only knows how many other children have suffered because of them.”

Cristian deposited the phone in his bedside drawer, sat up, and drew me into his arms. “Principessa …” he murmured into my ear, stroking my hair and pressing his lips to my cheek. “Calm down. You shouldn’t have watched that. Don’t work yourself up again, like you did in Boston.”

After balling my hands into fists, I stared at New York City’s skyline through our high-rise windows, the lights dancing against the dark morning sky. It couldn’t have been later than five a.m., but I wanted to go. Now.

“How could I not get worked up, Cristian? They’ve done terrible things.”

“And they’ll pay for it,” Cristian said. “But don’t go in there upset. They will have won that way. They’ll know that they broke you down. You’re stronger than that. Show them how strong you are. Prove to them that you should’ve never been fucked with. Then, give them what they deserve. You hold the power. Don’t let them win.”

Letting his words set in, I sighed and rested my head on his shoulder. When I had been younger, they had taken away all my control; they had forced me to do things that no child should ever have to endure. Now that I was out, they still controlled me because this pain wasn’t going away easily. I would forever wonder why my family had done that.

But … I wasn’t going to let this loom over my life anymore.

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