Page 9 of Her Brutal First Love

It wasn’t Giancarlo.

The man in the shower with her was a stranger, his face shadowed but his eyes burning with an intensity that made her stomach twist. She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, holding her in place as he leaned in to kiss her. She turned her head, but it was too late. His lips brushed against hers, and she felt a surge of something she didn’t want to feel—pleasure, hot and undeniable, coursing through her.

“No,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “This isn’t right...”

But her body betrayed her, arching into his touch as his hands moved lower, his fingers sliding between her legs. She gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders as the pleasure built inside her, hot and relentless. She tried to fight it, tried to pull away, but it was too much. The heat, the pressure, the way his body moved against hers—it was all too much.

“Dauphin...”

Excruciating agony ripped through Giancarlo at the sound of Sarica moaning another man's name. He lunged forward, but the chains binding his limbs held him back, and there was nothing he could do but watch in a mixture of rage and betrayal as Sarica’s moans filled the air.

No, stop, no!

Steam from the shower blocked his view as Sarica and her lover came together. He could no longer see anything but he could hear everything.

The couple's bodies slapping against each other—-

The breathless panting—-

And Sarica crying it out again—-

Dauphin.

It was the sound of a woman who was about to come.

GIANCARLO'S RAGGEDbreath destroyed the silence as soon as he was released from his nightmare.

Even though he knew now none of it was real—-

He was still unable to make himself forget.

And that was when he felt it.

Something that he hadn't felt since his father and grandfather were massacred.

Something he thought he had long taken control of.

Rage.

Because right or wrong—-

Sarica needed to pay for forgetting she belonged to him.

AN ELEVATOR RIDE TOa secret floor.

And at the end of the hallway, a luxurious room that was now a cage.

Hercage.

He stood in the doorway, his gaze brooding as he surveyed his prisoner.

Sarica.

Her posture was rigid with tension, her hands cuffed behind her back. The blindfold over her eyes was stark against her pale skin, and her violet hair fell in disheveled waves around her shoulders. She was still wearing the outfit she had been taken in—-a tight-fitted dark shirt that clung to the swell of her breasts, which were now noticeably and rapidly heaving.

Giancarlo had convinced himself three nights ago that keeping her trapped was for her protection. But that was a lie, of course. After finding out what she had been up to in the past three months?

Giancarlo knew she was scared, but he could not make himself regret this.

---