Page 49 of Queen's Move

She wrapped her arms around herself as she continued to pace, trying to swallow the rising panic. She made the wrong move in every way. She’d interrupted Sotza at work, she undermined him, she forced her will on the situation. In short, she’d acted without thinking. Not something Vee usually did. Like Sotza, she was a planner, she made decisions with cool, careful thought. Sotza had every right to be angry with her.

Knowing that didn’t help her anxiety. She had crossed The Butcher. She would have to pay the price of betrayal, as John had. She was probably going to die. Thinking about what he’d done to John hit her again and she nearly ran for the toilet.

“Nice work, Vee,” she mumbled to herself. “You finally find a husband you can possibly live with and in less than a week you manage to royally fuck that up.”

The door opened. Vee froze as Sotza strode into the room. He looked the same. Sleeves rolled up his arms, tie missing. There was no blood on him, not a single drop. There should be blood on him considering what she’d witnessed. Yet he looked immaculate. He looked at her as she assessed him. He watched without emotion, his gaze cold and dead, eyes flat. He gave her a minute as she struggled to come to terms with him as a man, a murderer and a husband.

“Sotza,” she said trying for a conciliatory tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect - ”

“You will not defy me like that in front of my second, or any of my men. Ever,” he said quietly, menacingly. He took a step toward her, his dark eyes blazing to life with fury.

“Sotza, let’s talk about this. I know I fucked up, but the way you were acting - ”

“You will not defy me again, Elvira,” he interrupted sharply, repeating himself.

An answering anger flared to life within her. He wouldn’t accept either apology or explanation. She had suspected, no, sheknew, that they would clash over something like this. The dominant mafia boss who talked lip service about giving her freedom and setting her up at his side only to strip it away the moment they disagreed. He was reliving her last marriage.

“Or what?” she cried. If he wouldn’t accept her apology then she would fight him, try to make her point. “You’ll do to me what you did to John? Isn’t that what you were going to do to me in Miami? Before you met me?”

“I was working,” he said icily. “You know the difference.”

“You fucking enjoyed every minute out there in that disgusting prison. Don’t bother to deny it. I was there, I saw your face as you cut him to pieces while he was still alive.”

“Vee,” he said warningly, stepping toward her. She backed up, her legs bumping the bed. “I won’t deny I enjoyed torturing the man that handed my wife over to the Mexican cartel. I would have done just as much damage for less.”

“No,” she snapped. “There’s a difference between revenge killing and what you did. You like it, you like hurting people. You’re a fucking psychopath!”

“Enough!” he yelled, reaching for her.

Vee jumped back, swiping her good arm at him. “Don’t you fucking touch me!”

The look that crossed his face was utterly terrifying. She’d seen it in her nightmares, before Sotza captured her and showed her his loving side. She’d seen it out in his prison building when he was cutting John to pieces. She wondered if she was about to die. He grabbed her, so suddenly that she was standing next to him one moment, then on her back a second later, trapped beneath him. His hands gripped her arms tightly. She yelped in pain as his hand squeezed her injured arm.

“You will never again refuse my touch,” he said to her, his voice chilling.

“Fuck you!” she hissed, struggling to heave him off, roll out from underneath him.

He ripped her blouse, right down the middle, popping the buttons. She cried out and slapped at him, but he held her arms while ripping the rest of her clothes from her body. What the fuck was he doing? She was naked beneath him now, only her bra still on and he’d yanked it so her small breasts were pushed over the top. She didn’t understand until he shifted his body, placing his hips between her legs and reaching for his zipper. His movements were quick, efficient.

His intent became obvious and Vee started to really freak out. “Stop, Sotza!” she begged, her voice rising. “Isaac, what are you doing?”

“Don’t fight me, Vee. You’ll injure you’re arm,” he said, his voice impassionate, though anger poured off him in spades. He gripped her face in one hand, shoving her chin up and to the side. His elbow rested on her sternum, pinning her to the bed. She tried to slap at him, but she couldn’t see what she was doing, couldn’t properly reach him. She kept hitting his arms and it was like hitting a brick wall – it didn’t move him.

“If you do this I’ll find a way to kill you!” Tears sparking in her eyes.

She gasped as his fingers touched her, entered her. Anger sizzled through her veins sparking an erotic charge. The air practically snapped with the tension between them. She brought her knee up, trying to slam it into his side. He was right, she couldn’t keep slapping him without hurting her shoulder. But her legs worked just fine. He grunted when her sharp knee connected with his ribs. Unfortunately, the move gave him better access to her vulnerable pussy. He pushed his fingers further into her, harder, more firmly against her g-spot. He flicked a thumb over her clit and she cried out. He wasn’t just going to brutally take her body, he was going to force a response.

He kept her pinned with an elbow on her chest and grabbed her leg, gripping it just above her knee and forcing it higher, opening her wider. She growled as he pumped his fingers in her, applying pressure to all the right spots and sliding his thumb over her clit. Her hips picked up the rhythm though her brain splintered in every direction; caught between the need to greedily sponge all the pleasure he was offering and horrified by his actions.

“Fuck!” she yelled as her orgasm built. She squirmed and fought, but he was much heavier and stronger. And she was fighting with an injury.

He took her chin and moved her head to face him. “Look at me,” he demanded, his voice a deep growl. “Am I The Butcher now, Elvira?”

“Fuck… you!” she snarled.

His eyes darkened at her defiance and he thrust himself harder between her legs. Unable to pull him away from him she wound her fingers in the cuff of his shirt and held on. He pulled his fingers from her and she cried out at the loss. She thought he would enter her then, push his long, thick cock against her and fill her up. The way she needed. Instead his fingers, saturated in her wet, sticky response, moved lower. She cried out and tensed up when his fingers sought her back entrance, touching her, exploring, then shoving past the barrier of her anal ring in one thrust. She cried out and dug her fingernails into his arm.

Pain shot through her body as she tried to adjust to his rough entry. She panted, trying to breathe through the new and strange feelings flooding through her. She tried to close her legs, deny him further entry, but he effortlessly kept her positioned, spread wide for his assault. She wanted to yell, to swear at him but she was too swamped by sensations. She couldn’t catch her breath enough to form the words. He began moving his fingers in her tight passage, raking them across sensitive erogenous zones she didn’t know she had, lighting her lower body up with a heady combination of pain and pleasure.

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