Page 142 of Deception

The whip, exchanged for a braided strap, slaps my back, the multiple leather cords stinging, tingling.

“Oh! Isabella!”

“Louder. Let's test these soundproof walls.”

And she does just that, putting them to the test with rigorous cracks across my back, my ass, my hips.

I slump forward as she finishes another round, circling around to kiss me, burrowing her tongue into my mouth. It's liquid fire, our tongues intertwining, lashing each other, drinking in the taste of her.

It’s done too quick, leaving me panting, biting at thin air.

She laughs, mocking and sultry, swinging her hips as she walks away. I see the red jewel nestled between her cheeks, twinkling in a new, even more provoking play.

“I need…I want…” I’m growling, baring my teeth.

Isabella grinds up against me, pressing her searing flesh against mine, grabbing my face and jamming a ball gag in my mouth.

She reaches down, grasping my length, squeezing hard to make her point. “When I’m done with you tonight, slave, there’s not going to be anything left—want or need.”

I nearly faint from desire, exertion.

It’s pure ecstasy.

She takes me through hours of edging torment before she finally gives me permission to come. It’s so natural, this lust, our love. And I will never get enough of it.

“Isabella …”

Nothing will ever be the same for me again.

“Alessandro …”

Nothing will ever break our bond.

Because I'm going to ask her to marry me.

EPILOGUE 2

Adriano

Facing death has always been a part of my life.

I always thought it would be swift. Painful, sure.

A gunshot through the head, or maybe I’d be tortured to death at the hands of our enemies. Definitely something brutal, maybe something heroic.

Certainly not going down in a fireball on a train. Of course, I know it’s stupid, so unlikely. Only eight hundred or so people die in train related incidents every year in the EU.

But they freak me out. Especially the high-speed rail. However, it’s the best way to get back to Paris in time to catch my flight back to the States.

Releasing my death grip on the armrests, I fidget, trying not to look out the window. I need a drink.

“Get your shit together, man,” I mutter to myself.

“Are you alright?” The voice is sweet, dulcet.

I look up, trying to school the glower from my face.

Auburn hair, lustrous red. Light, honey-colored eyes.

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