Page 36 of Ruthless Boss

“Come,” he says.

At first, I didn’t think he’d treat me poorly. But now, I don’t know. Although he doesn’t have that rage energy oozing from him like Ciro, I can tell he's disappointed every time he looks at me. Upset. Hurt.

I put Dante in this predicament, and I should suffer the consequences. What if they’re too harsh?

Is he going to kill me?

I don’t know if Ciro ever considered truly ending my life while we were together. He needed me to feel better about himself.

What does Dante need me for?

Dante guides me into the bedroom, wrapping the towel around my body. I don’t see any pieces of clothes around, so don’t even bother asking for them. I know he wants to make me feel bare. Vulnerable.

“Can you please not cuff me? I can’t run anywhere,” I beg. “I’m sure you have people outside the door, and while you’re in here, while I’m still alive, I can’t hurt you.”

“Get on the bed,” he says, cocking his head in the direction of the bed.

“Dante, please?—”

“You don’t make demands.”

Sighing, I do as I’m told and sit against the board, and he lifts my arms to cuff them again. My limbs cramp in response, recognizing the aches that return to me all too quickly.

The top of the towel loosens on me slowly until my breasts spill into view.

A wave of embarrassment sweeps over me. I look at him, and our gazes hold.

I purse my lips, and desire shoots down to my core. That, I never experienced with Ciro. When he was rough or beat me up, I was never aroused. I was ashamed, scared, angry.

Dante is different.

He’s so different that I wish he weren’t.

He reaches behind his pocket and lifts a sleek handgun.

I inhale all the oxygen in the room, and my pulse stops working for a moment. “Dante.”

He shushes me and brings the gun to my chest.

The device is cold and heavy, the metal rubbing against my skin. Goose bumps rise on my arms, and a hot wave of awareness crosses my cheeks. This is all kinds of wrong. Dante is about to kill me, and I don’t know what to feel.

“I have a very limited amount of time to get you to talk,” he says, pointing the muzzle at my breast. I recoil, and he drags the weapon over my skin until the muzzle grazes my nipple, which hardens, proving that my body can’t be trusted. “Wonder how I can get you to talk.”

“I would tell you if I knew.”

He ignores my comment and rubs his weapon down my body like he wants the device to catalog me inch by inch. I moan, part turned on, part terrified—and completely at a loss. Seems like I can’t tell him anything he’ll believe. What are my options? Fuck.

Then, he traces the gun below my belly button. Shivers of fear and anticipation run down my spine, and I thrash my wrists, protesting.

“Why did you sleep with me?”

“Because I wanted to.”

“Because you wanted to get closer to me. Wasn’t it? Just admit.”

I frown, impatient. “No.”

He does the unthinkable and eases the gun into my pussy. The cold metallic feels different from his warm cock or any vibrator I’ve used. Because my sex toys never carried a bullet that could end my life.

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