Page 29 of Owning Nicci

The worst part about being kept in Savio’s guest room isn’t that I don’t have clothes. It’s the absolute boredom that has set in. Halfway through the day, I catch myself laughing out loud, because I can’t help but think that it’s ridiculous that he tried to tempt me with orgasms last night. That he told me that my pleasure was his, insinuating that if I’m good, if I’m the submissive pet that he wants, he’ll give me more.

Right now, I couldn’t care less about sex. If he wanted to tempt me with something, it would be a book. Having a television in my room. Being allowedoutof this fucking room.

I’m so bored I could scream. There are only so many baths I can take, so many times I can run through episodes of my favorite shows that I’ve watched in my head before I’m painfully aware that I’m locked in here with absolutely nothing to do. I do a basic workout, shower again, and try to meditate, but I’ve always been absolutely shit at it. And the itchy, cabin-fever-like feeling coursing through me only makes it more impossible.

It’s just starting to get dark when I hear the door being unlocked. I assume it’s Savio bringing me dinner, but instead, he steps inside, his jaw set and an angry, frustrated look on his face.

My next assumption is that he wants me to ease that frustration, and I try to ignore the prickle that runs over my skin at the thought. I’ve been fighting back the memory of last night all day—or the end of it, at least. I’ve gone over the memory of killing Lucas a dozen times already, remembering every moment, the sweet thrill of victory and how it felt to see that look in his eyes, when he realized that the woman he once treated like meat was turning him into exactly that.

Dead meat.

What I don’t want to let myself think about is what came after. Savio touching me, hot and hungry and possessive, making me call out every place on my body where Lucas touched me so he could do it instead. Savio, making me chase my own orgasm, forcing me to accept that I wanted that pleasure, even if it was from him.

Maybe evenbecauseit was from him.

I feel confused. My emotions feel tangled. I wish I had someone to talk to about what I did last night—not because I feel guilty, or regret it, but because Ikilledsomeone. A man who wanted to hurt me, who undoubtedly hurt others, who had it coming…but still, I wish I could talk to someone who would understand how that first time feels. Savio, I imagine, would understand. But I can’t imagine talking to him about it. I can’t imagine letting myself be that vulnerable with him, especially after last night.

He’s my jailor, I remind myself. Another name on my list…just the very last one on it. I’m doing what he wants because I need him to facilitate my plans, not because of anything else. Therecan’tbe anything else. Feeling things for him—for a man who is keeping me captive, who kidnapped me—is impossible. It would mean I’ve fallen even further than I already had, before all of this.

I’m so distracted that it takes me a moment to realize that Savio isn’t holding a dinner tray—but folded clothes. He clears his throat, the irritation in his face deepening.

“Do you have something else to do,principessa?” he asks flatly, a mocking note in his voice when he uses the nickname. “Somewhere to be?”

“No, sir.” I force the words out, trying not to let him hear how much I hate saying it. I picture myself slapping him, shoving him out of the room, grabbing the keys and clothes and running. I let myself think about it for just a moment, before I push the image away—along with all the rest of the things I’ve let myself daydream about from time to time.

“I’ve had a frustrating day,” he says, his voice clipped. “I’d like to go out for a meal. And you’re coming with me.” He sets the clothes down on the bed, along with two small pouches and a pair of shoes. “You have thirty minutes.”

I’m embarrassed at the excitement that floods me, and I hate him for it, too. I shouldn’t be this thrilled to go out, like a dog finally being taken on a walk, but the idea of going out to dinner makes me feel almost giddy. “Yes, sir,” I manage, reining in the emotion.

Savio leaves abruptly, every movement radiating annoyance, and locks the door behind him. For once, the sound of it doesn’t make my stomach drop.

He brought me a sleek, dark blue dress, knee-length with a slit up one side and thin straps, along with the same jewelry and heels I wore last night. I get dressed quickly, inspecting the earrings for any flecks of blood that he might have missed, but there’s nothing. They’re perfectly clean.

It doesn’t take me long to do light makeup. I hear the click of Savio unlocking my door ten minutes before it’s time for me to meet him, and I’m downstairs and kneeling by the front door before my thirty minutes are up. When I hear the tap of Savio’sshoes against the floor, I feel that rush of anticipation again. I wished earlier that I could get out of that room for a little while, and it looks like my wish is going to come true.

“Up,” Savio snaps, but when I stand up, I think I see a glimmer of approval in his eyes, slipping through the tension that’s radiating from him. It sends an answering warmth through me, a feeling like pride that I’ve pleased him, and I grit my teeth.

I don’t want to please him. I don’t want to make him happy beyond what it takes to get whatIwant. I need to remember that.

“The driver is waiting,” Savio says curtly, opening the door, and I follow him down to the elevator.

Once we’re in the car, I lace my fingers tightly in my lap, trying not to let Savio see how excited I am. It feels a little foolish—I was out just last night, after all, but that was different. There was a purpose to that. This feels like the first normal night out I’ve had in…well, in months. Since before my life fell completely to pieces.

I can feel Savio’s eyes on me for a few minutes, but I don’t look at him. I stare out of the window, worried that if I look his way, he’ll be able to see all my conflicting emotions. I don’t want him to see anything about me. I don’t want to be any more open to him than I’ve already been forced to be.

The car stops in front of a fine-dining Italian restaurant downtown, and the driver opens my door. Savio comes around, waiting for me as I step out, and he reaches to touch my lower back, urging me ahead of him as if we’re actually together. As if this were a real date.

There’s a gorgeous woman at the hostess’ desk, wearing a tight black dress and high heels, her blonde hair in a neat bun on top of her head. I see Savio’s eyes sweep over her, and inexplicably, I feel a stab of jealousy.

I hadn’t wondered, until this very moment, who else there might be. After all,Idon’t want to belong to him. Why would I care if anyone else does? But now, seeing him look at the hostess, his gaze sliding over her figure briefly as she takes his name and starts to lead us to our table, I wonder who else is in his life. A girlfriend? A fiancee? Not a wife, I don’t think; there’s no sign of a ring on his finger, not even a line where he might take one on and off. Other women he keeps, like me? That jealous feeling intensifies, a hot coal in the pit of my stomach, and I hate it.

Why do I even care?I want to be free of him, just like I want to be free of every other man who has ever hurt me. It doesn’t make sense.

The hostess takes us to a table near the back of the restaurant, dimly lit in a small alcove that seems uncomfortably romantic to me. Savio pulls out the chair, a more gentlemanly move on his part than I expected, and I sink into it, feeling my stomach growl. I didn’t have lunch today, and I’m hungrier than I would have thought.

He sits down without a word, opening the wine list. He doesn’t look at me, and I sit there with my hands in my lap, utterly silent as he peruses the leather-bound book, then snaps it closed, glancing at the menu. A server approaches, and before I can say a word, Savio speaks up.

“Sparkling water for us both, please, and a bottle of the Le Pin merlot. Salmon carpaccio to start.”

---