Page 57 of The Thief

Antonio makes a disapproving sound and pushes down on the small of my back. “Stay where you are,” he says. “You are not allowed to move.”

“I’mtryingnot to move, but you’re making it impossible.” There’s a plaintive wine in my voice that makes me flush. “Sir,” I add.

He just chuckles. “Try harder.” He moves his hands between my legs, and I bite my lip as fresh heat flows through me. “Here’s how this is going to work, Lucia. Punishment first, then pleasure.” He squeezes my ass. “How many spanks for a thief who stole a very valuable painting from me? Ten? Twenty?”

The Titian is still on my bedroom floor, propped against the wall, which makes my next words that much more hypocritical. “A very valuable painting that does not belong to you,” I reply snarkily. “I just stole it to reunite with its real owner.”

He grips my hair. “Did I give you permission to speak?” he asks, his voice dangerously mild.

Goosebumps break out on my skin. “No, Sir,” I say contritely. Why am I being a smartass right before punishment? “I’m sorry.”

“Twenty, I think.”

Gulp. I should have kept my mouth shut; this is going tohurt.A frisson of fear goes through me, one that vanishes as Antonio slides one finger and then another into my pussy.

So good. So mouthwateringly, toe-curlingly good.

He circles my throbbing clit. “You don’t have to count the strokes,” he says as if his touch isn’t making me delirious with desire. “You can yell; you can cry out. But you need to hold still, and you need to keep your hands where they are.” He grazes his fingernails down my back, and I bite the inside of my mouth to keep from moaning. “If your hands move, I will start over.”

“I understand, Sir.”

Whack.The first spank is just hard enough to warm me up but not hard enough to hurt.

“Thank you, Sir,” I say automatically. It’s been years since I’ve done anything kinky, but I don’t remember it feeling this good. Maybe because I’ve never scened with someone that I feel as comfortable with as Antonio.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and let myself sink into sensation.

“Such a good girl,” he says approvingly. “So polite, thanking me without being prompted.” His hand descends on my left buttock, this time harder. I whimper at the sting, but then he strokes the sore spot, and the pain morphs into a rush of pleasure. “When did you first know you were into kink?”

It takes me a few seconds to focus enough to give him a coherent answer. “It was shortly after my parents died. I needed a distraction, and kink seemed to be the answer.”

Nudging with my foot, he spread my legs wider. His finger brushes over my clit, and I gasp and squirm. “Hold still,” he says disapprovingly, following his words with a couple of hard strokes.

I breathe hard, air whistling between my clenched teeth. “Yes, Sir.” He’s waiting for me to continue; I can sense it. “I blamed myself,” I whisper. “How could I not have realized how sick my mother was? Was I so self-involved that I missed all the signs? I kept replaying every conversation we had. The last time I talked to them, I had a test to study for, so I couldn’t talk much. If I’d stayed on the phone, would they have told me the truth?” I take a deep breath. “Those memories haunted me, and I couldn’t let it lie. I just kept circling back to them, poking at them like a scab.”

He spanks me again, and then he kisses my burning skin. “Keep talking,” he orders, pushing two fingers inside my pussy. “I didn’t give you permission to stop.”

His message is clear. If I keep revealing hidden pieces of myself, then he will bring me to orgasm. If I don’t talk, then I won’t come. I almost sob from sheer frustration, even as my muscles clench around his fingers. “My college roommate had an older boyfriend who belonged to a sex club in Chicago. I tagged along one day.”

“And you liked it?”

“Yes.” He thrusts his fingers deep as he gives me another stroke, and my toes curl with pleasure. My ass feels warm and red, and my pussy aches for his cock. “It felt. . . cathartic.”

“If somebody else was punishing you,” he says. “Then you didn’t need to punish yourself.”

His insights terrify me so much that I almost safeword. I thought I knew what to expect from Antonio. I was prepared for a sexy role-play where the big bad mafia boss takes the wicked thief in hand, punishing her for stealing his painting by spanking her and making her suck his cock.

But this? This is something far, far more intense. This isintimacy.Antonio is peeling my layers like an onion and finding out what makes me tick,and it’s terrifying.

But the word ‘red’ does not cross my lips. Because as much as I’m afraid, this also feels right. Confessing my deepest, darkest secrets to Antonio feels freeing.

“I deserved to be punished,” I choke out as he slaps my bottom again. “I never should have gone away to college. If I’d stayed back, I could have said goodbye to my mother. I could have consoled my father through his grief and prevented his death.”

Pain layers upon pain, and I take it all, but something shocking happens as the words spill out of my mouth and Antonio spanks me for the twentieth time. I took my punishment, and it’s done. A weight lifts off me,and I feel free.

I don’t realize I’m crying until Antonio wipes the tears off my cheeks with his thumb. “There we are,” he croons. He moves behind me again. “That’s my good girl. And now you get your reward.”

Then the most powerful man in Venice kneels between my legs and sucks my clit into his mouth.

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