Page 18 of Control

“Isn’t it turning you on?” His smirk twists wickedly as he says this, as though he’s enjoying every second of it.

“No!” I retort a little too quickly.

He chuckles, slow and indulgent, like he’s savoring the moment. That sound both annoys me and sends a strange thrill through me at the same time. He takes a sip of his drink, his eyes locked onto mine in a way that feels way too personal, almost like he can see right through me.

“Come on, Daniela,” he says, leaning in a bit closer. “You can’t tell me you’re not at least a little curious.”

I roll my eyes. “Curious? Sure. But it doesn’t mean I’m interested.”

“Right,” he replies, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “Just like I’m sure you don’t enjoy sex. Who are you trying to convince here?”

I can’t help but laugh a little, even though I want to be serious. “Okay, fine. Maybe I like sex. But it doesn’t mean I want it every day.”

“Ah, but sometimes a little indulgence is good for the soul,” he says, winking.

I glance back at the scene in front of us. The man now has two fingers buried inside her, and they curl upward with a precision that makes her back arch. She thrusts her hips to meet his rhythm, her breathless gasps filling the room.

He lowers his mouth to her clit, his tongue moving in slow, calculated strokes. Her entire body shivers under his touch, and I clamp a hand over my thigh, digging my nails in just to stay grounded.

“Oh, you’re so fucking turned on, aren’t you, Dolcezza?”

I need to leave. Now. Before I let him break me down, just like he promised he would. Before I lose myself completely.

Why does he have so much power over me? Why do I cling to it? Ache for it? One look, one word, and I’m undone. It’s pathetic. Worse than pathetic.

I glance at him, sitting there so casually. It’s like he knows he’s already won. And maybe he has. My body is a traitor, my thoughts a mess.

“I’m not,” I whisper, half to him, half to myself, as if saying it enough times will make it true. “I’m not turned on by this.”

“What is it, then?” His question is a trap, one I almost walk into before the man in front slaps the woman’s ass. The sound cracks through the room, sharp and electric. She gasps—half in shock, half in pleasure—and my thighs press together instinctively.

Another slap. Harder. She writhes against him, her pleasure undeniable, and he bends down, licking the red welts with a satisfaction that borders on cruel.

Fuck. That’s unbelievably hot.

“You’re so quiet,” Remo murmurs. His voice is velvet over steel, cutting through my spiraling thoughts. I turn to glare at him, desperate to reclaim some sense of control, but his hand is already brushing a lock of hair behind my ear. His touch is light, almost casual, but it sets off a chain reaction I can’t stop.

“Are you enjoying it that much?” he asks, his lips curving into a knowing smirk. “You can tell me. Maybe you’d like us to put on a show of our own. Right here. Right now.”

I want to snap at him, to deny it with every ounce of indignation I can muster. But when I open my mouth to protest, no sound comes out. And I hate that it makes him chuckle.

I turn back to the couple. They’ve escalated. The man’s movements are now more fervent, more demanding. Her cries grow louder, and I feel the heat rise in my face, my body betraying me yet again.

Remo leans in closer, his breath warm against my ear. His hand rests on the back of my neck, his fingers just grazing my skin, sending shivers racing down my spine.

I catch myself fighting the pull of attraction.

Yet the part of me that has always been drawn to the bad boy type—the kind that promises nothing but trouble—starts to overpower my judgment as I lean toward him.

“Fuck, the things I want to do to you, Dolcezza,” he breathes, his voice thick with intent. “I want to taste you, lick you until you’re shaking, slide my fingers inside you, and feel you dripping for me. And when you’re begging for more, I’ll give it to you. I’ll fill you so deep that you’ll forget your own name.”

It’s not just the words. It’s the way he says them, possessive and unrelenting. His tone wraps around me like a physical thing, squeezing the air from my lungs.

It’s as if he’s already touching me, and I hate that I want him to. Hate that his voice alone has me trembling. I squeeze my thighs tighter, desperate to stop the pull, but it’s no use.

And he knows it.

My hands slide down to my panties, and I’m shocked to find that I’m wet already, so I let my fingers dip under the material and circle my clit, teasing it. I bite back a moan as he continues to whisper in my ear, his voice commanding and sexy and alluring.

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