Page 53 of Dirty Mafia Sinner
“I’m not,” I say.
“Right.”
Our eyes lock.
Energy charges the space between us. Anger mixed with mistrust and rolled up into this undeniable attraction. If only he’d let me explain my troubled relationship with Ciro instead of this torture …
A woman wiggles her bottom, demanding Alessandro’s attention.
God, this shouldn’t hurt so much.
“If only you’d listen,” I mutter.
He steps closer. “You listen. Either join us or enjoy the show.”
I flinch.
“That’s what I thought. Now don’t speak unless spoken to.”
With that, he shifts back and, with the snap of his belt, quickly and efficiently begins whipping the women.
Legs to chest, I curl up into a ball. He warned he’d break me many times in the past. I wanted him to, I eagerly submitted to his power.
But with every smack, pieces of my obsession with the monster fragment.
The women gasp and moan.
And I feel like screaming.
Everything that follows happens as a blur, but I watch it all unfold, barely breathing. The prolonged spanking. His belt hitting the floor. The brunettes touching themselves and each other, an orgy breaking out against the cage. Him, freeing his erection, and then stroking himself aggressively while examining his handiwork. His attention wavering until it fixes on me before snapping back to them. Then back on me, longer this time.
Moans fill the room, and I cover my ears and close my eyes.
My lips move, and words flow silently.
How could you?
I hate you.
I hate you.
A symphony of our hate and their pleasure crescendos. This is torture. Like a soldier losing her mind from sleep deprivation caused by heartbreaking, soul-crushing noises.
I rock back and forth and escape inward. But no matter how deep I go, it’s not far enough.
Until his thunderous bellow breaks through. “Leave.”
My eyes flash open as two confused women hurry from the room.
“Hate me, is that right?”
Through all that awful moaning, he heard me?
I glare at him as he strokes himself. Unashamed.
Unforgiving.
“Not as much as you will hate me.”
