Page 89 of Crazed

I glance up, and tingles race down my spine. Discreet, round metal pieces, perfect for attaching handcuffs or other restraints, are positioned around the plane. If you don't know what they are, they look decorative.

He continues, "See the speakers?"

"Yes," I breathe.

"See that button?" he motions toward a red one on the wall.

"What is it for?" I ask.

"It's for my discretion."

"Your discretion?" I question.

He glides his hand up my inner thigh and cups my pussy. His thumb pushes against my pants, adding pressure to my clit.

I gasp, rolling my hips into his hand.

Arrogance washes across his face. It becomes the catalyst for a round of fireworks exploding in my cells. Everything resides in that look. It exudes confidence that he knows exactly what to do to me. It showcases that his desire to dominate me is as potent as mine is to participate. And then there's the danger in his appearance that'll never escape him. It's ingrained in him so deeply, it's not able to be hidden.

His expression fuels me. It reiterates the faith I have in him. He's able to give me all the things I never knew I needed before he showed up in my life. There's no denying I don't just love what it represents. It fuels me, breathing life into the parts of my soul I wish I could stay in forever. When I'm not with him, I'm just existing. There's no other way to describe it. Every touch, every command, every moment he holds my fate in his hands is pure utopia. But it's not only for me. It's his nirvana as well. And it's no secret between us.

The longer he stares at me, the more impatient I become to experience his punishment and know what his discretion means.

His lips curve, turning cockier. He finally answers, "It's my discretion to make the pilots and flight attendant listen to you beg me for hours. It's my choice to let them hear the desperation in your voice. It's my option to never let you come."

My heart races faster.

He continues, "I'll create tension so extreme in this jet that they'll excuse themselves to the bathroom and take care of their own needs. And at that point in time, your voice will have turned hoarse. Your agonizing pleas will torture them. They'll all wonder how I can continue to torment you. They'll silently wish I would give it to you."

"Yes," I whisper, closing my eyes, wanting Massimo to take me to that place.

His hot breath hits my ear. "But I won't, dolce. I won't until I'm positive I've broken you. When you get off this plane, you won't be able to look at any of them without your cheeks burning. But if you had to do it all over again, you'd say yes and let me. Because you crave what I give you. Every dirty word. Every filthy touch. Every indecent act you need. I see it, dolce. I know the wildness that resides in you. I feel it. You're a bird trying to escape the cage, aren't you?"

I open my eyes and stare at him. His blue eyes turn to ice. My pulse increases. Fear he knows about Leo and what I'm supposed to do to him fills me.

His hand slides up my shirt and under my bra. Two fingers roll my nipple. My breath hitches, and he lowers his voice, demanding, "I expect answers."

"Yes," I reply breathlessly.

"Yes, who?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir, you're what?" he challenges, his eyes turning colder as he lifts his brows in question.

I square my shoulders and stick out my chin. Nothing has ever seemed truer. Maybe he knows, maybe he doesn't, but his analogy isn't false. "Yes, sir. I'm desperate for you. I-I want to escape the cage."

Satisfaction morphs into his expression. He picks up my hand, kisses the back of it, then presses the call button.

Chanel appears, beaming. "What can I get for you?"

"Dinner," Massimo states. "And don't leave anything out. My dolce needs her energy."

Chanel nods. "Right away, sir." She turns to leave, but I don't miss the faint flush in her cheeks, as if she knows what is about to happen.

Massimo rises and reaches for my hand.

I take it and he pulls me onto my feet. He points to the back of the plane. "Go into the bedroom. Put on the outfit that's on the bed."

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