Page 28 of Captured Fantasy

“Amadeo will be here to get you soon, Mrs. Calabretta.” Federico’s voice was cool.

Carolina chewed her lip, but we both knew better than to protest. He wrapped his hand around my wrist and tugged me through the dining room to a private living room at the end of the main hall. The door swung shut and I stepped back, trying to put some distance between us.

I wasn’t used to male aggression and Federico’s rage set my heart pounding. Gino had rarely gotten angry over anything and when he did, it was more mild annoyance.

“Did you take a taxi here?” he asked, his tone curling.

“There was no one waiting for me.”

“Your driver arrived at the same time he does every Sunday.”

“I got out early.”

“Then you wait.”

Why was he so bent out of shape over this? Did he somehow get off on controlling my every move? A rush of anger moved through me and I shook back my hair, squaring my shoulders.

“Federico, I am a grown woman and I am capable of taking care of myself. I’ve done it for ten years. I don’t need you.”

I couldn’t keep the contempt from my voice. Federico’s eyes flashed and he took a step closer until I felt his hot breath brush over my forehead.

“I don’t care how old you are, Mrs. Russo, or how you think you should be treated,” he said quietly, his tone cold. “You are under my care and you will obey me or there will be consequences.”

I sucked in my breath, leveling him with a glare. “What are you going to do? You’ve already taken everything from me.”

He reached up and ran one lean finger along my jaw to my chin.

“Every time you disobey me like this, I will strip one of your privileges. No brunches at the club. No church. No grocery store visits. So unless you want that, you will behave yourself, missy.”

A flash of hot rage moved through me and I swung my hand up to swat his fingers away, but I swung too wide and hard. My palm contacted his jaw with a sharp sound that split the empty room and echoed down the hall. I froze, balling my stinging hand, and stared at him, blood pounding in my ears.

“Federico, I didn’t mean it,” I whispered in a rush.

He cocked his head, working his jaw, and his fingers traced the red mark. Mouth dry, I started to back up, but his hand shot out and seized me by the wrist, keeping me still. His black eyes were still pools, but in their depths I saw a hidden bubbling, like a pot just beginning to boil.

Without a word, he dragged me into the bathroom at the far side of the room and slammed the door shut. We stared at each other, both visibly aroused. My throat closed and my pussy ached as he backed me against the wall and lifted me to part my legs.

Then his fingers were beneath my dress, tearing my panties open. His movements were frantic, his nails scraping my skin and his grip leaving swells of pain on my thighs.

With a hard thrust, he entered me and I cried out as my body struggled to adjust to his cock. In my periphery, I saw him brace the heel of his shoe against the ground. He slammed into me again and again, a strand of dark hair falling over his forehead.

He was turned on by that slap. Or perhaps he was turned on by his anger and my vulnerability. Whatever it was, he fucked me like he’d lost control. Wetness seeped between my thighs as the pain shifted to pleasure and heat prickled over my skin. I dug my fingers into the back of his shirt and he gripped my thighs.

I began building as he bounced me on his cock. Every time he thrust, he hit my clit and little waves of pleasure moved through my hips and I moaned aloud. Encouraging him to keep going. Fuck, if he kept doing this it might be the first time I got to come with a man. I tightened, getting closer, and my stomach fluttered with anticipation.

Yes, fuck, yes.

Before I could tip over the edge, he pulled out and flipped me to face the mirror, bending me over the sink. My orgasm was gone in an instant before it had even began. I lay panting, my fingers curled around the faucet handle. Devastated.

With one push he entered me and with two thrusts he came hard. Groaning and closing his eyes with the intensity of his climax.

I wanted to slap him on purpose this time. Fuck him for doing this to me every damn time. It wasn’t like I’d concealed my impending orgasm. Did I need to spell it out to him or did he just not give a damn if I came? His eyes met mine in the mirror as he pulled my skirt down and stepped back to grab a handful of tissues.

“Clean up,” he ordered.

Still flushed from what he’d done and aching between my thighs, I started wiping up the mess he’d made. I enjoyed feeling shame during sex—I always had. But I didn’t enjoy the embarrassment of my pleasure being ignored. I’d spent too long being forced to masturbate in secret so I wouldn’t bruise a man’s ego.

“Are you glaring at me?” he asked, an edge to his voice.

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