Page 72 of Of Desire And Deception

The arm I braced on shook with exhaustion, but I took the time to release Remi’s hands and feet. She was quiet as I removed the tattered dress from her body, putting up no fight when I carried her to the shower and sat with her in my arms, the water pouring over us as I cleaned our bodies.

“You were perfect,” I whispered into her ear, sucking the lobe into my mouth and feeling her shiver against me. “So fucking perfect.”

I needed her to speak to me, rage at me—something. But she stayed silent when I dried our bodies and returned her to the bed, looking away when I affixed the cuff once again. I rummaged through my locker, pulling on a pair of grey sweatpants, then heated the leftovers on a plate and presented my bride with a modified Christmas dinner.

“Where did you get all this?” she asked, and I sighed with relief at the sound of her voice.

“My family’s Christmas celebration.”

Her shoulders slumped. “You were with them today.”

“I was.” My brows furrowed, trying to decipher the meaning underneath her words.

Remi picked at the food, humming her approval until she’d eaten her fill. It was less than I’d hoped for, but more than nothing. I was too tired to chastise her for it.

“I’ve never met them,” she pointed out, setting her fork on the plate.

So that’s what the problem was. I took her plate. “You will. When I can trust that they’re safe with you.”

Remi nodded sadly and curled up on the bed, tugging the covers over her bare body. She shivered, and a voice that sounded much like my mother’s whispered in my head to hold my wife. It was a welcome change from the abusive words I always heard from my father.

I took care of the dish and reached into the pocket of my discarded pants, retrieving the little black velvet box. The mattress sank as I knelt next to Remi. “Thank you for your gift.”

“I didn’t give you anything.”

“Your body. Soft, warm, responsive.” I held up the hand that had been almost entirely inside her. “You fit me like a glove.”

Remi wrinkled her nose and scoffed. “Gross.”

“It was hot,” I countered, opening the little black box and withdrawing the ring I’d bought before everything went to shit. “And now your gift.”

She gaped as I slid it on her left ring finger. That’s when the fire returned to her eyes.

“A ring?” She looked from the piece of jewelry to me and back, then snarled, ripping the bit of metal from her finger and tossing it across the room. The ring bounced, then came to rest by my tool table.

Unacceptable.

I sprang up and rushed to retrieve the silver and black jewelry, returning to the bed and gripping her throat with my hand hard enough to leave marks. I leaned close, my voice threateningly dark. “The only reason this ring is ever to leave your finger is if you lose the digit. And I don’t intend to sever it. Do you understand?”

I felt Remi swallow under my palm and loosened my grip enough that she could rasp, “I understand.”

“Good.” I slipped the ring back where it belonged and pulled my wife into my arms, settling back against the wall. It was funny that her touch didn't make my skin crawl. Her tears fell, trailing down my chest and spearing my heart like icicles. “Merry Christmas, Remi.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Cosimo’s voice echoed in my head, waking or sleeping, even though he often left me alone. I’d been in my little dungeon corner for a week. After Christmas, Cosimo was more open to sharing things with me. He’d tell me the day of the week or what was happening in the outside world.

At first, I thought he was softening toward me, but I quickly realized it was another way to fuck with my head, to make me more desperate to get out of my cement prison. When I didn’t know about life outside Cosimo’s dungeon, I could try to block out the days, falling into a routine of light calisthenics between naps and visits from my captor.

I hated that he could walk through the door in all his tall, dark, dangerous glory and have me panting and begging for his touch in no time. My body didn’t care what my mind wanted; it obeyed Cosimo’s commands.

His voice droned in the background, and I groaned, raking my nails through my hair. I didn’t want to relax. I wanted out. I also wanted Cosimo next to me, over me, in me—using that voice as he became the center of my limited world.

My husband was becoming just as much my obsession as I was his. What choice did I have?

I looked down at the simple white cotton nightgown Cosimo had provided me. It made me look like somebody’s grandmother, but fashion was the least of my concerns. My new, longer chain allowed me to move around enough to shower whenever I liked, and I had a security razor to shave with. Like a fucking prison inmate. I guess Cosimo didn’t find me much of a threat anymore.

In a moment of lucidity, my eyes darted around the room, scanning each surface for what seemed like the millionth time, searching for anything I could use to escape. At first, I’d plotted ways to kill Cosimo, but I knew I didn’t have it in me. Breaking out of the dungeon was the next best thing. If I could reach one of his tools, I might have a chance, but he’d moved everything to the opposite side of the room when he allowed me to move more freely. The knives, picks, and needles taunted me from where they were neatly lined up on the torture table.

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