Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Dead man walking.
And I felt sorry for him. I didn’t want him dead. Far from it.
He’d taken my virginity, punished me, humiliated me, shamed me, kidnapped me, and gotten me shot at, all in the space of a few hours. In spite of all of that, I was insatiably curious about him and lusted after him like no other man I had ever met.
I was beginning to learn that there was a very fine line between hate and lust.
Fear and desire.
Captive and welcomed.
Matthew went from domineering to loving, then back to domineering quicker than I could wrap my mind around it. The contrast had my head spinning. But what was even more confusing was the contrast in my body. My ass burned like Hades, but my sex begged for more. The need for Matthew’s dominance and the hunger for his touch confused me. Even though I wanted the spanking to end, there was a part of me that wanted it to continue… even harder. Being forced to spread my legs wide and have him claim me only brought on the animalistic desires locked away inside. He had set my body ablaze with forbidden fantasies.
I had finally lost my virginity and though this wasn’t exactly how I pictured it happening, I had never felt such intense and amazing feelings before. It was painful but in the most delicious of ways. I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel alive and free from the constraints of my life by finally shedding the last of my protected youth.
Ironic since I was anything but free in my current situation.
Matthew released a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry.”
I positioned my body so I could stare up at him. I grimaced when my bottom scraped against the bed. “Sorry for what?” I asked, not sure how to read this man. Was he sorry for kidnapping me? Pushing me past barriers of right and wrong? Sorry for forcing my body to submit even though my mind countered by demanding answers for why and how? Was he sorry for turning my entire life upside down and introducing chaos into every waking moment?
“I’m sorry if you feel like a captive,” he said as he fed me the last bite of the meat. “I’m not an easy man. But believe me when I say that I am a good man… or at least I was. Times of late have blurred the lines for me. I may never be that good man again. But I guess it’s important to me that you know there was a time I was a good man.”
I sighed loudly and decided to let down my wall slightly. I had just had sex with the man after all. “To be honest, I do feel like a captive. But not just by you. I have felt that way my entire life. My father has always kept me locked up in a gilded cage. Actually, jumping off that roof with you was the first time I felt true freedom. It was by far the stupidest thing I have ever done, and yet I don’t regret a thing. There’s been times I could have run. Tried to escape. From both you and my father.” I took a deep breath and shifted position again so I could stare into his concerned eyes better. “But I made a choice to stay. So yes, I’m a captive. But what my exact binds are, I’m not sure,” I said barely above a whisper. Our lips were so close that I almost wanted to lean forward and kiss him… almost. But the idea of what that kiss would mean, what it would do—terrified me.
Matthew stared at me with a look of confusion on his face but luckily didn’t ask for clarification. “So,” he said, breaking the spell, “what was it like growing up the daughter of Vittorio Costa?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know,” I said. “You clearly know my father, and you wouldn’t have come and kidnapped me from my house without knowing all there is about me.” Although I hadn’t intended to do it, I found myself turning the question back at him. “Did you once work for my father? Or a rival family? I can’t tell if you have mafia in your blood.”
Like me, Matthew seemed to have his own reasons for being vague about who he was. We were each considering our answers to each other very carefully before giving them, weighing just how much truth we wanted to reveal. “Yes, I have connections with the mafia. With the underground in general. But it’s not in my blood.”
“Did you work for my father?”
“I don’t work for anyone,” he answered readily enough, getting up to stoke the fire, then settling back down beside me until he reached over and turned me to look at him, the better to see my face. “How much do you know about your father’s business dealings? The people who work for him?”