Chapter 67

ROSALIND

Denial is a hell of a drug. It's the reason I'm considering getting into bed with the psychopath who's kept me captive, subjected me to torture, humiliation, and blackmail.

If I deny it hard enough, I can convince myself that I don't want that sculpted body or that huge, pierced cock. His eyes burn hotter than the fire, which makes sense, considering he's the devil.

The embers in the fireplace crackle and pop, casting flickering shadows that dance across his chiseled pecs. With those intricate skull tattoos, his body is a masterpiece.

I should sleep on a chair or the rug or anywhere other than sharing his bed, but there's a sick part of me that responds to Cesare and even craves his touch.

"Scared, pet?" he says, his voice.

"Hardly," I say with a scoff.

"Then don't stand there all night. We have an early start."

The thought of tomorrow's meeting is what gets me pulling back the sheets and sliding into the bed, not the prospect of sex with Cesare. I curl up on my side with my back to the fiend, telling myself I won't make the first move.

I glare into the flames, my heart pounding as the mattress shifts with his weight. He slides closer, enough for his body heat to warm my back, but he doesn't reach out a hand.

The pulse between my thighs quickens, and wetness drenches my pussy. I grind my teeth, hating that I'm getting aroused at the mere promise of his touch.

Tension mounts for several heartbeats, and I curl my hands into fists. The snap and crackle of the fire fades in the echo of the roar of blood between my ears.

Why is he lying there, watching the back of my head? I thought by now, he'd make his move. Grab my throat, pin me onto my front and pound into me from behind.

Or something.

But he's just lying at my back… breathing.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry from all the frustration. What the fuck is he doing? The silence between us is maddening. My breath quickens, my skin tingles, my body thrums with anticipation.

This is psychological torture. There's no way I can fall asleep with the threat of Cesare hanging over my head.

"What the hell are you doing?" I growl.

"Problem, pet?" he asks, his voice so deep I feel its vibrations deep in my core.

I don't need to turn around to know he's smirking. This asshole is enjoying this brand of mental manipulation.

"Get fucked," I snap.

"Is that a request?"

I huff a laugh. "Try it and I'll break your fingers."

"Reverse psychology won't work on me, pet," he says. "If you're horny, you only need to ask."

I snort, because the suggestion is ridiculous. As if I would ever ask that maniac for sexual favors. He'll probably misinterpret any request as an admission that I want to be his pet. Which I don't. I don't want to be his anything.

He rolls away, withdrawing his body heat, and groans.

I twist around and shoot him my most venomous glare. He stares at the ceiling. The light flickering on his chiseled profile makes the bastard look like the god of hate sex.

"What are you doing now?"

"Can't sleep."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Boxers are too tight."

My gaze travels down to the bulge straining under the sheets. Maybe it's a trick of the light, but I'm sure I see the outline of his pierced cock.

"Not my problem." I turn around, the movement aggravating my swollen clit.

When he groans again, my nostrils flare. This new version of Cesare who isn't doing everything he can to make me suffer is keeping me off balance. This gentleman act is infuriating.

"You're so full of shit," I mutter.

"What's that, pet?" he asks.

"I can't fall asleep with you acting so strange," I say. "It's unsettling. And stop calling me pet."

"You belong to me. You and?—"

Before he can finish his sentence, I throw a punch. He catches my fist and pins me to the mattress, rolling me onto my back. I strike with my free hand into his throat, but he grabs that too, and holds both of my wrists above my head.

He glares down at me with burning eyes, his lips pulled back in a manic grin. Somehow, in the struggle, he positioned himself between my spread legs. He grinds his silk-covered cock into my clit, sending a bolt of pleasure.

"Little pet wants to play."

Of course. I should have known. Cesare is the predator who only likes moving targets. If I'm not fighting him, he's not interested.

"Let go of me." I buck my hips, trying to throw him off, but the movement only creates delicious friction.

"What are you going to do? Gouge out my eyes?" he asks.

"I will if you keep looking at me, you psycho."

He rolls his hips, grinding that hot erection into my pussy. "You're enjoying this, pet."

I shake my head. "You're delusional."

"And you're in denial." He brings my wrists together and clamps them together with one hand. "You can break out of this hold anytime you want, but you won't because you like me too much."

His infuriating grin glows in the semi-darkness. Squirming beneath his larger body, I jerk my head to the side to avoid listening to his bullshit. "There's nothing I enjoy about you, asshole."

With his free hand, he grips my throat and cuts off my air, making my heart jolt. I glare up at him with my teeth clenched.

"Your stitches have melted, pet. That sweet little pussy of yours is ready to be fucked."

"How the fuck would you know about that? Did you stuff your cock inside me while I was sedated?"

He scoffs. "Do I look like I can't get a woman?"

"Maybe once but not twice," I snap. "Your ugliness is on the inside."

"What are you saying pet?" he purrs, "That I'm hot?"

"You're a fucking maniac?—"

His grip around my throat tightens, cutting off my words as the world swims in a dizzying whirlpool. His eyes gleam with a dangerous mix of fury and amusement.

"Perhaps," he says, his voice silky and dark. "But you're the one rubbing her erect nipples on my chest, while squirming against my cock."

"Fuck you." I snap out a sharp breath, feeling my vision blur and narrow.

The room tilts, and my senses go haywire. His grip around my wrist tightens, feeling like it might leave bruises. Wetness seeps through my panties, adding to the friction against my clit. My body moves against his, chasing the pleasure.

"Fight back, pet," he growls, confirming my suspicions.

Cesare enjoys the hunt. He loves the feel of me struggling against his grip.

"Let go of my wrists, and I'll give you a fight," I say through clenched teeth.

Chuckling, he leans down and clamps his teeth into the juncture of my neck. Electricity shoots through my nerves, transforming pain into pleasure. My hips convulse, grinding my pussy against his hot, thick erection.

"That's it, pet," he murmurs, his lips brushing against my neck. "Rub that needy clit against your master's cock. Show me how much you want it."

A cry rips from my throat, mingling frustration with fury. How the hell did I end up pinned beneath this loathsome creature, my body betraying me for another hit of spine-tingling pleasure?

Denial.

I hate Cesare. I hate how he's slithered under my skin. I hate his unwavering attention. I hate how he's the only man in a lifetime who's ever made me feel alive. I hate that he's charmed my daughter. I hate how he's a psychopath, yet is careful not to cross certain lines of consent.

His psychological warfare is working. He's even got me thinking I crave his touch.

Pleasure ignites my nerves, and I release a guttural moan. His grip around my throat tightens, and my vision turns black. A constellation of stars fills the darkness, dancing, spinning, picking up speed as my lungs fight for air.

Oblivion races on the edges of my senses. My instincts scream at me to free my wrists and end this madness, but I thrash beneath his grip, desperate for release.

Pressure builds behind my clit with an approaching orgasm. I move faster against him, chasing the ecstasy. My movements become more desperate, my body eager to climax before I succumb to the dark.

"Come for me, pet," he growls.

His words set off an explosive orgasm that sends out shockwaves of rapture. Every nerve ending in my body tingles. My senses heightened to the point of pain. I convulse, my mouth opening in a silent scream, my core spasming and clenching and under his command.

The hand around my neck loosens, and I suck in a noisy breath.

"Good girl," he says before shuddering and soaking my belly with spurts of his hot release.

I've heard of hate sex, but hate frottage?

Maybe Cesare's psychological tactics are finally working because I'm no longer hiding from the truth. It pains me to admit how much I want more of his freaky shit.