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Chapter 15

She takes each piece of food I slip into her mouth with fervor. Her nude body is something I can't think past, but I can't give her clothing back. She likely thinks it's because I'm holding her here under the idea she can't go anywhere without them, but I can't stand to see her in them.

Like a rose covered in tattered rags. They're not good enough for her. So I placed an order for things more fitting for her beautiful body.

Her skin without the dirt is a work of fucking art. One even the greatest painters couldn't have imagined. Something shifts between us, and I know she's probably toying with me. Trying to butter me up. Get into my good graces so that I'll give her more freedom. But I know she'll end up on my table either way. They always do.

Letting her think otherwise would be wrong, but the call to touch her, to tease her, to taste her… It's stronger than I expected when I had her strip. I should've kept her below. Left her strapped to the table. At least I'd have known where she was. Known she was warm in the basement because I control the temperature, not the weather.

"Merci," she says, her tone having dropped into something dipped in sin. The last morsel of her food is gone, and yet, I don't want her to stand up.

I'd love to push her lower. To force her to her knees between my thighs and see how pretty those lips wrap around my cock. That's a foolish thought, though. She'd gain a foothold in this cabin that I don't plan on giving up.

Because if she feels anything like she looks and smells, I need to keep my body parts to myself.

She eyes me, and I remember vaguely that she'd spoken. "Vous êtes les bienvenus." — "You're welcome."

Her answering smile lights the entire cabin, where dark clouds gather outside with the coming storm. She turns in my lap as if she's going to stand up, but she doesn't. Instead, her nude, plump ass shifts into the space between my thighs, covering my aching dick with warmth.

I hiss, despite myself.

She gives a little wiggle. "Papa aime?" — "Daddy likes?"

I shove her off me, grumbling low in my throat. She knows what she's doing. She's toying with me. I've dealt with women throwing themselves at me my entire life. Most looking for standing in the family and nothing more.

Even though I want to show her just how much Daddy likes what she just did, I can't let her get a rise out of me.

I look down at my obvious erection.

More of a rise than she already has.

When I look up at her, she's eyeing my dick, licking her lips. It's all for show. It's a distraction.

"A ta chambre!" I shout, pointing towards her open door off of the living room. — "To your room!"

She huffs but looks me up and down again before stalking off. Her ass moves like the waves before a coming storm, and I can't take my eyes off of it. I rub my hands down my face, chiding myself as I move to follow her.

Grabbing the cuffs to reconnect her to the bed frame, solely because I can't stand for her to keep fucking with me, I catch her gaze again.

"Do you have to?" she asks, voice low.

Now this, I believe. Her eyes are innocent. This was the woman who shot me. Because even as she pulled the trigger, I watched her brace for the impact. It wasn't the recoil from the crossbow she was dreading. It was the impact of her arrow through my body because she knew she'd shot true, but she'd only been aiming to wound.

She could've killed me, and she didn't. I can't let it sway me away from getting my revenge. I've yet to torture her enough for the pain ebbing through my shoulder.

"I conigli cattivi devono essere messi in gabbia," I say, and it comes out softer than intended. — "Bad bunnies need to be caged."

She's getting under my skin already and it hasn't even been twenty-four hours.

She bites her bottom lip as if she knew what I'd said to her in Italian.

"Why won't you speak to me directly? If you know French and Italian, I know you speak English. Tell me your name. Tell me why you took me. Tell me something!"

I stare blankly at her.

I'm still leaning over her. I've cuffed her left hand to the bed, but I can't move away. Like I'm caught in her gravity.

"My name's Brynne," she whispers, and my face leans further in. We're breathing within inches of space from one another, the other's breath becoming our oxygen.

Brynne.

"Un bel nome. Ma non rende giustizia al suo proprietario. Avresti dovuto prendere il nome dalle Dee," I whisper, my lips nearly touching hers. — "A beautiful name. But it does its owner no justice. You should have been named for the goddesses."

"It's so beautiful; your language." Her whispered reply has me closing my eyes to let the feel of her proximity seep into my chaotic brain. Somehow, the madness ceases. For only a moment. But it's a moment I savor.

She sighs, and it's as if she's released something from within. "Un brin de folie égaye la vie," she whispers, her lips skimming mine as they move.

I forget myself. "A touch of madness brightens up life," I say back.

It's as if she's reading me. Seeing through the thick fa?ade and all the bullshit right to the center of me. The dark soul I hide inside my chest isn't something I want anyone to know about. Only those who take their knowledge to the underworld with them have seen the worst of me. But I'd slipped. Let her see me reveling in the silence she coaxes.

"Without a touch of madness, what is life, after all?" she asks, not acknowledging the fact I'd spoken to her in English, and I'm thankful.

I'd never wanted to level the playing field with her. I'd wanted to remain mysterious and unattainable. Keeping the language barrier between us felt like a good way to do so. But at that moment, she saw me.

She forgot she was bound to the bed frame and peered inside me. Like she cared.

"No one cares, Ardesia. Stop wearing your heart on your sleeve."

My papa's words ring inside my head, and I back away from her. She grabs for me with her unbound hand, eyes frantic at the loss of me.

I steel my face. Reaching under her, I grab for the covers. She lifts her ass, arching off the bed for me to cover her with the blanket.

"Sleep. You've been through a lot," I tell her, leaving the room.

I almost shut the door before I hear her say, "Ce que certains appellent la folie, mais ce qui pour moi, est la seule fa?on d"aimer." — "I have loved to the point of madness. That which some call madness, but which to me, is the only way to love."

I only pause for a moment before shutting the door. It's a quote from a French novelist and playwright, Fran?oise Sagan. How did such a creature end up stranded on my property in the middle of winter?

It"s as if she was purposely sent here to tempt me out of hiding. She has too many alluring traits that seem to cater to my brand of delirium. I turn and look back at the door as if I can look through the wood itself.

Could Enzo be sending a message? Is she some kind of ploy to drive me insane? To lure me back?

I narrow my gaze before storming out of the cabin and slamming the door, the cold air greeting me as I head out to tend the animals.

It's not lost on me. I've bound her directly after breakfast, but she needs sleep. Even if she doesn't know what's good for her. I do.

* * *

When I slip backinto her room, she's awake. I unbind her, and she heads for the bathroom silently. It's the first time I think I've seen her do anything silently. So I know she's angry with me. Either for binding her or leaving her for so long.

Or both.

I'd had to gather myself, though. She unnerves me in a way no one ever has before. I need to keep my wits about me, or things are going to get messy.

She exits the bathroom after the toilet flushes and the sink turns on and off. Her nipples bead and her body is doing more taunting than good.

"Hungry?" I ask, forgoing speaking to her in veiled languages, even though I'll miss the absent look on her face when I speak to her in Italian.

"Depends." She bites the inside of her cheek.

"On?" I ask, standing from where I'd sat on the edge of the bed.

"Are you going to have me sit in your lap to eat? Are you going to feed me?" she asks, stepping toward me. For some reason I'll overanalyze later, I sit back on the bed.

She comes between my legs, halting just before touching me. It's unsettling, and I wonder if she's doing it because it's how she feels near me.

"Do you like it when I feed you, bunny?" I ask, and her reaction to hearing what I call her in English is better than expected. Her pupils dilate, and my hands grip the down comforter to keep from tugging her toward me.

"And if I say I do?" She juts her chin up in direct defiance. She's fighting something, possibly the reasoning within herself on why she enjoys me feeding her. Caring for her. Controlling her.

Few can relinquish control. It's a rare skill.

"Allora il mio grembo sarà per sempre tuo. Le mie mani sempre i tuoi servitrici," I reply, unthinking. — "Then my lap shall forever be yours. My hands are always your servants."

She scoffs, crossing her arms over her breasts, and I almost groan at the loss. "English."

"Then my lap shall forever be yours. My hands are always your servants."

She steps closer. "Did you take me because you were mad that I shot you, or because you've been watching me?"

"And if I say both?" I admit freely. It won't hurt for her to know my motivations. They don't matter in the end.

"Then I'm both intrigued and frightened," she counters.

"Some say if you do the thing you're afraid of, the death of the fear is certain," I blurt.

She narrows her eyes, brows furrowing. "So, I'm afraid of what you'll do to me to get your revenge. So in theory, I just let it happen and not give the fear power?"

She's too fucking smart for her own good.

I shrug. "You're your own master."

"Am I?" Her eyes light with defiance, and it's the moment I realize I've met a worthy opponent.

"Come, I'll make you some food." I stand, and she backs away, never letting our touches graze.

"Can I have some clothes? It's cold."

I turn and look her up and down. "No."

She storms after me, gaining nerves. "Why?"

This is why I wanted to keep from speaking to her in English. It closes a gap I didn't want to close. It gives her a level of comfort she shouldn't have.

However, not giving her clothes should keep her on edge enough for both of us. I know I couldn't sleep a fucking wink last night thinking about her silky skin and curvy body sliding against the sheets, naked and warm.

I clear my throat to shake free of the imagery. "Because I like the view."

That stops her in her tracks. She opens her mouth and closes it again, looking much like a fish who'd swum aground.

I point to the chairs surrounding the table. "Sit."

When she moves to listen, something in my chest flutters under her obedience. She doesn't know what the small action has done, of course.

That she could end up owning me, instead of the other way around.

"Well, can I—" she begins, but I turn and put a hand up.

"You will speak when spoken to from now on, bunny. Behave yourself, or I won't feed you. You"ll have to find your own food to eat."

She scowls at me, deep lines etching into her features, but she doesn't say another word.

When I turn back to the stove where the soup is warming for her, a smirk tugs up my face, drilling dimples into my cheeks.

Fuck, I love a good girl.

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