9. Daniela

He’s inches from my face. His eyes a black, soulless window into his corner of hell.

“I want to lay you over that table and beat you with my belt, until your skin is flayed open.”

They’re just words, Daniela. I swallow the fear creeping in. “But you won’t.”

His mouth crashes into mine, stealing my words, my breath, and what’s left of my composure.

“But I won’t,” he murmurs, when he pulls back. “Not today.”

“Not ever,” I whisper.

“I wouldn’t take that bet if I were you.”

He’s wrestling with a demon, and I attempt to drag him away. “I’d take that bet anytime, anywhere. You won’t hurt me.”

When I lay out my unwavering faith in his love, he groans, as if in pain, and rests his forehead against mine. His breathing is ragged, and there’s an intensity about him even in repose. The fight’s not over. He’s merely catching his breath.

I ache to wrap my arms around him, but he’s holding my wrists securely in one hand. “Let me touch you,” I plead, softly.

His grip tightens, as though the prospect of my touch threatens him in some way.

Antonio lifts his head and peers into my eyes while his free hand slides under my sundress. He isn’t patient. There are no light caresses to my inner thighs to build my arousal. He goes straight to my panties. He wedges his feet between mine, pushing my legs apart, while his thumb skates over the gusset, working the silky fabric into my wet flesh.

“Someone might come in. And I need to get back to the girls.”

“The nurses will find you when it’s time.” He nips my bottom lip. “But no one’s coming in. Not even if you scream.”

The devil is dancing in his eyes. I don’t want to play with him when he’s like this—not here, anyway. “This is a clinic.” It’s a halfhearted plea, and he knows it.

“You’d deny your husband? Even after his boat exploded?” His voice is low and raspy.

“You’re manipulating.”

“If I were manipulating, it would be much more subtle. You’d never see it coming. I’m just pointing out the facts.”

He slips his hand inside my panties, and I close my eyes. “You’re wet, Princesa. Drenched. My fingers are gliding over your pussy. Was it the kiss, or the thought of me fucking you in a public place?”

Antonio slides two fingers inside me, and before I’m ready, he adds a third, while his thumb works my clit. He knows exactly what I need to come, and he’s going there with a vengeance.

There’s no slow tease. No mercy. He’s going to yank an orgasm from me in a way that leaves my mind reeling and my body shaking. The kind of orgasm that requires a respite in strong arms to feel grounded again.

My back arches off the wall, and I press my pussy into his fingers, as my lower belly tightens before release.

“You want to come all over my hand, don’t you, Princesa?”

I don’t answer, because I can’t. Instead, I writhe against the wall, gasping for breath, my pelvic muscles fully coiled.

He pulls his hand away and brings his fingers to his mouth. “Mmmm. You’re delicious.”

I’m sucking air, mouth open. The throbbing between my legs is almost unbearable.

He frees my wrists and touches his nose to mine. “Does your greedy pussy need more attention?”

“Yes.” I’m so aroused. I just need a little more. And I’m not embarrassed to admit it, or to rock my hips into his hard cock.

He steps back. “Then you should learn to stay out of my business.”

I’m so worked up, and he’s played me so expertly—so cruelly—that I begin to cry. It’s an involuntary reaction. “This is how you’re going to punish me? You’re going to use intimacy like a weapon?”

“I’ll punish you in any way that I choose. That shouldn’t surprise you.”

“You’re despicable.” I duck to get away from him, but he wraps his hand around my throat and holds me against the wall.

“This was just the beginning,” he murmurs. “When you get home, you’ll take out the black wand and edge for thirty minutes.”

What is he talking about?“Edge?” Fuck you.You can shove that black wand up your ass.

“You’ll take yourself right to the brink of orgasm, like I just did, but you’ll pull back before you come. Don’t stop until you’re right at the edge. But don’t you dare come.”

He’s insane. Arguing isn’t the way to reason with him. Maybe I don’t want to reason with him. Maybe I want to play his sick games. Maybe I’m as insane as he is.

“What if I can’t help it?”

“If you disobey me, after the traitors have been dealt with, I’ll tie you to the bed and spend twenty-four hours teaching you how to edge. You don’t want that, Princesa. It will be torture, with you bound and begging for release. I’ll know if you lie, because you’re a terrible liar. So be a good girl, and edge for thirty minutes every night until this is over, and you’ll be well rewarded.”

He drops his hand from my throat, but my heart is still pounding.

“When will you be home?”

“When my work is finished. If you’re lucky, that’ll be tonight. Because when I do come home, I’m going to rock into that tight little pussy, while you come all over my cock. After being at the edge without any relief, it’ll feel so good when it happens, Princesa. Tears will stream down your pretty pink cheeks while you tremble.”

Antonio’s phone pings, and he reaches for it.

“Will and Samantha will be here shortly,” he says, eyes on the screen. “Valentina can go back to London with them until this is over.”

Back to London?After today? No. “I want Valentina here with me.”

He nods. “They’ll take you both back to the house before they leave.”

“Why can’t we stay in the apartment upstairs?”

“I don’t want Valentina at the apartment for any length of time.”

So that’s how it’s going to be.“You’re making me choose. I can send her to London and stay with you every night, or I can keep her with me in Porto, but I won’t see you until this is all over. This is a new low, even for you.”

“Listen to me.” He cradles my face in his hands, tipping upward until our eyes meet. “I’m not asking you to choose. But if I were, the choice is simple. Mothers choose their children. Always. The end.”

There’s a knock on the door while I’m trying to come to grips with everything that’s happened since I walked into this room.

“What?” Antonio snarls.

“I promised to let Mrs. Huntsman know when the girls were settled.”

“Thank you,” I say to the woman on the other side of the door.

“Thirty minutes.” He slides his phone back into his pocket. “Text me when you touch the wand to your pussy, and again when you’re through. I want to think about you panting and sweaty, aching with need.”

“You’re a pig.”

“Is that so? Thirty-five minutes, Princesa. Not a second less.” He smirks. It’s more playful than mean-spirited. “It might not sound like it, but it’ll be challenging. You’ll see.”

What an asshole.

The wand is hardly a punishment. Although being left aroused—like right now—is uncomfortable. But the complicated part is the power exchange. That’s what this is all about. He’s shoring up his power.

Some part of me wants to acquiesce quietly. While another part wants to scream Red!

There are times when I hand over control without a fuss. Usually it’s in bed, where I prefer to let him lead—not that he’d have it any other way. But there are also times when I submit because he needs it for his peace of mind—or I need it for mine. As strange as it sounds, there’s real freedom in submission.

The struggle for control will likely always be a thing between us, but as our trust has grown, it’s become more subtle and nuanced. More civilized. Comfortable, even.

But there’s nothing comfortable or subtle about what just happened. It’s tinged with something I can’t quite put my finger on. Something ugly, maybe. It feels almost as though he’s dragging our relationship back in time, to somewhere I won’t go.

I open my mouth to tell him that I need some time, but he doesn’t give me the opportunity.

“Are you going to fight me on this? Because I can easily make it an hour.”

I don’t know how this is going to end, but it won’t be settled here. That I’m sure of.

When I don’t argue, he steps aside so I can leave.