Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

THOMAS

“ B ad girl,” I admonished her. “I told you not to make a sound. I knew you were no angel. You are a little devil. If you disobey me again, I will have to bend you over this desk and spank you. Though maybe you would like that punishment a little too much.” I placed the fingers that were dripping with her honey to her lips, and she immediately opened her mouth and sucked them clean.

Not in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that Rose Astrid would be so perfectly submissive, and so incredibly responsive. I bet even tasting herself on my fingers made a fresh wave of wetness flood her panties.

The way she looked up at me with those bright green eyes and refused to make a single sound as I whispered dirty things in her ears and played her sweet virgin cunt like a violin were almost enough to make me forget my plan. The temptation was always at my door, and I usually could decide when to partake, whether the consequences were worth the indulgence, or when the price was too high.

Taking Rose Astrid to my bed, spreading her out, and eating her pussy for hours before I fucked her and seriously considered chaining her to my bed as my live-in pet, would have been incredible. However, it would have shot my plan to shit.

Still, I had never felt a pull of temptation like this before, though perhaps that was because I so rarely denied its pull.

I needed to remember the plan. Even while I was still in Rome, plotting and planning, Rose was always the wild card, the unknowable. I came up with many moves to counter what kind of woman she was. Of course, I knew what the tabloids said of her and even had people report what they had seen and how her sister spoke of her. But there was always a chance they only saw the mask she wore for society and not the woman beneath.

If she were brazen and rotten to her core like her mother, seducing her would have been easy. Getting the blackmail would have taken an afternoon. There was even a chance I wouldn’t have to use blackmail. She might have been narcissistic enough to help me bring down her mother just so she could take the old bat’s place.

Or maybe she was nothing like Mary Quinn, maybe she was easily scandalized. If that were the case, then she might not have let me corrupt her as I had intended, and I would have to find a workaround. But to have her pliant, wanton, and so ready to obey was just… too damn easy.

Still, I had to be careful. She was too perfect—so perfect that I could lose myself in her. I could succumb to her charms instead and forget my plan. I had already strayed too far from the path I had laid out.

The plan was not to make her come but to touch her, then edge her until she was so lost in my touch that she couldn’t think of anything else. The key to addiction was to give her a taste, only a taste, and make her beg for more.

I was going to keep her on the cusp of oblivion, hold her on the edge of bliss until she begged. I wanted to hear her cries for mercy. Then, I was going to punish her by leaving her desperate. Instead, I gave her satisfaction. What was worse was that I hadn’t even broken her first. It wasn’t until she came apart on my fingers that she made a noise.

What was I going to do? Punish her for being too fucking obedient, for being too perfect? God, the way her tight little cunt pulsed around my fingers, milking them so hungrily for more, and she was so undeniably wet for me. Her cunt dripping with the sweetest juices I wanted to?—

I turned away from her and marched out of the library to my room, just a few doors down. I may not have been able to break my little angel this time, but it was only round one, and her body was insatiable. Perhaps this was better.

After all, there was no satisfaction in a victory easily won.

I didn’t bother looking behind me. I knew she would follow, and I needed a moment to regroup. This was not the plan. I hadn’t even made a contingency that anticipated… her. How could I have known she was what I would find?

She would not win the next battle of wills.

I still couldn’t believe I had made her come and given her pleasure when I did not intend to. That gave her power when I wanted her to have none. That was unacceptable. If this was going to work, I needed to have absolute control. I needed her to believe that her world revolved around me. She would be ruined by the time I was done. I just had to get control back.

She was hurrying to catch up, her breath still rapid; I would bet her cheeks were still stained with that sexy blush.

“Wait, where are you going?” she asked. “Where are we?”

“That you don’t recognize this building speaks volumes,” I said over my shoulder.

“How could I recognize it? It’s so dark,” she said, stepping into my room. She sounded so confident now. I needed to shake that confidence.

With three quick steps, I was in front of her, my hand on the wall as I leaned in close, flexing my abs as her eyes trailed down my body, giving her a moment to drink in her fill.

I could feel her eyes on me, and my cock was as hard as steel, the outline clearly visible in my slacks. The second her eyes saw it, she gasped.

Shock? Maybe. Embarrassment? Probably. Desire? Definitely.

I let her eyes linger on me, let her memorize every line of my body, let her try to imagine my cock when she closed her eyes. The way she took advantage of the time I gave her, I knew she would think about me when she was alone.

I took a moment to appreciate how small she looked wearing my shirt, so petite, and so beautiful. Her skin seemed iridescent against the rich black fabric that swamped her, and I could catch just a hint of her full breasts in the gaps between the buttons. I liked her in my clothes. She looked good in them.

Before I let my mind linger on that thought too long, I hit the switch behind her and flooded the room with bright white, fluorescent light.

Her eyes flicked back up to mine, and her eyes widened, her lips parted.

I wasn’t sure if she recognized me. After all, I looked a lot like Luc, but I also just had that effect on women. My face had both condemned me at times and been a blessing at others. I knew I was attractive. I worked hard to keep my body in peak physical form. Add the strong Roman nose, a love of expensive Italian clothing, the Manwarring jawline, and the predatory smile… women fell at my feet, usually on their knees.

Of course, there was something to say about appealing to specific dirty fantasies. A lot of women were more turned on by the taboo, wanting and having the forbidden, but the pretty wrapping helped.

Without a word, I pushed myself away from the wall and turned my back on her, stepping over to my wardrobe and grabbing a fresh shirt. A gentleman would have offered her a fresh shirt or, at the very least, a pair of sweatpants to cover her legs in the biting cold.

It had occurred to me, but I didn’t. I needed to remind myself who she was—the daughter of the bitch I was taking down—and what she was—the method of her mother’s demise.

I couldn’t show her kindness. She would have expected it. No one would have ever been anything but courteous to the little Astrid princess, and me being a dick was going to throw her. Keeping her off balance was how I intended to get my power over her back.

“What were you doing all alone in that alley?” I asked, buttoning up my black shirt.

“I was delivering ornaments to the church when I got dragged in there,” she said, looking around now that her eyes had adjusted to the light.

“Where are they now?”

“Broken.”

“Seems like someone else should have delivered them. How will you replace them?”

“The same way I got them, my mother will send some poor maid out to hunt in thrift stores, and then my mother will pretend they were family heirlooms.”

I had to bite back a laugh because that was precisely what Mary Quinn would do. Sowing the seeds of doubt would be fun once I got her a little further from her friends. If the women of the Upper East Side were to discover the baubles they admired and gushed about were not only not heirloom gifts but were instead someone’s castaways bought in a dingy secondhand store, they would turn their backs on her so fast. Mary Quinn’s isolation was going to make her downfall so much smoother.

I moved to my dresser, placing the pinky ring I had been wearing in a small dish with some cleaning solution. The blood would take a while to get out of the grooves around the diamond. Instead, I slid on another one, a simple signet ring that was far more appropriate. It had an engraving of Saint Jerome Emiliani, patron saint of orphans and abandoned children. Not that I gave a fuck about orphans, but it was a constant reminder of why I was on the path that I was on.

It reminded me who set me on this path and why it was so important to get my vengeance.

My cell phone was also on the dresser. I picked it up and called the car service my family used the most.

“Mr. Manwarring, how may I be of service?” the voice on the other end said, and I looked in the mirror, watching Rose behind me look around and fold her arms over her chest like that would somehow hide her state of undress. I liked her uncomfortable and fidgeting with her nails, worrying her plump bottom lip with her teeth.

“Yes, I need a car sent to my residence. Ms. Rose Astrid is requiring a ride home.”

The second I said her name, her eyes snapped to me, a little line of confusion forming on her brow, and she sank into herself a little more.

“Right away, sir,” the dispatcher said. “I have a car about three minutes from your location.”

I hung up the phone and kept my eyes on my little captive in the mirror.

“How do you know who I am?” she asked.

I ignored the question, and I chose what cross to wear. I had planned to wear the one with rubies inlaid into the chain, but since I had to alter the ring, I supposed the yellow gold one would suffice.

“How do you know my name?” she asked again, this time a bit more forcefully, more demandingly. It was like being yelled at by a kitten.

“I know a lot of things, my little angel,” I said.

Her nervous fidgeting had turned into pacing around the room. The gap in the sides of the shirt, formed by the longer tail and front hem, showed off her toned thighs, and I wondered how they would feel with my fingers digging into them while her ankles were on my shoulders.

I wasn’t sure, but I planned to find out… eventually.

As she moved, I got glimpses of those white cotton panties again, and my cock stirred with interest. I ignored it, just as I had ignored her question. Her affecting me was not part of the plan, so I simply could not allow it to happen.

I needed to focus. Once she was gone, I had work to do.

“Tell me,” she demanded again, and I watched her stomp her foot in anger as if that would solve anything.

“Give me a moment, and I will escort you out. I am sure your mother is looking for you. No doubt needing you to find more ornaments to buy.”

“Tell me,” she repeated, and I said nothing.

I picked up my Roman collar. I detested this thing when I first wore it. It chafed and felt unnatural. Sometimes, it still felt suffocating, but once I realized its rules could be ignored and the power it gave me was worth the discomfort, I grew to tolerate it.

I slipped the white collar into place before returning to my little damsel in distress.

She stared at me, her eyes open wide, and even her mouth hung open, showing me just how lush her lips were.

“You’re a…?”

“You expected God himself to come down and save you?” I raised an eyebrow at her. “You were assaulted in the alleyway behind the church. This church has the small rectory with the entrance in that alley.”

I had been given the option of other accommodations; there were a few clergy houses nearby, and hardly anyone lived here. Most did not like the dark subterranean levels, but I loved it. These rooms were decorated, showing off the true luxury and wealth the Catholic Church possessed.

Everything was made with the highest-quality materials, including rich woods, lush velvets, and silks. The furniture was heavy, made to last generations by master artisans. It wasn’t the bright, airy, modern decadence that spoke of minimalism and taste but of old-world decadence.

I may have taken a vow of poverty—that I ignored as freely as every other vow I was forced to take—but I was still a Manwarring, and that demanded a certain lifestyle.

“I… but… you… in the other room.” Rose was opening and closing her mouth, a single word occasionally making it through.

“Angel, if you want me to answer your questions, I’ll need you to put a full sentence together. If not, let’s return you to where you belong. Somewhere without dirty alleys and Irish thugs, no doubt.”

“But you’re a priest.”