Raised voices drew my attention back to the door. My whole body jolted at the bang of a gun firing, followed by screams of agony.
Domenico appeared, his jaw locked tight, eyes alight in anger, his gun at his side.
“Did you just shoot someone?” I asked.
He didn’t look at me, but he did set his gun down on the dust-covered table.
“Cosa mi stai facendo?” It was barely a whisper, but I heard it.
What are you doing to me?
Days passed and I spent half the time chained up, and the other half in the cage. The time that Domenico was gone shrank day by day, especially after the arrival of the Russian girl. She quieted down after Domenico’s threat and subsequent fucking of me.
Still, I heard the whispers, the plans.
Domenico’s possession of my body became daily, and I hated that I came every single time. He was aggressive and dominating, and every thrust of his hips was a shot of pleasure through me. Each press of his teeth into my neck had me convulsing around him. He knew just what to do to get me off, and he was merciless about it. But, in the quiet of my mind, I couldn’t deny he was right—he was my god and he’d masterfully taken control of my body.
It was the most powerful fucking I’d ever had. I hated to even admit to myself how I got wet just looking at him.
The temperature dropped to the point that even the men were complaining. Gas-powered space heaters were brought in. A small one was set up near my cage, and I reveled in the warmth. It was much like sitting in front of a fire. Part of my body remained cold, but overall it was the warmest I’d been in weeks.
And it had been weeks. The pile of petals at the base of the rose amounted to more than were left on the drying flower.
The new girl didn’t have a rose, which I found odd, but not as odd as when I awoke to find her gone.
“Where is she?” I asked. I expected to receive the usual silence, but someone spoke up.
“Sold,” Tito replied, earning a glare from Marco.
Sold. She had no rose and had been sold off in days.
My own holding became more and more mysterious. There was something else at work, something different about my capture.
Did they know who I was? Was it all a power play, a way to break me? No. Domenico had claimed me, which afforded me security because nobody would cross him.
Roman’s eyes were dark when he delivered my food, and he seemed angry.
“Thank you,” I said, as I always did.
His hand shot through the bars and wrapped around my wrist. “You’re not special.”
My heart sped up and my brow furrowed. It was a move I wasn’t used to with him, aggressive with none of his usual gentleness. “What?”
His expression faltered, losing the edge. “To him.”
I opened my mouth to ask what he meant when suddenly he cried out, his hand releasing me.
Domenico stood next to him, hand around Roman’s bicep, digging in.
“You don’t touch what’s mine, Roman. Ever.”
A chill rolled through me as they glared at each other. Roman was being defiant, unwilling to back down. It was a characteristic I had never seen in him before, and I began to heed Domenico’s warning.
I wasn’t sure how many petals a rose held, but I guessed somewhere between thirty and fifty. More than half the petals were gone, and I began to wonder what would happen when the last petal fell.
A pit formed in my stomach as I looked at the number of men. Something had shifted and Domenico’s crew had either surged in membership, or they were all converging on that building.
Most of them were familiar faces that I’d at least seen before, but out of the more than twenty men around, there were one or two I didn’t recognize.
All day I’d watched, listened, and waited. Even Marco seemed on edge as he sent men out on different jobs. Domenico had been gone for almost the whole day, and I vibrated without him near.
The increase of testosterone had led to a few scuffles, and my anxiety increased as the day progressed. There was a safety I’d begun to feel with Domenico, but when he wasn’t around I felt a darkness stirring.
He arrived late in the afternoon, but if it wasn’t for the scar, I wasn’t sure I would have immediately recognized him. Gone were the jeans and leather jacket. In their stead was a perfectly fitted gray three-piece suit.
A suit that looked deliciously good on him, and I couldn’t help but stare.
He didn’t look happy, and he glared at me as he pulled at his tie. I blinked back, trying to figure out why, and a sinking feeling settled. A glance over to the rose showed the decimated remnants of a once vivid and bright flower.
I wasn’t imagining the shift. It wasn’t an overexaggeration of paranoid thoughts.
Marco tried talking to Domenico, but he seemed to only half listen, his attention focused on me.
A few minutes later he was still in his suit as he pulled me from my cage. “Come on.”
I didn’t pause, didn’t take my time. I was desperate for the security I felt for some reason in his arms. For him to soothe the anxiety that surged through my veins and replace it with the fire only he could.
“Get to fucking work!” he yelled out before dragging me toward the corner room.
I looked back to the group of men. Some dispersed, but just before I lost sight of them, blue eyes locked onto mine.
A shiver rolled down my spine as Roman stared at me, one side of his mouth twisted up.
What was that about?
I bit down on my finger, head back as high-pitched moans slipped from my lips.
The world disappeared. The room long gone. All that was left was the man slamming into me and the pleasure he filled me with. A keening sound left me from the pleasure that spiked from his teeth digging into my shoulder. Another mark to add to the others that peppered my skin.
He gripped my jaw and pulled my mouth to his. His kisses were always soft yet demanding and soul devouring as he took the breath from me.
Loud bangs and yells pulled me from the trance he always put me in. I watched as clarity returned to his eyes, a grumble of anger audible as he glanced over his shoulder.
“Fuck,” he hissed before abruptly pulling out and standing.
I began to admire his mostly naked form when the sounds of fist on flesh filtered in.
He quickly stepped into jeans he pulled from his bag. “Stand,” he commanded as he slipped a shirt on. There was no time to dress myself as he tugged on my arm and pulled me to the wall. My eyes widened when he picked up the shackles that were anchored into the wall and wrapped one around my wrist, then the other. I was left standing there with only a short lead of a few feet.
“Stay,” he said in a low growl before gripping my chin again for a harsh kiss.
It wasn’t my first time in the shackles, but it was my first time naked in them.
The commotion ebbed and flowed, the noise level crescendoing up again, and the anger rose in Domenico. He tossed a pillow my way and pulled on his shirt as he walked out.
“What the fuck is going on out here?” he yelled.
The noise stopped before erupting again.
The testosterone level was dangerously high, and my heart thumped in anxiety. At least they couldn’t see me where I was.
I couldn’t hear much from the other room except the occasional string of words from Domenico when his anger showed through. But the pit formed in my stomach again.