Page 40 of Capo
Staring at the ceiling, I wonder if I’ll starve. I’ve gotten used to the hollow feeling in my stomach, the eternal gnawing, but it weakens me, body and mind, and that scares me.
I jerk hard when the door opens and Ivan enters. I’m lying naked as the day I was born, cuffed, vulnerable, and still his gaze doesn’t wander. His eyes meet mine, and there’s no way to interpret his lack of expression. He’s holding a tray in his large paws and when the scent of bacon reaches my nostrils, my stomach growls loud enough for him to hear it.
Putting it on the side table by the set of armchairs, he then comes up to me. “You will be fed,” he says in his grave voice. “You can move freely in this room. You will not try to escape.” His eyes dart to the windows and I crane my neck to follow his gaze, my heart speeding up at the thought of trying. “There are cameras and guards everywhere and you will go back to the basement and to your earlier regime. Even the smallest defiance will cost your brothers a finger. An attempt to escape will cost them a limb. Let me know if you have understood these instructions.”
My eyes tear up and I swallow hard as I nod. “I understand,” I whisper. “No defiance. No attempts to—” My heart sinks like a rock. “To escape.”
He nods and hauls up a key, uncuffing the still cuffed hand, the collar, and my feet. My arm is heavy and uncooperative as I move it. I rub my wrist and sit up as I hold Ivan’s gaze. Without another word, he turns and exits the room. This time the door locks. Holding my breath, I wait for the catch, for someone to come back, laugh cruelly and chain me up again. When I realize it’s not happening, I dart out of bed, snatch the shirt off the floor and pull it over my head, locate my panties, sniff them and then put them on as well. I want a shower so bad, to get rid of any trace of Salvatore, but I can’t control the overwhelming urge to devour that enticing smelling food.
The day passes slowly. The only break from the monotony is when Ivan comes with lunch, collecting the breakfast tray, then dinner, collecting the lunch tray. I think I’m going to go crazy. A carrot has been dangled before me, an initial feeling of hope, and it’s almost worse to have it gradually pulled away as I realize I’m just as bad off as before.
I shower twice, long hot showers, the shampoo and soap are expensive brands with a masculine scent that I recognize from the monster. I’m his captive. Now I even smell like him. After the second shower, I toss the panties and rummage through the now unlocked drawers to see if there is anything else to put on. There are boxer shorts. They are much too big, but if I fold the waistband they stay up, hanging low on my hips.
Finally, I’m so bored that I almost wish for Salvatore to come back. I pace the room back and forth. Examining his cruel set of toys, dragging my fingers across the canes, the long and short whips, some with tails, other looking more like riding crops, and the shackles, I fight the nausea at the thought of him using them on me. I have no illusions. I know he will. He’ll force me. Tie me up. Make me plead. Make me bleed.
And I’m not going anywhere. I will protect my brothers at all costs, even if it means my life is forfeit.
I will never, ever ask Luciano Salvatore to fuck me, though. Never.
As fog settles over the lawn and the sun disappears behind the treetops, I’m beginning to get worked up. No one shows. I don’t have a watch, but I feel the hours pass by, my inner clock telling me the evening is over and that it’s getting late. I’m so frustrated I could cry. What does it gain him to have me here? He can have any woman he wants in a moment’s notice, with just a flick of his finger.
When a key finally rattles in the lock, I’m so frustrated that I’m boiling. Slowly dying in the basement was better than this shit. The lines were drawn, I knew my fate. Now I don’t know anything. Hope has sparked and died, and it’s killing the remains of my spirit.
Salvatore enters, tall, dark and brooding, his gaze oozing danger. I take a step back, wary, but then I can’t hold it together anymore.
“You suck at taking a hostage,” I scream.
He slams the door closed and locks it, then he takes a long stride, and grips around my throat, shoving me all the way back until I connect with the wall. He looks me over, his nostrils flaring. I am hypnotized by his black eyes, then my gaze darts to his shirt sleeve, which has a large stain of what is clearly blood, and I freeze in horror.
“There are better—” He licks his lips, his expression turning cruel. “And there are worse occasions to be mouthy with me. This is not agood time!” He shoves away from me and looks me over. “Didn’t I fucking tell you to get naked when I’m here?”
“I—I didn’t have time,” I whimper, my voice fading on the last word as I yank the shirt over my head and quickly pull down the boxers. His eyes narrow, then he grabs my arm and pulls me toward the bed.
“Hands on the mattress, spread your legs. Stay.”
“What are you—”
“And don’t fucking talk to me!”
I scramble to get into position, my heart beating wildly. When I see him head straight for the rack filled with his torture tools my stomach churns and I have to clench my mouth shut not to beg him. No pleading, or one of my brothers will lose a finger.
He unlocks the barred gate keeping it all in place and tears a whip with tails off its holder, then he comes at me with death in his gaze. I can barely breathe.
“I’ve had—” He breathes heavy. “A really shitty day.” He flicks his arm and fire hits my ass. I scream.
Salvatore’s breaths get heavier as his whip scorches my backside. I bury my face into the mattress, my screams getting hoarser until I can’t even produce a sound. It takes me several moments to realize he’s stopped. Grabbing my ass cheeks, spreading them, he pushes his rock-hard bulge to my pussy and grinds against it. His hands come around to my breasts, grabbing them tightly, pinching the nipples until they peak and shoot arrows of distress to between my legs. It’s as if he knows because a hand glides along my stomach and dips in, finding my clit. I fight it, I try, but resisting his skilled fingers is impossible. My pussy swells and opens to him as my heart slams harder in my chest. My skin burns hot, my thighs tremble, and when he pushes his fingers inside me, I can’t stop the throaty whimpers that erupt. I rock against him, lost in the whirlwind of pain and pleasure, and that’s when he stops and leans in close, his chest against my back.
“One day, Chloe. One day, you’ll yield to me with no protests left on your pretty lips. Now, get on your knees and finish me off. I need a release.”
A cry rips its way through my chest because I know it will happen. He’ll break me, and I’ll give up all hope of freedom, of a life.
Every night, with whiskey on his breath, he hurts me. He ties me to a disgustingly indecent cross, my arms and legs spread, and makes my skin burn hotter than Hell. Palms, whips, canes. He doesn’t stop until my screams turn to whimpers of complete defeat. That’s when he puts his hand between my legs and caresses me until my pussy pulsates with a need for a release he never allows me. He, on the other hand, gets his every time.
I’ll make you beg for me to fuck you, he said.
Never. Never. Never. I repeat it as a mantra, day and night, wet and swollen as I clench my thighs, lying on my side because my back is on fire.
Every morning he’s gentle, dragging his fingertips from my throat, down along my chest, circling and flicking my nipples until they peak, until I have to fight to keep my breathing under control, across my belly and then between my legs. He teases my clit with skills that have grown during our time together, as he has gotten to know my body. He’s naked, erect, there’s hunger in his gaze. My insides scream at me to give in, to beg him. Mount me! Fuck me, you fucking monster! I arch and sweat breaks out on my body as he holds me on the brink of release. I’m terrified of losing control. He has promised to hurt my brothers if I come, and he’ll only let me come the day I fall to my knees and plead with him to take me, fully and completely.
He has driven me into a near-constant state of arousal and, as the days turn into weeks, my humiliation grows, because I want that cock so fucking bad. I’m empty and aching. His whips hurt, but the growing need for him to fill me is a new kind of torture I had never imagined.
I hate him so fucking much, and I ache for every patch of his skin.