Page 15 of Trapped

He shot me a twisted smile. “You don’t get to demand last-minute changes.”

I lifted my chin. “Then find another girl to be your sex slave.”

Inwardly, I cringed.

You didn’t talk to a man like that, especially after he saved your ass. I grew up watching Dad smack Mom down after a snarky comment and decided I liked not being hit more than I enjoyed being right.

But I couldn’t stand being at Santino’s mercy. I needed more than his protection if I was going to thrive in Boston. Living wasn’t enough. I wanted to grow something of my own. And I couldn’t do that without money.

Santino seemed to find my gall amusing. “What exactly do you want, principessa?”

“An allowance. Five thousand a month. And if I’m going to be your full-time mistress, all my expenses will be paid for.”

His eyes sparkled. “Done.”

“Just like that? No negotiation?”

He lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve already rented out an apartment in my name. All your bills will be forwarded to me. I’ll throw in another grand for food, too. I assume you don’t cook.”

He assumed wrong, but I wouldn’t talk myself out of more money.

He reached into his wallet and grabbed a thick clip of cash. Licking his thumb, he counted the bills, piled them in a neat stack, and gave it to me.

“That’s only half. I’ll give you the rest in a couple weeks.”

Jesus. “Oh. Okay.”

“We good?”

I inclined my head. I didn’t expect that to work. Shaking, I took the bills and braced for him to slap it out of my hands. When he didn’t budge, I slipped the cash into my clutch. The snap of it closing jolted through me.

“So, what now?” I asked him.

“Now,” he murmured, taking the empty glass from my hand and setting it on the table. “We take off your dress.”

Santino stepped behind me. His hands drifted to the back of my gown, undoing the buttons. I stood still, my pulse pounding. The fabric slid down, revealing the crotchless bridal lingerie and open-cup bra.

“You wore that for me?” he said huskily, moving in front of me.

My heart hammered. “Dimitri picked it out.”

“I’ll have to thank him.”

I blushed from my ears to my neck, and he grazed a finger across my burning jaw.

“Are you a virgin?”

“No,” I whispered as he cradled my chin. “Is that a problem?”

“Of course not, principessa.”

His voice stirred the darkness inside me.

“Why do you keep calling me a princess?”

“Because you’re delicate but very demanding. Isn’t that what princesses are?”

I scoffed. “I’m anything but delicate.”