Page 23 of Trapped
Maintaining boundaries was easier when Santino kept to the script—fuck me, pay me, leave. Anything more than that threatened the delicate balance I’d managed to maintain.
“Santino, we should talk.”
He traced small circles on my hip and shifted, drawing me closer. “No talking. Isn’t that what you said when we first started this? No talking, just feeling?”
A lump settled in my gut. “Yes.”
“No talking, principessa. I want to enjoy you.”
I held my breath, caught between leaning into his touch and pulling away. “I?—”
He kissed the sensitive skin behind my ear. “Shh. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”
But it was. Everything about us was tangled in power dynamics. How could it not be? I came to Boston to escape one prison, only to trap myself in another wrapped in silk sheets and easy money. I couldn’t allow myself to sink into this. Because whatever it was, it had strings attached that tugged at parts of me I’d closed off.
My throat tightened. “Are you trying to get me pregnant?”
He laughed, a deep, careless sound that echoed off the tiles as he rotated his head under the spray.
“Answer me.”
He sighed, shutting off the water. “Why are you asking that?”
I stared at him. “I told you, I’m not on birth control.”
“I’m aware. Don’t worry about it.”
He sounded so confident as he stood there, swiping water out of his hair.
“Santino, I need you to take this seriously.”
“We’ll handle it if it happens.”
His confidence didn’t match the panic stabbing my chest. He handed me a towel, his movements brisk. He rubbed himself head to toe, then folded the towel and hung it on a drying rack.
My hair dripped on my shoulders as I followed him into the bedroom. He picked his clothes up and put himself together, piece by piece. Briefs. Slacks. Wrinkled white shirt. Italian leather shoes. Finally, he slapped a vintage watch on his wrist.
“Santino, you don’t want a kid with me.”
He paused slightly as he pulled on his jacket. “I’ll see you later.”
“Wait—”
He kissed my cheek. “I gotta go.”
He was at the door when I asked, “What do you expect me to do if I’m pregnant?”
He grabbed the doorknob. “I guess you’d have to marry me.”
He didn’t even look back to see how his words landed. He stepped out, closing the door behind him like the gavel in a courtroom.
Marry him?
That hung in the air, mocking me. I glared at the wall, imagining him laughing as he got into his car. He didn’t mean it. I was just the girl he fucked.
Before I escaped Dimitri, I knew I had to attach myself to a powerful man. Santino seemed like the perfect choice—dangerous, extremely jealous, and rich.
I was his mistress. That role suited me fine.