Page 101 of Breaking Rosalind

Each press of his lips sends sparks to my already tormented clit. He strokes the sensitive skin there with feather-light touches that make my pussy twitch.

“Right now, I’m thinking about a shower,” I say.

“Liar,” he says, his voice light. “You’re going to knee me in the balls until I double over and then rush to the door.”

“You missed the step where I pluck out your eye,” I reply with a nervous laugh. “How far will I get when your home is so full of staff?”

“It won’t be the first time you’ve escaped.”

“Still sore about that?” I ask.

“Of course not.” He releases the strap on my left leg, followed by my right.

He pauses as though waiting for me to deliver the kick to his groin, but I remain still.

Not yet…

He walks to my left arm and attaches a metal cuff before releasing the leather restraint.

“What are you doing?” I hiss.

“Pets like you don’t break easily.” He walks out of range, holding a chain attached to the metal cuff. “I’ll keep you chained like a dog until you learn to be my good girl.”

I grind my teeth, fighting back the urge to snap, knowing that any rebellion will sabotage my chances of escape. Instead, I focus on how to convince him to release my fingers.

Cesare circles the table and clasps another cuff around my right wrist, then forces my arms together with a thick chain. When he links them with a padlock, my heart sinks.

“Isn’t that a little excessive?” I ask, my voice trembling with restrained fury. “One would think you were scared of a girl.”

His strong arm wraps around my shoulders, and he helps me to sit up. My back aches from lying on a hard surface for so long, and I grimace.

“You’re a skilled assassin with a track record of deceiving even the best of men.”

My eyes narrow. He must be talking about Leroi. Before I can use that knowledge to my advantage, he helps me off the table and onto my feet.

Dizziness slaps me across the senses, leaving me seeing spots. Even if I wanted to kick his ass, my legs wouldn’t cooperate. They’re unsteady from a mix of inactivity and low blood sugar.

The sick bastard has left me uncoordinated and weak.

“Easy now, pet,” he says, like I’m a skittish colt.

With one hand at the small of my back and the other holding my bound wrists, he leads me to the sink.

My lip curls. I fucking knew this shower was a scam.

He presses down on a lever between the taps, and the tiled panel behind it swings open to reveal a white bathroom. Strobe lights blink to life, burning my retinas.

“You people have thought of everything,” I mutter.

“This playroom used to be a long-term prison,” he says. “My dad installed the bathrooms because he couldn’t stand the stench of the captives.”

After marching me through the tiled chamber, he stops beneath the shower, and he raises my bound arms to a set of wall-mounted hooks. I struggle against the chains, my body shaking with the effort.

“Is that what I am now?” I spit. “A long-term prisoner?”

“Once you’re broken in, you’ll be allowed to sleep in my bed and eat with the family.” He runs a hand down my back, leaving a trail of heat.

“No amount of torture will turn me into your willing plaything,” I snarl.

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