Page 22 of Trapped

Not with vengeance within my grasp.

EIGHT

DELILAH

Santino fucked me on the bed.

The sheets were a tangled mess on the floor, pillows were thrown about, and the room reeked of sex. My muscles ached as though I’d scaled a rugged mountain.

Rough hands repositioned my hips. Santino stuffed a pillow underneath me. The new angle pierced me so deeply that I curled my fingers tighter into the sheets. Each thrust pushed a moan past my lips. Gritting my teeth, I focused on the banging headboard and not the gorgeous, six-foot-two man claiming me over and over.

“Come for me.”

His delicious whisper stroked my ear, and his finger landed on my clit. He teased it as he drove into me, coaxing more pleasure until I teetered on the brink. Waves of glowing heat joined the ecstasy from his thrusts, but I fought the urge to come. Every orgasm felt like surrendering a piece of myself I’d sworn to keep hidden. He owned enough of me. I wouldn’t allow him to have this too.

But he was relentless.

“Give me what I want, Delilah.”

The dark threat delivered the final spark, and I detonated. I let out a gasping cry and collapsed. Sweet relief rolled through my body.

Santino groaned. The hot release of his orgasm filled me up, joining the three other cum shots he’d left inside me. His thighs jerked as he gripped me tightly, pulling out only to collapse beside me, dragging me into his chest.

I sank into bliss. When he held me, too spent to move, I almost forgot who we were.

He nuzzled my neck, breathing hard. “You okay?”

I ran my fingers through his hair. “Tapped out.”

All night, I’d been tossed around. Devoured. Santino fucked like a madman—his brow slicked with sweat, his sides heaving. I was his toy, and when he finished with me, I felt thoroughly used. Sucked, licked, pounded, my body marked with his teeth. In return, he paid me every week with envelopes stuffed with cash. He gifted me jewelry, trips to Nantucket—anything I wanted. I’d been funneling his money into a business account for months, planning for a brick-and-mortar vintage clothing store. Retro Rose Boutique.

He lingered tonight, which was rare. Usually, Santino was out the door as soon as he composed himself. With a quick fix of his appearance, he returned to the untouchable mafioso who ruled his world with an iron fist. But this morning, he stayed, his breathing syncing with mine, and the soft rise and fall ofhis chest touched my back. His presence cocooned me in an unnerving comfort.

Santino traced his fingers along my side. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m thinking.”

“About?”

“How I ended up here.”

Santino leaned in, kissing my shoulder. “Just be with me.”

That was the problem. It was too much like being in Providence, trapped in a cycle of being owned by a man. I couldn’t depend on Santino forever.

“What time is it?” he murmured.

I grabbed my phone from the bedside table. “Ten-thirty.”

Santino cursed.

He uncoiled himself from me and slid off the bed. I’d seen him naked many times, yet still, a flame flickered between my legs at the sight.

I rolled out of bed and made my way to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I was a mess. My hair was tangled, and his cum stuck to my thighs. I probably tasted like him, too. We’d partied hard last night. Santino knew I liked to drink, so he traded me sips of Dom Perignon for my lips wrapped around his cock. All evening, I’d gone back and forth between him and the bottle.

Santino took my hand and led me into the bathroom, turning on the shower. Once the water was hot enough, we both got in. He soaped up his hands and massaged me, then put shampoo inmy hair, his fingers soothing on my scalp. My eyelids fluttered. He was so gentle. After washing the suds from my head, his lips touched my face, brief and sweet.

I tensed.

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