Page 32 of Trapped

Slowly, he entered me. I inhaled sharply as he filled me, inch by inch, until he seated himself with a deep groan. The knife returned to my neck.

“Who do you belong to?” he demanded as he moved inside me.

“You.”

He thrust harder. “Who pays to fuck this pussy?”

“You.”

His eyes locked onto mine. “I own you. Say it.”

“You—you own me.”

“Damn right I do,” he grunted.

He pounded me harder. The knife stayed at my throat, reminding me of his control over me. How one wrong move could make him fall out of lust with me.

“Say it again, principessa,” he said, his voice thick with need.

My body arched into his. “You own me.”

“Good fucking girl. You’re mine. Always.”

The flat of the knife pressed down on me, amplifying the pleasure coursing through my veins. Each thrust pushed me closer to the edge.

Santino’s pace quickened, his breathing ragged as he chased his release. I could feel the coiled energy ready to snap. The intensity of his stare held me captive as he deepened his thrusts. He tensed, his hips jerked, and a hot wave jetted my insides.

As the last tremors subsided and he tossed the knife aside, he melted in my arms and stroked my face, whispering an apology as he kissed my forehead. I nodded, but we both knew he wasn’t sorry.

We untangled ourselves, Santino handing me a fistful of tissues from a box on his desk. I was a mess. The broken dress strap kept falling down my shoulder, and I tied it off, Santino’s gentle gaze unnerving me.

Santino grabbed something from the desk. A metallic ring that jangled as he nudged it toward me. My fingers curled around the cold metal of the keys, the weight of them pulling me down like an anchor.

“What’s this?” I blurted.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Keys to my place.”

Keys. To his place.

This wasn’t part of the plan. We had boundaries. This was business, not…whatever this was becoming. Was this another move to control me? Like the fact he was “not trying” to get me pregnant?

Panic clawed at my heart. “Why?”

“So you can come over whenever you want,” he murmured, stroking my back. “I’d like that.”

I cleared my throat. “What for?”

“We could hang out.”

“We do that all the time.”

“At restaurants, bars, and this place.” He gestured around the room. “My house would be more private.”

“We have my apartment.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I want to wake up in my bed. With you beside me.”

My chest tightened. “What’s so special about that?”

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