Page 66 of Trapped

“You can pretend all you want, but we both know you’re never leaving.”

I hated how right he was. Every logical part of me screamed to run, to fight, but Santino had a hold over me I couldn’t shake. I had no idea what was more terrifying: the fear of being trapped or the fear of wanting it.

He nipped my ear. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll beg for everything I’m offering.”

I gasped as his fingers found my clit.

“You don’t own me,” I managed to spit out.

He paused, his fingers stilling. His grip on me softened, and hope flickered in my chest. But then his hand tightened, and he turned me to face him, his eyes burning.

“You belong to me, and I’ll make sure you never forget it.” His lips crashed down on mine as his rough hands roamed my body, cupping my womb. “I’m putting my baby inside you. Right here.”

My breathing hitched. “No, you’re not.”

“I am. And you’ll get big with our baby, and I’ll spoil the fuck out of you, and you’ll love it.”

“No.”

His lips curved into a wicked smile, his hands sliding down to my hips, pinning me in place. I bit back a moan. His strength was becoming a twisted sanctuary.

I’m sick in the head.

Broken.

“I shouldn’t want this,” I whined.

“But you do. You’re wet for me, even now. And when you’re carrying my baby, you’ll know it’s where you always needed to be.”

His hands left my hips as he backed up slightly. His belt jingled as he ripped it from his slacks. The sound of the zipper cut through my scattered thoughts, and then his naked thighs pressed into mine. His palms slid up the backs of my legs, squeezing my ass, and then he pumped his fingers inside me. I arched against his touch, gasping.

“Please.”

Was I asking for more or begging for him to stop?

“No more running, principessa,” he said, lining up his cock to my aching pussy. “This is your life now.”

His cock stabbed inside me.

My traitorous pussy welcomed it.

His hard thrusts jarred my body. Getting fucked by him hurt. It hurt so good, joining the pleasure jangling my nerves. This was supposed to be temporary, but every sweet name he’d ever called me hinted at deeper feelings. He couldn’t say no to me. He’d never been able to deny me a single thing.

I had a power over him. It was intoxicating, the way he melted when I touched him, how his eyes softened when I let down my guard. Like he craved my approval as much as I craved his comfort.

I didn’t want him to stop.

I wanted more. I wanted to drown in the intensity of what we had.

“Santino, please.”

He chuckled darkly. “Please, what? Please fuck you harder? Please fill you up?”

I whimpered. “Harder.”

He pulled out, then slammed into me, making me cry out.

Shame and arousal combined into a potent cocktail that left me dizzy. His finger rubbed my clit. His touch sent shockwaves through my body, the pleasure unbearable. I was on the brink, teetering on the edge of a cliff with no way to stop the fall.

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