Page 99 of The Beast Who Bought Me
Hesounds strange. Angry. Possessive.
“I’m not enjoying it at all,” I tell him truthfully, and the pressure on my neck relaxes.
And then, before I even register it’s happening, he pulls the cloak back off my shoulders, so that the whole room can see my nudity—and the cage.
I suck at the insides of my cheeks so I don’t gasp or protest. I should have expected this. Not only because we agreed we had to act the part when we came here, but because it’s all part of Damiano Orsini’s plan for revenge. He told me when he bought me that he planned to break me. He didn’t mean physically. That would be too easy. No, what he wants is to make me suffer psychologically.
What was it that he said just before we left? My Clemenza ego is visible from space. He wasn’t wrong. It’s something that he and others will be able to manipulate, if I can’t control it myself.
Thinking through the problem helps calm my nerves. So when Damiano moves a few steps in front and says, “Follow me,” I’m able to do it with suitably downcast eyes and slumped shoulders.
What do I care if the Bratva think he’s broken me already? This is a long game, a marathon, not a sprint. The Bratva are not a concern for me right now.
But then I stop dead as I hear a familiar laugh.
In front of me, Damiano keeps going a few feet before he realizes I’m not following, and turns to glare at me.
“What’s rule number one?” he says, loud enough for those close by to overhear.
“Do what you fucking tell me,” I answer automatically, but my feet won’t move.
Because I’ve seen Jesse. Jesse Foster. He’s in a tangle of limbs over in a sunken lounge in the corner of the room, and the look on his face is ecstatic.
Dami comes back and looks where I’m looking. “What?” he asks. “You want to join in?”
“Jesse,” I hiss between stiff lips. “If anyone knows where this Grisha guy is, it’s Jesse Foster.”
I can tell he’s about to snarl something back, but he pauses to give a speculative look at the mini-orgy going on in the corner. “Well, looks like they’re finishing up.”
He grabs my wrist and pulls me to a nearby table, where he takes the stool and grips me by the shoulder, pushing me down to kneel at his feet. “Make it believable, golden boy,” he tells me, and I swear there’s mockery in his tone.
I don’t take the bait. I just kneel as comfortably as I can with the damn plug in me, and let him run a hand through my hair.“Knees wider,” he tells me. I shuffle to obey, even though I have to grit my teeth.
This will be worth it in the end. And in the long run, every tiny moment like this will be paid back with interest.
Sure enough, the group of men who have been entertaining themselves with Jesse finish up a few moments later with loud groans, slapping him on the ass and laughing, saying something in Russian. Jesse stumbles up and away, but there’s a glazed look of ecstasy on his face.
And as he limps away from the men, his eyes fall on me. They go wide with delight. He makes a beeline for where we’re sitting.
“Mr. Orsini,” he says, swaying a little as he comes to a halt. “And your purchase. I hope you’ve been very happy with it—not planning to return it?” He laughs after he says it.
Damiano laughs as well. “Not a chance in hell. No buyer’s remorse here.”
“If you’re open to it, there are a number of gentlemen here tonight who would enjoy sharing in your good fortune,” Jesse continues. He hasn’t even glanced at me since he came up, and my nose is getting assaulted by the various scents of his recent experiences in the corner.
“I don’t share my property,” Damiano says. “Although…”
I try not to look up at him. I certainly don’t want a view from down here of Jesse’s spent dick, waving in my face as it is. But I’m on high alert until Dami finishes that sentence he started, because we didn’t talk about how far he might go to get information. Maybe that was a mistake.
Or maybe it was by design.
“I’d be delighted to make any introductions,” Jesse trills.
Damiano leans on his arms on the tabletop, closer to Jesse as he drops his voice. “Since you mention it, I do feel a little bad about snatching this prize away from that other guy who was interested at the auction. Do you know him? I wouldn’t mind sharing a drink. Maybe sharing a little something extra.”
I hear the change of tone in Jesse’s voice when he says, “Of course I know Grisha. And he’s very gracious, I’m sure he’d love a chance to smooth things over.”
Jesse Foster can smell a new commission. That’s what I’m hearing in his voice. I should have heard it at Kismet nightclub, but it’s unmistakable now.
