Page 139 of His Game His Rules
Let Jino touch me, teach me, guide my way
Through pleasure maps he draws with practiced arm."
I force myself to look up, to meet Giovanni's gaze directly.
"But it's your name I whisper when I pray
Your face I see when darkness pulls me down
Your voice that keeps the broken thoughts at bay."
I stop. "There's more. A lot more, obviously. But that's you, Giovanni. That's who you are to me. Your strength is mystrength. Everything you are, you give to me. Whether you mean to or not, it happens. Like... osmosis. Like..."
My brain scrambles for the right comparison, something that will make this cosmic-level emotion fit into words that don't sound completely unhinged. But all I've got is unhinged, and somehow I doubt comparing my feelings to Stockholm Syndrome Greatest Hits is going to help my case.
"Like those parasitic fungi that take over ant brains and make them climb to high places before they die? Except less deadly and more...consensual."
Silence.
Complete, absolute silence.
Giovanni doesn't move. Doesn't speak. Just stares at me with an expression I can't decipher.
Then, slowly, he stands.
Crosses the space between us.
Pulls me to my feet by my hair—not cruelly, but firmly enough that I gasp.
"Keep reading," he growls against my ear. "Every. Fucking. Page."
His free hand slides down my body, between my legs, finding me already wet.
"And don't you dare stop, slave. Not until you've read me every word about how I'm the only thing standing between you and the darkness."
Oh god.
His fingers push inside me, and I nearly drop the notebook.
"Read," he commands.
So I do.
I read him seventy-three pages of terza rima while he fingers me, edges me, denies me release over and over again. I read about my darkest fantasies and deepest fears. I read about theway his violence makes me feel alive and his tenderness makes me feel destroyed.
I read until my voice is hoarse and my body is trembling and I can't tell anymore if I'm crying from pleasure or pain or the sheer overwhelming intensity of beingseenthis completely.
And when I finally reach the last page—the one I was still writing when Giovanni banged open the dungeon door—my voice falters on the final tercet.
"So take me, break me, make me yours to keep
I choose these chains, this King, this dungeon deep
And pray I never wake from this dark sleep."
The notebook slips from my fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud.
Giovanni's hand is still between my legs, his fingers still inside me, his breath hot against my neck.
