Page 35 of Bound in Vengeance
Then, I feel it. A familiar, heavy warmth pooling between my legs, and I almost can’t believe it. I reach down under the covers, slipping my hand beneath my silk nightgown to touch myself.
Yes. I’m wet. Completely soaked at the mere thought of Alessandro.
Maybe my father is right and I am a slut. There’s a desperate hunger inside me that I need to put out, a demanding ache that I just know is the real reason I haven’t been able to sleep. If I don’t take care of this right now, I’m going to be up until morning.
But I can’t stomach the fact that I feel this way because of Alessandro. Because I remember his dirty words. Because I remember exactly how his hot breath felt on my neck, against my ear. His punishing grip on my hair. The shameless way his hand roamed my body like I was already his.
Bastard.
I can feel my body shaking with pure need.
With shaky legs, I climb off the bed and pad to my dresser, feeling my way through the pitch black. I don’t turn on any lights. I’m already so deeply ashamed of what I’m about to do, and I don't need the light to witness my own degradation.
I pull open my bottom drawer, burying my hand underneath layers of clothes until my fingers wrap around the smooth plasticof my vibrator. Taking it out, I hurry back to the bed, a burning, humiliating heat climbing up my cheeks.
I should not be doing this. Especially not, knowing exactly who will be occupying my mind while I chase my satisfaction. He told me to do this. He commanded it. If I give in now, it means I’m surrendering to his depraved desires. I’m giving him exactly what he wants, and every ounce of my pride screams against it.
I clutch the device tightly as I lie back down against the pillows. No one knows I have this. I hid it away because the mere existence of it felt like a secret indecency.
I bought it during my time with Domenico, back when I first started to explore my sexuality with him. My encounters with Domenico always left me wanting. He was never able to satisfy my hunger, and I just assumed that was how sex was supposed to be.
So after Domenico got off and left, I would come home to my room and use it.
It worked. It was mechanical, but it worked.
I shut my eyes tightly in the dark, a bitter laugh caught in my throat. Just a few minutes of Alessandro’s tongue on that fateful night had given me a bigger, more shattering orgasm than this piece of plastic ever could. My legs had shaken the entire way home that night, and even now, memory alone is enough to make my thighs tremble.
I press the button, and the low, quiet hum of the vibrator fills the silent room. I slide it under the covers, biting down hard on my bottom lip as the pulsing plastic brushes against my inner thigh. I drag it slowly up my skin, heading toward the ache between my legs. But just before it touches my clit, a sudden wave of revulsion hits me.
I snap it off and fling it across the mattress, throwing it away from me like it burned.
I’m disgusted with myself. Utterly disgusted.
Why am I doing this? Why would I touch myself while fantasizing about a monster like Alessandro?
I should hate him. I do hate him.
God, I hate him.
I yank the pillow over my face and groan loudly into the empty room, wishing I could press a button and wipe his smug, dangerous face from my memory entirely.
Thunk!
I freeze beneath the pillow, my breath hitching. A strange, heavy sound just rattled against my patio door. At first, I tell myself it’s just my hyperactive imagination because I seem to be doing a lot of that tonight. But then, it happens again. A distinct, metallic scrape.
I throw the pillow off my face and sit up, my gaze locking onto the glass doors leading to my balcony. They are locked tight, and the heavy, dark curtains covering them block out the night, but I know I didn't imagine it this time.
I slip out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floorboards as my heart begins to thud frantically against my ribs. We have never been attacked on this estate. My father takes our safety deadly seriously, updating the security measures twice a year to ensure the perimeter is an impenetrable fortress. It is safe here. I am certain of it.
Maybe it’s just a bird; I've noticed a couple of nests tucked into the corners of the patio roof.
Creeping slowly toward the glass, I reach out with a trembling hand and yank the curtains aside.
A massive, imposing shadow is silhouetted against the moonlight. A terrified scream rises in my throat, but it dies there before it can escape, because through the glass, I recognize the sharp, lethal contours of his face.
It’s Alessandro.
He is drenched in blood, his chest heaving, and his hand is clamped tightly over his opposite forearm, dark fluid seeping through his fingers. He’s bleeding.
