Page 32 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

“Who do you think you are?” I continue, my voice rising again. “You think you can just claim a night like I don’t have a say in it?”

“I gave you a say.”

“Don’t twist it,” I fire back. “That wasn’t a choice. That was pressure dressed up nicely.”

“And yet you’re still here.” His pupils dilate.

“I’m here because I don’t have a choice,” I shoot back quickly.

“You do.”

“Oh, really?” I step closer, anger pushing me forward now. “Because from where I’m standing, this feels very much like I don’t.”

“I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to…” He pushes off the doorframe. “I won’t bend you over that sink, take you from behind while you watch yourself in the mirror… if you don’t want me to.”

My breath catches.

I gulp.

The image hits anyway, my mind betraying me before I can shut it down. Me, right there, reflected back at myself, held in place, struggling, not to get away but because I don’t know howto hold all of it at once. The intensity of it. The loss of control. The way it would take over until there’s nothing left but feeling.

Heat rushes through me, and I hate it. I hate that I see it so clearly. I hate that my body reacts before I can think.

He closes the distance, step by step, his gaze fixed on me, studying, reading, like he’s watching every flicker of it pass through my face.

And I know he sees every single part I’m trying to hide.

“You want me to.” He leans forward, his voice like warm honey, dripping through me. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

My teeth catch my lower lip, my breath unsteady as I put space between us, one step back, then another.

“That’s it?” He chuckles, satisfied, like he’s just uncovered something buried. “Consensual non-consensual?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” I push out quickly, already moving, already trying to get past him before he can see too much.

I almost make it.

Almost.

His hand closes around my wrist, pulling me back before I can take another step.

“What are you…” My sentence doesn’t finish.

He moves too fast.

One second I’m upright, the next I’m bent over the sink, the cold marble pressing against me as my hands are pulled back, twisted together, locked behind me before I can even think to fight it properly.

A gasp leaves me.

“Robert…”

“You can tell me no.”

The word is right there, within reach. Easy. Simple. All I have to do is say it.

But I don’t.

“Get away from me,” I cuss, but my voice isn’t loud enough.