Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
His thumb finds my clit and I nearly collapse.
"You talk too much," he growls.
"Yeah, well, you fuck too little, so here we are. Equal distribution of character flaws."
The words are out before I can stop them. Before my brain catches up with my mouth and reminds me that I'm currently naked in a dungeon with a man who just read seventy-three pages of my most deranged fantasies while fingerbanging me to the edge of sanity.
Giovanni goes completely still.
Oh no.
Oh no.
That was not the right thing to say to a possessive crime lord with control issues and a documented history of shooting people who displease him.
"I mean," I backtrack frantically, "not that the fucking is bad when it happens. The fucking is excellent. Top-tier fucking. Five stars, would recommend, tell all my friends except I don't have friends anymore because I'm a basement slave and also most of them are probably dead or think I'm dead or—"
"Emmaleen."
His voice cuts through my spiral like a knife.
I can't shut up. Not until I say the rest because it's the most important part. "But just so we're absolutely crystal fucking clear about what I'm saying here—" My voice shakes but I force the words out anyway. "Just so you understand that this isn't me trying to manipulate you or play some kind of game or convince you to do something you don't want—"
I twist in his grip, forcing myself to meet his eyes even though it makes my neck scream in protest.
"If you tell Jino to leave, I'm staying right here in the dungeon with you."
His expression doesn't change. But something flickers in those green eyes.
"I love your monster," I whisper. "I'm never going to leave. Ever. Do you understand me? Ever."
Giovanni's hand tightens in my hair.
"Your game, your rules," I continue, my voice getting stronger now. Clearer. "And I'm here for it. All of it. I’ll let you do anything you want to me. Anything. And you know what the really fucked-up part is?"
I pull myself up onto my tiptoes, getting closer until our faces are inches apart.
"I'm going to enjoy it. All of it. Every single thing you do to me in this dungeon—every strike, every denial, every punishment, every reward, every moment you make me choose my own destruction—I'm going to love it. Because this is who I am. This is what I need."
My voice drops to barely a whisper.
"I'm going to spend the rest of my life in Giovanni Bavga's dungeon as his slave. Whatever you want, I will give. Whatever you need, I will be. You want me broken? I'll break. You want me whole? I'll piece myself back together. You want me to crawl across this floor every single day until my knees are raw and my pride is dust? I'll do it with a smile."
Tears are streaming down my face now, but I don't care.
"So go ahead. Send Jino away. Keep me locked down here forever. I'm not going anywhere."
For a long, terrible moment, Giovanni just stares at me.
Then something shifts in his expression. The monster recedes just enough for me to see the man underneath.
He pulls me tight against him, crushing me to his chest. His cock hardens against my stomach, impossible to ignore.
"Fuck," he breathes against my hair. "Fuck, Emmaleen."
His hands are everywhere suddenly—gripping my waist, sliding down to cup my ass, pulling me even closer. He's not gentle, but he's not cruel either. He's just... present. Fully, completely present.
Giovanni walks me backward until my legs hit the throne. He sits, pulling me with him, positioning me to straddle his lap.
His hand goes to his belt. The clink of metal, the rasp of a zipper.
"Ride me," he commands, freeing his cock. "Take what you need."
I don't hesitate. The slickness between my thighs is evidence of everything—his fingers inside me earlier, the raw vulnerability of sharing my poem, the electric charge of the last sixty minutes that's left me wound tight and desperate. My hands brace on his shoulders as I position myself over him, the head of his cock nudging at my entrance. I sink down slowly, deliberately, taking him inch by devastating inch until he's fully seated inside me.
The sound that tears from both our throats is somewhere between relief and desperation.
His hands find my hips immediately, fingers pressing into the flesh hard enough that I know I'll carry the evidence tomorrow—perfect crescent moons marking where he held me. But he doesn't guide me. Doesn't force the pace or dictate the rhythm like I expected.
He surrenders control.
Lets me take what I came here demanding.
I start to move, rolling my hips in slow, deliberate circles, searching for that perfect angle that makes electricity spike up my spine. My thighs flex as I rise up, then sink back down, establishing a rhythm that's all mine. Giovanni's head drops back against the ornate wooden frame of the throne, exposing the strong column of his throat. But his eyes—those piercing green eyes—never leave my face. He watches me with an intensity that makes me feel simultaneously stripped bare and worshipped.