Chapter 15: Punishments aren't all bad

Belle Rose

I know he’s going to punish me. It’s a better fate than death, I guess. That’s probably why I kept talking back, kept defying him, kept fighting him.

There was no other way to avoid that meeting, and if I’d gone, I might be dead by now. Instead, I’m facing punishment. So far, it’s been nothing more than spanking, but I have a feeling he’s going to take it a step further this time.

He seemed especially furious with me. I couldn’t even muster up the energy to feel embarrassed, standing naked in front of him, when he declared I wouldn’t be attending the meeting.

I got dressed again and waited for him. There was nothing else to do. He’d locked me in his bedroom, even locked the door that connected to my own room. He’d trapped me in here with nothing but a single book to read.

It’s a strange book, written in Italian. I lay on the bed, flipping through the pages.

That’s when he storms in, his dark eyes glaring at me. He carefully shuts the door behind him and locks it.

He stalks over to the bed, crawls over me, snatches the book from my hands and raises an eyebrow.

“It’s a good book,” I mumble, drawing his attention back to me. He tosses it to the floor, where it slides across the room and hits the wall. His gaze is unblinking, unwavering, just glaring at me. “How was the meeting?” He grabs my jaw and straddles me, hovering over me as I try to disappear into the sheets.

“You’re funny,” he hisses, a cunning smirk playing on his lips. He grinds his hips into me, pressing me further into the bed. Then he gets off me, moves to his locked cabinet, unlocks it, and takes out something, a few things.

Before I know it, I’m cuffed to the bed, completely at his mercy. I guess he could have done that before. But now he’s angry, more than angry. He’s seething.

I struggle against the restraints but he pins me down. He flips me over, onto my stomach and rips my clothes off me, my lingerie too.

His hand glides over my ass, caressing and stroking. I look back at him, trying to see what he’s doing, and then I see it, the paddle.

And just as I catch sight of it, he brings it down on my ass, making me cry out.

“Bad little girls get spanked,” he whispers in my ear. He spanks me with the paddle again, and I cry out louder, clutching the bed sheets. This or death, right? I’ve come too far to die. Way too far. I survived my father, I survived every bit of suffering he gave me. I need to keep fighting, fighting to survive.

After a few more whacks of the paddle, I feel his hand again, on my sensitive skin.

“Are you sorry?”

“Yes. I’m sorry,” I whimper.

“Sorry for what?”

“For talking back. For disrespecting you,” I say, hoping my apologies will soothe his rage. I feel a cold cream being rubbed into my skin, soothing my raw ass a little. He flips me back around to face him and lies between my legs. His erection presses into my soaked pussy and wets his own slacks.

“So fucking wet for me,” he murmurs, his hand moving down to my folds and feeling me. “You’re drenched, ~gattina~. Does me punishing you turn you on?” It’s because there’s something wrong with me.

The pain is normal. I’ve been abused my entire life. Some things never changed. I’ve turned into this person, the person who is aroused by the pain and suffering. But, with Enzo, it feels different. It feels... passionate.

His fingers stroke my clit, making me whimper at his touch. He circles, dipping down into my hole before bringing my juices back up. He sucks his fingers clean and groans, staring right at me.

He wets his fingers with my juices again, rubbing me and building me up further. This time, he brings his fingers to my mouth, getting me to taste myself on him.

“You promise to be a good girl?” he asks, his fingers plunging back into my hole, making me gasp and moan at the same time. “Do you?” he demands, stopping his thrusts and raising his eyebrows at me.

“Yes,” I breathe out. He continues once again and I don't want him to stop. His other hand comes to my breast, squeezing with every pump of his fingers. I want to bring my hands out of these restraints, to hold onto something.

“You'll obey me?” he asks, squeezing my breast tightly in anticipation.

“Yes,” I answer, throwing my head back in pleasure. No one has ever made me feel this way. No one has ever pleasured me. No one has even cared to. They just fucked me. They just took and took and took. And they never gave a shit about me, using me as their own personal sex toy.

“You are mine,” he growls.

“I'm yours,” I say a little deliriously amidst the pleasure.

“Have you ever orgasmed before?” I shake my head, unable to form words anymore. “Cum for me, ~gattina~.” And I do just that. I fall apart on his fingers, letting my juices completely drench his hand and run down my legs. He smirks at me before dipping his head down and lapping up my juices with his skilled tongue.

Once he cleans me up, his body travels back up to me, untying my restraints and pulling my waist to his body. He undoes his shirt buttons and strips down to his boxers.

He gets us under the sheets and I just stare at his face, his smug handsome features. How can I be attracted to this man?

He buys me, takes me, traps me, controls me, touches me, and yet he knows that I want him. That's why he continues. Every sexual move he makes, it's consensual. I want him.

His hands trail up and down my back, running over my scars, his eyes softening at what he feels.

“How did you get these scars?” he questions, his lips hovering over mine.

“My dad,” I reply. His eyebrows furrow and he strokes my cheek.

“Why?”

“Why?” I ask, my eyes narrowing. “There doesn’t have to be a reason. People can be cruel without any cause.” I wonder if he thinks I somehow brought it on myself. I didn’t do anything. Yet my dad still did what he did.

“I understand,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.” His lips gently meet mine. I like this version of Enzo. The one who doesn’t try to scare me. The one who’s just here, no pretense or barriers. “Your dad did this to you?”

“Yes,” I admit, not really wanting to delve into that messed up history. I’ve been punished enough for keeping it hidden. But he’s bound to find out eventually, right? I can’t keep it a secret forever. It’s not feasible. I’m avoiding the father of the man whose house I can’t leave. It’s inevitable.

“He hit you?”

“Mhm,” I confirm, hoping to end the conversation there.

“Is that what your nightmares are about? Your dad? You said he was dead.”

“He is dead. And yes, I do have nightmares about him. He died a few years ago, leaving me with nothing. I found a job at the diner and an apartment. I was finally free of him,” I share, though I’m not sure why.

I’m spilling my life story to this man. It feels like I know him, even though he’s shared so little about himself. But Luca has told me a few things, about their mother, how she died when Rafael was born and Enzo was only ten.

Enzo was close to her, and when she passed, his dad toughened him up, groomed him to be the next mafia don. It left him cold.

“Then I trapped you again,” he murmurs, his hand gently stroking my sore ass.

“I never really escaped, though,” I admit, my brow furrowing slightly.

“Sleep, ~gattina~,” he instructs, kissing the top of my head. Even though it’s a command, I don’t mind obeying him. I don’t think he knows how to ask anymore, only tell.

But I fall asleep anyway, nestled in his arms. As he caresses my skin, I drift off to the rhythm of his heartbeat, his warm breath against my skin lulling me to sleep.

Just before I’m completely lost to sleep, I hear him whisper, “I’m sorry.”