I WAKE UP the next morning alone and confused. I barely remember falling asleep last night. Mateo’s soothing touch on my bottom somehow caused me to slip into a peaceful slumber. God, I’m so messed up. He beat me with his belt, but I ended up craving his touch afterwards. I seriously think I’m losing my mind here. And the longer I stay, the worse it will no doubt get.
After I take a shower and get dressed, I debate whether I even want to go downstairs and face him. My stomach chooses that moment to grumble loudly, though, reminding me that I can’t stay in this room forever and starve to death.
Sighing, I make my way downstairs and to the kitchen. When I grow closer, I can hear loud, boisterous voices and laughter. But as soon as I enter the room, all the chatter seems to die. Mateo is surrounded by a group of his men on the far side of the kitchen.
Feeling his burning stare on me, I glance in his direction, barely acknowledging him before I grab some food from the center island and turn to leave.
“Aria,” I hear his deep voice call for me.
I stop and squeeze my eyes shut, hoping that somehow I can disappear or that he’ll just miraculously forget that I’m here.
“Aria,” he calls again, forcing me to acknowledge him.
Slowly, I turn, and it takes every ounce of strength inside of me to meet his gaze. He looks brutally handsome in a black three-piece suit with dark stubble lining his strong jaw, and somehow that pisses me off even more. It’s not fair to be that beautiful, especially when I’m mad at him.
“Come,” he demands, moving his index and middle fingers in a come-hither motion.
I glower at him. “I’m not a dog,” I spit out.
His men around him sit in shocked silence, and then they burst out in laughter. Mateo smirks and says something in Spanish to them, causing them to laugh even harder.
Fuming, I stalk out of the room, not giving a care in the world. But when I hear the door swinging open behind me, I realize I messed up.
“Aria!” he calls.
My steps falter, but then I decide to act like I don’t hear him. Maybe he’ll just go back to his cohorts and leave me the hell alone.
In a few strides, he’s on me, grabbing my shirt in his fist, spinning me around and pinning me against the wall. My breakfast falls to the floor, and I stare at it longingly. And then I raise my head and glare at him. “Hey, I was going to eat that!” I say furiously.
“Are you hungry, corazón? I doubt if you even know what true hunger is,” he says, seething.
I can tell in his expression and in his dark chocolate eyes that he does. Tearing my gaze from his, I stare at the wall beyond us, ignoring him. Look what my pity for him got me last time. I’m not falling for that again.
He grips my hips in his large hands and then he leans down, his mouth at my ear when he whispers, “Are you always such a brat when you’re hungry?”
My hands curl into fists at my sides, and I defiantly raise my gaze to his. “No. I’m always like this after someone beats me with their belt!” I snap.
My words have their desired effect because he visibly flinches. “Aria,” he starts. “Last night was…wrong,” he confesses, shocking me. His fingers slowly drift down my hips and around to my backside. He gently touches me there, and I wince. His dark eyes study my reaction, and he frowns. “I’m sorry, Aria. I won’t ever do that again out of anger. Do you understand?”
I carefully dissect his words. “You won’t do it again out of anger, or you won’t ever do it again?” I question him.
“I must confess,” he starts, his mouth so close that I can feel the heat of his breath against my skin. “You were so very wet after I took my belt to you. I swear I can still feel your tight cunt pulsing around my cock.”
I shudder and let out a small gasp when he places a kiss to my neck, and I curse my traitorous body. Why do I always seem to melt when he talks dirty to me? I have to stop reacting this way to him, I mentally chide myself.
He pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting mine. “Go soak in a hot bath. I will bring breakfast to you. And then I’m going to feast on your pussy for hours until you finally forgive me,” he says, stepping away and leaving me breathless.
His threat has me clenching my thighs together, and I hate when I see the knowing glint in his gaze. He already knows my body so well. I’m like an instrument that he has fine-tuned. And he’s the maestro, constantly playing me and knowing exactly which strings to pluck to get the sweetest sounds.
On unsteady legs, I walk away from him, inwardly cursing at myself for being so completely and utterly turned on and perhaps the stupidest girl on the planet right now.
