In The Devil’s Keeping

The Devil’s Touch

The voice caused my head to shoot up. It was Antonio, of course.

I wasn't surprised by that.

What caught me off guard was that his steps were silent, or maybe I was so caught up in my plans that I hadn't heard him come in.

He gave his signature smirk. His eyes, as usual, were tearing me apart and looking for cracks—something he could latch onto.

Something he could use against me, to force me to bend.

But I wasn't going to be intimidated this time.

"You haven't answered my question, Fiore," his voice was low and calm.

"I was remembering my life before here," I said sharply, looking into his eyes directly.

His lips twitched before they broke into a menacing smile.

"You mean when you were a stripper?" he asked, taking a step forward.

Usually, I would have taken a step back, cowered in fear, or averted my eyes.

But this time…

I did the exact opposite.

I took a step toward him, my chin raised in defiance.

"Yes," I answered curtly.

He tilted his head, his eyebrow raised.

It was something I had been afraid to do before, but these past few days…

I had grown tired of being afraid of him.

I decided to focus on the one thing that mattered the most.

My will for survival.

My escape.

I would rather die than live here as an object under Antonio, but…

It was sickening to admit, but I loved the way he handled me roughly.

It made my core tighten, and it made me wonder how he'd handle me if things were different.

If he wasn't my captor.

And I was secretly anticipating being punished at this very moment.

"Che coraggio…," he exclaimed.

He threw his head back and laughed. The sound was rich and dangerous. Then he took another step forward.

I still stood my ground. I wasn't going to back down, no matter what.

“You answer me boldly now. No trembling. No tears.”

His hand closed in my hair without warning, dragging my head back until my throat was exposed. The gesture made me gasp involuntarily.

He brought his face close to my neck, his hot breath fanning my sensitive spot and making me dizzy.

“Tell me, Fiore,” he said softly. “When did you learn not to cower?”

His grip tightened in a possessive manner.

“I like you like this. Fierce suits you,” he added.

His grip on my hair was still strong. Then he let me go as quickly as he had grabbed me.

I lost my balance and stumbled a bit.

"Whatever," I muttered, flipping my hair back.

I sat back down on my bed, my mind still reeling from how close he had been just a second ago.

His phone rang, and he left to answer the call.

I stuffed a grape into my mouth from the breakfast platter Bianca had dropped earlier.

It had a glass of pineapple juice, some grapes, apples, pancakes, a small jug of melted butter, and a glass of cold water.

When I looked at the butter, I was filled with childlike mischief.

I took the jug in hand, taking a look at Antonio outside the door. His back was turned to me.

Perfect.

I poured a bit of the butter and watched it spread. Then I wiped it off a bit to reduce the shiny lustre it gave the floor.

I returned to the bed, my eyes never leaving Antonio.

I wanted him to fall. Of course, this wouldn't affect him.

But it would be fun and entertaining.

Antonio ended his call and returned to the room.

He stopped at the door and looked at me, his eyes glinting like he suspected something was amiss.

I turned my attention to my food and took a sip of the juice.

My eyes never left his.

He stalked toward me, and it was just then that I really noticed him.

Unlike the other days, where he either wore a sleeveless shirt, was clad head to toe, or was shirtless with pants on…

Today was extremely different.

Antonio was shirtless, yes—but he wasn't just shirtless.

He wasn't in shorts either.

He was in his boxers. I almost choked on my juice.

His expression was still searching, and his eyes still glinted. He hadn't noticed my reaction.

His steps had their usual predatory energy.

His foot finally reached my trap. I held my breath in anticipation.

He slid—not enough to send him crashing down like I had hoped, but enough to break his stride.

The sound was soft. Wrong.

The room went completely silent, and he went still.

Slowly, he looked down at his feet, the floor, and then at me.

A grin tugged at his mouth—not out of amusement, but curiosity.

He closed the distance between us as if nothing had happened just a few seconds ago.

As if he hadn't noticed anything.

It felt like he wanted me to think I had imagined it.

My back hit the headboard before I even realized I was retreating.

He came to the bed, his arms planted on either side of me, trapping me there.

"Did you think…" he murmured, leaning close, "…that I wouldn't notice, Fiore?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out.

He leaned even closer.

My heart roared in my ears. I bit my lower lip anxiously.

He was affecting me in ways I couldn't comprehend.

Just then, his lips crashed into mine—slow and deliberate—like he was taking something that was already his.

My core tightened, and I arched my back into his body.

I moaned, returning the kiss hungrily.

I felt his member already growing hard, poking my belly through his briefs.

Fuck.

I hated this.

I hated how my body responded to his touch.

I hated how easy it was to forget why I needed to escape and get my life back.

He broke the kiss, and I whimpered from the lack of warmth.

He looked at me. His eyes were dark with hunger.

"Beg for it, Fiore," he said, his hand tracing circles on my arm.

"Please," I said.

"Please, what?" he asked mockingly.

"Please, break me," I said desperately

His lips hovered near mine once more, his hot breath fanning my cheek, and he whispered, low and dangerous, “You have no idea what the devil has planned for you, Fiore…”