The Ghost: Mafia Romance

Chapter 14

I found a half-eaten container of butterscotch chocolate ice cream, wandered around the big kitchen, found a spoon and was now happily shoving big bites of ice cream into my mouth.

It's been a week since Ghost left, and he should come back soon. I don't understand why I allowed myself to get sad at the knowledge of him leaving me behind. It's ridiculous.

I shouldn't feel anything but hatred for my kidnapper, and I definitely shouldn't feel jealous of his assistant. I just don't understand why he would pay so much money for me just to leave me behind.

The more I thought about it as I shoved yummy chocolate into my mouth, the more I let my mind swirl around the fog that's been clouding my memory. I wish I could remember even the littlest details.

While laying in bed the other night, I remembered my middle name was Dawn, well, I didn't really remember, I just had a feeling.

It was the only thing I mind was allowing me to remember right now, and I guess I'll just have to be happy about that.

“Couldn't sleep?”

I choked on the bite of ice cream, forcefully swallowed the coldness down, causing my brain to hurt for a few seconds before I turned around and saw Ghost was leaning against the door frame.

“I was hungry,” I whispered, placed the spoon gently down onto the counter and put the lid onto the ice cream container, feeling embarrassed that I was caught like a rat in the kitchen.

“Yes, Harold has reported to me that you have not been eating your meals,” Ghost growled and walked into the room.

Jesus, does he always have to look so handsome? Dressed in a black suit, black tie with a gray dress shirt underneath the jacket makes him look like he belongs on a walkway in California then being hidden away on this island.

I didn't answer him, I pulled the lid off the ice cream container and pushed it towards the other side of the table.

A peace offering.

“I don't like ice cream,”

Who doesn't like ice cream? There are so many flavors, he has to like at least one.

“Have you tried this kind?” I asked, curious.

“No,”

“Try it,”

“No,” he grunted.

“Who doesn't like ice cream?” I asked more to myself, but I accidentally said it out loud.

“Me,”

“Who is the ice cream for then if you don't like it?”

“Hannah,” he answered.

Of course, why hadn't I thought about that? I was down here in the kitchen eating her ice cream while she has been off doing god knows what with him while I have been stuck here.

“I didn't know it was hers,” I whispered.

“It's in my kitchen,” he shrugged.

“What does that even mean? You just said it was hers,” I cried, frustrated.

What am I supposed to do with that? Yeah, I know the ice cream is in his kitchen, but he clearly just said the ice cream was hers.

“It means f*****g whatever is in this kitchen is yours too,” he snarled, looking like he was close to losing his patience.

“Why is Harold reporting to you about whether I eat?” I asked, not appreciating that the workers here felt the need to tattle on me like we were children.

Okay, that is so very unfair of me to say. Mr. Harold has been nothing but kind to me since I have arrived, and I shouldn't talk about him in that manner. I just don't appreciate him telling Ghost anything about me. If he was worried, he could have called like a normal person.

“Kneel,” he snarled and started undoing his tie.

“Excuse me?” I asked, shocked, and didn't move an inch.

“I f*****g said kneel,”

“I'm trying to have a conversation with you-,”

“You have clearly forgotten the reason you were brought here. You are my slave. You do not question me. Now f*****g kneel,” he ordered, jerked his jacket off and flung it on the kitchen floor.

I was shocked for more than one reason now. He comes back after being gone all week and orders me on my knees, and then he threw his jacket on the floor and I know a jacket like that, after seeing my closest, has got to cost a lot of money.

“If you wanted to know something about me, you could have just called. I would have given you the information,” I whispered and gently fell onto my knees in front of him.

I hate him and I hate that my body is heating as I look at him, standing above me, breathing hard. Jesus. This man's too good-looking to act this way.

It's a shame, really.

“Why would I bother to call my slave?”

“Why would your butler bother to tell you that your slave isn't eating?” I shot back my question.

“I didn't ask Harold a thing about you, b***h. He offered the information. You are mine, and I am entitled to know if my property is taking care of herself. I don't like my slaves to be bone skinny,” he spit, and unbuttoned his pants. “Crawl to me.”

Crawl?

What the f**k?

“What the f**k makes you think I'm going to crawl to you asshole?” I snarled, grabbed onto the counter and ready to pull myself back up.

No.

No.

I am not going to crawl for this man. I don't give a f**k how powerful he is, how dangerous he is, and even how good looking he is, I'm not crawling.

“Stay down,” he ordered me, slid his belt out of the belt loops and pulled his d**k out of his pants while keeping them on. “I said crawl to me. You will learn your place. If you do not obey, you will find yourself buried under the sand,”

I wonder how many more women he had buried under that beautiful sand. It's too bad that a place so beautiful and light could hide darkness.

“I am tired of you threatening to kill me,” I whispered, but did as he said and slowly crawled towards him.

I can't believe I'm doing this right now, but what the f**k did I expect? He did pay millions of dollars for me to be his s*x slave. I shouldn't be too shocked when he finally put me to work in the position I was bought for.

“If you would be a good slave, I wouldn't have to keep reminding you how dangerous I am,”

“You don't need to remind me. I'm well aware, master,” I mumbled, keeping my eyes lowered to the floor. I didn't want him to catch me staring at his d**k. He has it out now, in his hand, and his slowly stroking it as he watches me crawl towards him. “I'm aware that you went to an auction and purchased a woman for s*x,” I snarled. He should be very embarrassed.

The more we argue, the harder his d**k gets.

“Stand up and bend over the stool,” he growled, and patted the black leather bar stool he was standing in front of.

What is he going to do to me?

“What are you doing to do?” I asked, but he didn't answer. He simply looked at me, raised his eyebrow, and waited.

I watched as he walked towards the kitchen door and locked it and turned to me. “Lean over the stool. Ass in the air,” he ordered and pointed towards the stool.

I did as I was told, slowly leaned forward, and made sure my ass was raised in the air.

“What are you going to do?” I asked, nervous and a little afraid.

“You have been a bad slave and bad slaves get punished,” he snarled, stepped behind me and shoved my night gown up my waist.

“How was I bad? You left me here alone and took Hannah with you! All I have been doing is reading books. Yeah, I forgot to eat but-,” I whimpered as I felt his fingers running along my thin thong line between my ass cheeks, the tip of his thumb pressing into my small asshole.

“You have not been taking care of yourself,” he grunted, took his hand off my ass, almost causing me to cry from the loss, and suddenly, I felt his hand smacking down hard against my ass cheek. “Count whore.”

“One,” I cried, ass cheek hurting from his powerful blow.

“Two,”

“Three,” I whimper, my ass stinging as tears fill my eyes. “Please stop,” I begged him.

“Please what, my little slut?” He asked before slapping my ass hard, the sound echoing around the room from the force of his slap.

“Four-” I wailed before adding. “I won't forget to eat again,”

“What are you supposed to call me?”

“Master," I whispered.

“Beg me to forgive you. Beg for my c**k to fill that disrespectful mouth,” he moaned and slapped my ass hard again while pressing his thumb into my tiny tight asshole, pushing the tip of his finger inside.

Fucking hell, that feels so good. I need more, I want more, and I hate myself for it. I hate that my body is responding to him knowing damn well the reason I'm here.

“Please, master, I'm sorry if I was a bad slave,” I begged loudly, wanting to grab a knife from the kitchen and stab him with it.

How dare he embarrass me like this?

“Such pretty words,” he growled before I heard his pants coming down further, and he pressed his hips against me. “You want my c**k, baby girl?” He asked.

“No-,” I whimper.

I didn't even get to finish answering him because he turned the barstool around, and he shoved his hard, thick d**k deep inside my mouth with one powerful thrust, making me choke from the pain.

“Oh f**k, you feel so good,” he moaned, grabbed my hair and jerked my head up, my back now arched. “You dirty little w***e. Look at you. I bet you are soaking wet for your master. Tighten your lips for me,”

“I'm not wet,” I whispered as I tightened my lips around his d**k, not wanting him to punish me anymore. I don't think my ass cheeks could take more abusive blows.

Even though he is correct, my panties are getting wet, I will never admit it. It's probably just been a while since my body has received attention like this, and for some reason, him playing with my asshole is turning me on.

“You don't f*****g ask me questions. You're my w***e. You're nothing but a hole I'm using for pleasure,” he snapped and jerked my head to the side and pushed his d**k deeper down my throat, causing me to struggle for air. “Answer me,”

“Yes, yes master,” I hissed.

“Such a good little slut,” he growled and pounded his c**k in and out of my mouth, the bar stool scooting loudly against the floor with each hard thrust. “You're going to accept what I give you. Isn't that right, w***e?”

“Yes master,” I cried, grinding my legs together, wanting to jump off this stool and run out of this room, and keeping my eyes closed.

“Open your eyes,” he snarled and pounded harder into my mouth before pushing my head down, forcing me to cough around his long d**k, keeping his hand against my head to force me to stay in that position, and he continued to abuse my mouth. “This mouth is mine.-” He groaned as he slid his thumb into my tight asshole, making pleasure course through my body.

“Please stop,” I panted and tried to force my body to calm down.

“Who owns your mouth?” He asked harshly, and shoved his thumb deep into my ass, burning pain shot through my ass, causing my eyes to become watery.

“You, master,” I whimpered, tears falling down my cheeks.

“Good girl,” he growled.

“Please,” I begged, wanting this horrible, embarrassing situation to end before someone walked in on us.

“I f*****g love hearing you beg,” he growled and pushed his d**k deep into my mouth and I felt his warm c*m shooting down my throat. “I'm cumming. Take it all, b***h. Take every f*****g drop,”

“Yes, master,” I whined and struggled to swallow, my throat now sore from his aggressive thrusts.

“Good girl,” he muttered, and stroked his fingers through my hair.

“f**k you,” I whispered.

He grinned and slapped my ass before pulling out of my mouth slowly. “You're such a good slave,” he hissed in my ear before walking away. “Enjoy the ice cream. You earned it.”

"f**k you asshole" I hissed softly, jumped off the barstool, rushed towards the kitchen sink and turned it on.

I can't believe he did that to me. I should believe it, he is a bastard, an arrogant man, and thinks it's okay to treat people like this.

I quickly rinsed my mouth out with water from the sink and spit it out, hoping I got all of his nasty, salty c*m out.

I didn't swallow it.

That little act of defiance made me feel a little better.

Enjoy the ice cream he said and I'm going to do just that. f**k Hannah I snarled, grabbed the container of ice cream with the spoon and headed back to the safety of my room.