His Virgin Stripper

33- The Leash Remains

Sienna

Marcello’s hand under my chin for another heartbeat. Then his gaze began to travel, dark eyes sliding down the line of my throat, over the thin cotton stretched across my chest, and lower still until they settled squarely between my thighs.

He stared shamelessly at the wet patch darkening the fabric, a slow, wicked smile curved his mouth.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The gleam in his eyes said he could smell my surrender and was savoring every second of it.

Only when he had his fill did his fingers finally release my jaw. The absence of his touch left me reeling, as if the floor had vanished beneath me.

My head was spun so violently that the expensive decorations lining the office walls seemed to blur into long, dark shadows.

The metallic scent of blood and the heavy, intoxicating pull of his cedarwood cologne still coated the back of my throat, making it difficult to breathe.

Every single pulse point in my body was throbbing, a chaotic rhythm that made my skin feel entirely too tight.

Marcello didn't give me time to gather my thoughts or steady my breathing. He reached into the pocket of his tailored trousers and pulled out a heavy black pen.

Instead of handing it to me, he leaned forward, his broad frame casting a long shadow over the marble surface as he slid the pen directly across the table, toward my hand. It stopped right next to the dark-covered document, the polished metal glinting under the dim light of the desk lamp.

He didn't need to bark an order. The silent gesture was loud enough to fill the entire room. He was demanding that I finalize the trap right now, while I was still too broken to fight back.

I stared at the pen. My lungs burned with every shallow breath. If I picked it up, if I pressed that ink into the paper, the old Sienna was dead.

The girl who left LA, the girl who thought she could just start over, would be erased, replaced by whatever version of a "pet" this mafia don wanted me to be.

But as my eyes flicked toward the locked mahogany door, I knew the alternative. You don't say no to a man like him and walk out alive.

My hand shook violently as I reached out and grabbed the pen. The cold metal felt like ice against my skin. I squeezed my fingers around the barrel, pressing my knuckles together until they turned white, trying desperately to keep a steady hand as I pulled the dark document toward me.

It was an impossible battle. The tremors traveling up my forearm were too strong, fueled by the residual adrenaline and the humiliating ache still pooling between my thighs.

I forced the tip of the pen down onto the signature line. The ink bled into the thick paper as my hand jerked, my signature coming out jagged, fractured, and unrecognisable compared to the clean script I used back home.

It looked like the signature of a hostage. Which was exactly what I was.

The moment the last loop was finished, the pen slipped from my hand, rolling across the marble table with a soft click before coming to a stop.

I pulled my arms back, wrapping them tightly around my middle again, trying to stop the shivering that had taken over my entire torso.

Marcello reached down and picked up the contract. He turned the page, taking a satisfied look at the messy ink trailing across the bottom of the sheet. The dark smirk never left his face.

For him, this wasn't a tragedy; it was just a successful transaction. He closed the document with a heavy snap, the sound echoing through the quiet office like a gavel.

"I'll let you go," His voice, a gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate through my bones.

He turned on his heel and walked over to the massive desk, hitting the hidden switch underneath the mahogany wood.

Behind me, the heavy mechanism whined, and the loud snap of the deadbolt echoed through the space as he unlocked the door.

I didn't waste a heartbeat. I scrambled off the cushion, my boots nearly slipping on the rug as I forced my weak legs to stand. I moved toward the exit like a maniac, desperate to put distance between my skin and the scent of cedarwood.

But just as my hand reached out to shove the heavy wooden door open, his voice cut through the air, stopping me dead in my tracks.

"For now."

I froze, my fingers hovering an inch away from the polished brass handle. I turned my head just enough to look over my shoulder.

Marcello was standing by his desk, watching me with a slow, dark smile that promised absolute ruin. He wasn't done with me. He was letting me out of the office, but he was keeping the leash firmly in his hand.

I shoved the door open and sprinted out into the long corridor, not caring if the giants guarding the hallway saw the panic written across my face.

I rushed back to my room, my boots pounding a frantic rhythm against the hardwood floors as I navigated the maze of the safe house.

My mind was reeling from what had happened earlier, the thoughts colliding into each other so fast it felt like physical. I couldn't get his words out of my head.

‘I'm a mafia don.’

‘You're meant to be my pet.’

The phrases repeated on a loop, loud and deafening, drowning out the ambient quiet of the house.

By the time I reached our designated quarters, I didn't even knock. I threw the door open and slammed it shut behind me, leaning my weight against the wood as if I could physically block out the reality of the contract I had just signed.

I was completely altered.

My chest was heaving, my hair messy, and my skin felt hot and flushed. Worst of all, my body was still buzzing from Marcello's touch.

The ghost of his fingers gripping my jawline still burned against my skin, and the slick ache between my thighs hadn't faded at all.

Roxy's head snapped up from where she was sitting on the edge of the mattress. The second her eyes landed on me, her expression shifted from boredom to alarm. She took in my disheveled clothes, my wide, bloodshot eyes, and the terror vibrating off my frame.

"Sienna?" Roxy asked, her voice dropping into a tense, frightened whisper as she stood up from the bed. She took a step toward me, her hands half-raised. "Oh my god, what happened? What did he do to you?"

I stared at her, my best friend, the only piece of my real life I had left in this meat grinder. My throat felt incredibly dry, a tight, painful knot forming behind my vocal cords.

I opened my mouth, the air leaving my lungs in a ragged gasp, completely ready to answer her in pure, unadulterated despair.

I wanted to scream, to tell her we were never going home, to tell her I had just signed my life away to a monster and maybe hers too.

All the words were right there on the tip of my tongue, threatening to pour out of me in a flood of tears.