Prisoner To The Mafia King

Chapter Eight

Lucia's POV

Damien stepped so close his shadow fell across me, completely nude. His hands fisted around my jaw, the pain making me wince as he angled my face up for inspection.

“Beauty, one hundred million,” he declared coolly.

He let go, and my head tipped to the side, a sliver of drool slipping from the corners of my lips.

My first instinct would be to scream that he had no right, that this very man had played the part of my family's executioner not twelve hours ago.

I hated him; I wanted to scream, but I didn't, and it was a chemical rage inside of me that sparked against my will.

He was my enemy; I should want to hurt him with every fiber of my being.

“Timid, fierce, and unimmersive, twenty million.”

His other hand slithered around my waist, splaying against the dip of my hip.

The touch sent shivers of sensation to my belly. My shackled legs thrashed under the iron bonds, the chains clacking against the bed frame, as I attempted to remain motionless.

He reviled me, this monster who orchestrated my entire family's murder.

It should have been blood gushing between his fingers, but the shamefully involuntary tremors had begun to shoot between my legs like so many burning tendrils.

“Narrow waist, appealing characteristic, ten million.”

His hand was pressed against my abdomen, his thumb moving in a steady motion across the skin just above my pibic bone, leaving a path of searing heat that made my lungs struggle for breath.

His every stroke stroked the growing moisture that gathered slick and humiliating between my thighs, shame so fierce that it rivaled the fury I felt for this man.

I slammed my eyelids shut, but it was impossible to hide: the mirror above the head bed reflected me in agonizing detail.

My skin, luminous and pallid beneath the glare, my n*****s hard and tight, betrayed a humiliating lust I could not, or would not, control.

“Delicate skin, five million.”

His hand traveled lower, gliding over my ribs, across my stomach, and then down to the soft mound of my s*x.

Every touch was a slow, deliberate exploration, as if he were mapping territory he already owned. I pressed my lips together until I tasted blood, desperate to keep any moan from escaping.

The wetness between my thighs grew, a traitorous slickness that made my hips jerk ever so slightly, even as my mind screamed for him to stop.

Damien’s fingers brushed the underside of my small breasts, then lingered, weighing them as if assessing their worth.

“Small breasts, alluring features, ten million.”

I forced my eyes open, catching my reflection in the ceiling mirror.

Tears had already begun to trace hot paths down my temples, but my mouth was parted, lips swollen from biting them. I looked wrecked, and yet the sight of my own body, so exposed, so evaluated, sent a fresh wave of shame and unwanted desire through me.

My n*****s stood erect, begging for his touch even as my soul recoiled.

He moved lower still. Two fingers traced the inside of my thigh, then slid between my spread legs.

I felt the cool air kiss my exposed p***y before his fingers found my entrance. Without warning, he pushed two fingers inside me.

A broken moan tore from my throat before I could clamp my jaw shut.

The sound echoed off the sterile walls, and shame flooded me instantly.

I yanked at the chains holding my wrists, but they held firm. All I could do was lie there while he pumped his fingers slowly in and out of my dripping cunt, each thrust a brutal reminder of my powerlessness.

“Sensitive body, seductive voice, twenty million.”

His thumb brushed my c**t on the next thrust, and my hips jerked involuntarily.

I hated the way my inner walls clenched around his fingers, hated that I was getting wetter with every stroke.

Most of all, I hated the shameful part of me that wanted him to keep going, to push deeper, to replace his fingers with something thicker and harder.

He added a third finger, stretching me further.

“Ahh!” The cry slipped out before I could bite it back.

My back arched off the bed as he stroked that sensitive spot that made my thighs shake. His other hand rose to cup my breast, thumb circling my n****e with deliberate pressure, sending spikes of pleasure‑pain through my chest.

“Soft and delicate lips, fifty million.”

Tears blurred my vision. I stared at my own reflection in the ceiling mirror and watched the tears spill down my temples.

My mouth was parted, lips swollen from biting them. I looked wrecked already, and he had barely touched me.

“Cute, sixty million.”

Damien’s gaze locked onto mine. His fingers curled inside me, stroking that spot that made my whole body tremble.

I bit down on my lip again, but another whimper escaped anyway.

The wet sounds of his fingers moving in and out of my p***y filled the room, obscene and loud. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him how much I despised him for killing everyone I loved.

Instead, my hips rolled forward, chasing his fingers even as fresh tears ran down my face. The conflict tore through me, hatred so pure it burned, and beneath it an aching, shameful need that made my c**t throb.

He withdrew his fingers slowly. They glistened with my arousal. He wiped them across my stomach, leaving a wet streak on my pale skin.

“Responsive cunt, thirty million.”

My cheeks burned. I turned my face away, but there was nowhere to hide.

The chains kept me spread open, completely exposed. My p***y clenched around nothing, aching for more even though I wanted to hate every second of this evaluation.

Damien circled the bed once, studying me from every angle. His eyes lingered on the way my chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, on the way my thighs trembled, on the slick shine between my legs.

“Overall physical appeal, two hundred million.”

He stopped at the foot of the bed and looked down at me one final time. His expression remained cold, professional, as though he had not just had three fingers buried inside me.

“Total evaluation complete. Final worth: five hundred and five million dollars.”

The number hung in the air between us. Five hundred and five million.

That was how much my body was worth for one night.

Damien turned without another word. His footsteps echoed against the floor as he walked to the door.

The handle clicked. Light from the hallway spilled in for a brief second before the door shut behind him, leaving me alone in the dim room.

I lay there shaking, chains still holding my limbs apart.

My p***y throbbed with unfulfilled need. Tears continued to slide down my face, but the heat between my legs refused to fade. I hated him. I hated what he had done.

Yet the memory of his fingers inside me lingered, and the shameful truth was that part of me already craved his return.

The silence pressed in. Somewhere beyond these walls, the auction continued. Soon they would come for me. Soon another man would pay an obscene amount to use the body Damien had just valued at over half a billion dollars.

I closed my eyes and tried to steady my breathing, but every inhale carried the scent of my own arousal.

The chains rattled softly whenever I shifted. My mind replayed the feel of his hand on my waist, the stretch of his fingers, the cold precision in his voice as he priced each part of me.

Five hundred and five million.

The number repeated in my head like a curse. But all I badly wanted was for Damien to come back and f**k me, and I hated myself more because I wanted the man who destroyed my life to f**k me so hard till I passed out.