Bound to the Don

Chapter Three: First Claim

I arrived at nine exactly. The same man opened the door and walked me straight to the bedroom without a word.

Luciano was already there, jacket off, sleeves rolled, watching me like he had been counting the minutes.

“Close the door.”

I closed it.

“Clothes off. All of them. Then get on the bed, face up, legs open.”

My hands shook as I undressed. The air felt colder than the night before. When I was bare I climbed onto the dark sheets and did what he ordered. I stared at the ceiling so I wouldn’t have to watch him look at me.

This is the real beginning, I thought. Everything before this was just paperwork.

The mattress dipped. Luciano’s shadow fell across my body. He didn’t touch me right away. He just stood there and let the silence stretch until my breathing turned uneven.

“Eyes on me.”

I forced them down to his face.

He reached out and dragged two fingers through the wetness already gathering between my legs. The corner of his mouth moved.

“Still dripping for the man who’s using you. Pathetic… and useful.”

He pushed the two fingers inside me without warning. Deep. I gasped. He curled them and stroked once, hard, before pulling out and wiping them on my inner thigh.

“You’re going to take my c**k tonight,” he said, voice flat. “You’re going to keep your eyes open. You’re going to thank me when I come inside you. And when it’s over you’re going to admit that your body liked every second of it. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.”

He undid his belt with slow, deliberate movements. The sound of the zipper was too loud in the quiet room. He didn’t undress fully. He only freed himself, already hard, thick, the head already slick. He dragged it up and down my wetness once, twice, coating himself, then notched it against me.

“Last chance to remember this was your idea.”

I didn’t speak.

I know exactly whose idea it was, I thought bitterly. Mine. And I’m still here.

He thrust in to the hilt in one brutal stroke.

The stretch burned. I cried out. Luciano didn’t give me time to adjust. He gripped my hips hard enough to bruise and f****d me in deep, punishing strokes that forced the air out of my lungs. The wet sound of it filled the room. Every thrust dragged against a place inside me that made my thighs tremble.

“Look at me while I use you.”

I kept my eyes on his. His face stayed controlled, almost cold, but his eyes were darker than I had ever seen them. For a fraction of a second something unreadable flickered there, too focused, too intent, before it vanished again.

“Say it,” he ordered, never slowing. “Tell me why you’re on your back right now.”

“For information—”

“Louder.”

“For information. For the names.”

“And what is your body doing while you sell yourself?”

Shame flooded my face. I was soaked. I could hear it. I could feel myself clenching around him against my will.

“It’s responding,” I whispered.

“Try again.”

“It’s wet for you. It’s taking you. It—” My voice broke as he angled deeper. “It likes it.”

“That’s right.” He drove into me harder. “You came here for justice and instead you’re getting f****d like a paid w***e. And you’re dripping down my c**k while you do it.”

The words should have killed every spark of pleasure. They didn’t. They made the heat coil tighter. I hated him for it. I hated myself more.

Traitor, I told my body again. You’re supposed to be mine, not his.

Luciano reached down and rubbed my c**t with rough, precise circles. The dual sensation ripped a broken sound from my throat.

“You don’t come until I say.”

I tried to hold back. My body didn’t care what I wanted. The pressure built fast and ugly. When he finally said, “Now,” the orgasm tore through me so hard my vision went white. I clenched around him, shaking, a helpless cry escaping before I could stop it.

He followed a few strokes later, burying himself deep and finishing inside me with a low, controlled groan. I felt every pulse. He stayed there for a moment, still hard, still buried, watching my face while I tried to remember how to breathe. The stillness lasted a half-second longer than it needed to.

Then he pulled out.

I felt the wet heat of him leaking out of me onto the sheets.

Luciano fixed his clothes like nothing had happened. He looked down at me, still spread open, still shaking, and spoke in the same calm voice he had used the night I signed the contract.

“You’ll come back tomorrow night. And the night after that. And every night until I decide you’ve earned the rest of the names. You don’t ask. You don’t push. You take what I give you and you say thank you.”

I swallowed. My voice came out raw. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For using me. For the name I already got. For… this.”

Something unreadable flickered in his eyes again, gone too fast to name.

He turned toward the door.

“A car is downstairs. Clean yourself up and leave. And Isla—”

He paused with his hand on the frame.

“Next time I won’t be this gentle.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

I lay there on the dark sheets with his c*m leaking out of me and the bruises from his hands already forming on my hips. My body still trembled with aftershocks. My mind felt scraped empty.

I had come for the truth.

Instead I had been f****d, marked, and told to return for more.

And the worst part, the part that made my stomach twist, was that I already knew I would.

Because Victor Hale was only the first name.

And I still needed the rest.

Even if the price kept rising.

Even if the price was me.