Six Months Contract With The Mafia God

The reality of her situation crashed down on her like a physical weight. She was trapped. Legally trapped. Financially trapped. And he knew it.

He’d planned this.

All of it.

Rage bubbled up through the fear, hot and vicious.

”You bastard,” she hissed, and before she could think better of it, her hand cracked across his face.

The slap echoed in the silent penthouse.

Dimitri’s head turned with the impact, his cheek reddening. For one breathless moment, he didn’t move.

Then, slowly, he turned back to face her.

His eyes had gone from amused to something else entirely. Something that made her knees weak and her breath catch and some traitorous part of her core clench with need.

”That,” he said softly, dangerously, ”was a mistake.”

Before she could react, he had her wrists in his hands, pinning them above her head against the elevator doors. His body pressed against hers, every hard plane and muscle trapping her completely.

”Let me go,” she demanded, trying to sound strong despite the way her voice shook.

”No.” The single word was absolute. Final. ”You want to fight, cara? Fine. Let’s fight. But understand this: I always win.”

She tried to knee him. He blocked it easily, using his thigh to pin her leg, spreading her open against the door.

”Stop,” she gasped, but even she could hear the lie in her voice. Because her body...her traitorous, aching body....was responding to him. To his dominance. To the raw power in the way he controlled her so effortlessly.

”You don’t want me to stop,” he murmured against her ear. ”You’re wet right now. I can smell it. Can feel the way your pulse is racing. This is what you wanted last night, isn’t it? To be dominated. Controlled. Owned.”

”No....”

”Then why did you sign?”

”I don’t remember signing!”

”Then let me remind you.” He released one of her wrists long enough to grab the contract from where she’d dropped it, shoving it into her free hand. ”Read it. Out loud. Every single word.”

”What? No....”

”Read it, or I’ll fuck you against this elevator door right now without letting you come. Your choice.”

The threat should have terrified her. Should have disgusted her.

Instead, she felt herself getting wetter.

”I hate you,” she whispered.

”No, you don’t. But you will before I’m done with you. Now read.”

With shaking hands, she held up the contract, forcing herself to focus on the words through the haze of fear and arousal and humiliation.

”This... this contract, entered into on...”

”Louder.”

She gritted her teeth. ”This contract, entered into on February twentieth, between Dimitri Valentino, hereafter ’Owner’...” her voice broke on the word ....and Eve Thorne, hereafter ’Property’...”

”Keep going.”

She did. Every degrading term. Every rule. Every clause that made it clear exactly what she’d agreed to.

By the time she reached the termination clause and the fifty million dollar penalty, her voice was barely a whisper and tears were streaming down her face.

”Duration,” she choked out. ”Six months from date of signing.”

”And what’s the date?” His voice was still hard, unforgiving.

”February twentieth.”

”Which means you’re mine until when?”

”August twentieth.”

”Six months. Half a year. And during that time, you belong to who?”

”You.” The word tasted like ashes and honey.

”Say it properly.”

”I belong to you.”

”And what am I?”

She knew what he wanted. Knew what he was doing. Breaking her down. Making her admit it.

”My owner,” she whispered.

”Good girl.” His grip on her wrists loosened, one hand coming down to cup her face, forcing her to look at him. ”Now. Are you done fighting what we both know you want?”

She wanted to say yes. Wanted to keep fighting, keep denying, keep pretending she was still the good girl who’d walked into that bar last night.

But the truth was written in the wetness between her thighs. In the way her nipples had hardened beneath her dress. In the fact that being pinned against this door by Dimitri Valentino, forced to read her own submission out loud, had made her more aroused than three years of marriage to Simon ever had.

”I don’t want this,” she said, but it sounded like a lie even to her own ears.

”Liar.” He released her completely, stepping back, and she nearly whimpered at the loss. ”Go ahead. Leave. The elevator works now.”