Dirty Revenge (Dirty 3)

We walk down a long hallway, and I try to pretend I’m walking down a hallway in the Carini mansion. I try to think of my niece. How beautiful she is. I need to fight to get back to her. She deserves to have me as an aunt who will spoil her and take her shopping.

But even thoughts of the most precious creature on the planet can’t hold my attention when he opens the door to the room at the end of the hallway.

It’s not a bedroom.

Well, there is a bed in the room, but I wouldn’t call it a bedroom. It’s a torture chamber.

Whips line the walls. Ropes, chains, handcuffs. Poles topped with metal hoops stand throughout the room, for restraints to be tied to. Walking around the room, inspecting the equipment, I stop when I get to sharper, bloody devices. Blood from other women tortured in this room. I can’t think about this.

Dante is darker than I ever imagined. He has a twisted soul. Fucking him won’t be enough to save me. I have to be willing to let him beat and torture me.

I turn back to Dante, with a wicked smile on my face, and walk calmly toward him.

I wrap my arms around his neck, and he raises an eyebrow while staring down at me. His eyes are burning with dark desire.

I run my thumb over his bottom lip. “You’re into BDSM. Good thing, I’m the queen of BDSM.”

This goes well beyond a healthy BDSM relationship. This is a sick fetish. Even if he was doing these things to women consensually, there is something very wrong with a man that wants to torture a woman this badly.

I continue my plan though, keeping my breathing and heart steady as I raise my lips to his and kiss him.

I try to keep pleasant thoughts in my head so that he won’t sense my disgust.

Mr. Conti pops into my head. He’s a good-looking man. He’s a fiend, but better looking than Dante.

I pretend I’m kissing Conti. I drop the mister from my head because it seems too formal. Conti kisses me harder, sweeping his tongue into my mouth, letting me know how much he needs to be in control of my body.

I can’t hold the image long in my head, and slowly I pull away when Dante returns to my vision. I keep my hand on his neck, trying my best to show affection. I bite my lip and watch his eyes burn into my lip.

“I must admit, this is a fantasy of mine. Being taken by a handsome man like you. Tortured, fucked, like only a man like you can fuck. I want this. Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it, master.”

Dante grabs my wrist, and I think he’s going to give in to my words and body. His eyes and cock pressing hard into my stomach say as much.

I smile seductively. Trying to force him to give into his desire for me instead of the darker, controlling side.

Before I realize what’s happening, I’m thrown hard into the wall behind me, and I crumple to the floor.

My head is pounding, and I feel the blood oozing down my back.

I don’t know what I hit my head on, but it was hard and sharp.

Dante takes his time strutting over to me. He has more patience than I thought.

“Stand up, whore.”

I don’t know how he expects me to stand. I can barely see. He’s merely a haze of a shadow in front of me.

I try to scramble to my feet, but the dizziness drops me back on my ass, and I hit my head again.

“I said, stand,” he commands.

I try, but it’s an impossible task.

He grabs my wrist, jerking me to my feet, and I swear I feel bones cracking in my wrist.

“I don’t play games with my whores. You aren’t my first. I’ve had hundreds, and I know every game in the book. You will not win. I will destroy you.”

I nod because I think it’s what he wants, and I can’t take another hit. I know I have a concussion. Possibly a broken skull or wrist. I can’t think straight. I can’t see. I’m not even sure if I exist, or if any of this is real.