Saved: a dark romance Page 11

  I sit down at my table, seeing my breakfast had already been delivered.

  I hear the door lock.

  ***

  Dinner time rolls around and I haven’t seen him at all that day. And it’s depressing. Nothing has changed. But everything has changed at the same time. It’s such a cliché, but it’s true.

  I’m in this room and it’s no longer feeling like a haven. Now it feels like a prison and I want out.

  I hear a knock and know Maria is here with dinner. But when the door opens, I almost fall over.

  “Ess-pagett, albon…meat-ta balls,” she says and looks at me with pride. She’s trying to learn English. She keeps using more and more of it with me. She moves in and puts the tray down.

  Oh God, it’s the man that brought me here! He moves into the doorway as she bustles in with my tray. He looks the same --- dark and serious in a three-piece suit and shiny black leather shoes.

  I’m sitting, frozen, eyes wide, mouth agape.

  She leaves the tray and smiles apprehensively at me, and then they leave. Both of them.

  I can’t even eat, I’m so thrown.

  A long hour of me trying to figure out why he was there passes and she comes in to clear the food and bring clean laundry. And he’s here again. I stare at him in what must look like horror. I’m braced. Convinced he’s here to take me away.

  Alessandro is done with me. He screwed me up my ass and now he’s done. God. What’s going to happen to me?

  But, the man doesn’t do or say anything. He just watches Maria. It’s as if I’m not even here.

  It dawns that he must be home. Several times now, since I’d been in the main house I’d been served spaghetti and meatballs and the past three times I’d noticed that he’d arrived home that day. Maybe he’s still here. Maybe it’s his favorite meal.

  Since being here in his house, my meals have changed and I’m obviously being served whatever he’s eating. We eat this meal most often. Hardly any Mexican food at all, in fact. I’ve been daydreaming about food lately. What I wouldn’t do for a bucket of KFC popcorn chicken. A big mountain of chili-cheese French fries.

  But, why was the guy in the suit here? Will he be taking me somewhere? Or, is he just keeping an eye on Maria because of what had happened with Esmerelda?

  “Why are you here?” I finally dig up the nerve to ask, grabbing the doorframe that leads to my bathroom, as if holding on could stop him from removing me.

  He eyes me curiously. He doesn’t answer.

  She quickly vacates the room and he’s there staring blankly.

  “Are you taking me somewhere else? Where’s Alessandro?”

  He raises his eyebrows as if I’m being far too bold.

  I take my tone down a notch. “I want to talk to him. Can you please ask him to come here?”

  He shakes his head, “He’ll come if and when he’s ready. I’m not taking you anywhere right now. He has me protecting his assets, that’s all. And I’m Rocco. You need anything when you see me, ask.”

  I stare blankly, unsure of how to respond to that. Finally, I break the awkward silence. “Thanks, Rocco. Can you tell him that I wanna talk to him? Please?”

  “I’ll pass on that message, but I suggest you wait until he’s ready to come to you. Might be a good idea to stop pushing him. Whatever you did recently? It’s not smart.” He goes. And with the sound of the lock twisting, my heart also twists.

  I walk to the mirror and put my forehead and palms to it. He’s probably not there, otherwise Rocco wouldn’t likely have been so forthcoming with his warning. But in case he is, in case Rocco doesn’t know about the mirror and he is there, I say, “Come see me? Please?”

  I’m suddenly ravenous, wishing I’d eaten my spaghetti and meatballs. I could make a pretty good spaghetti and meatballs back in Alaska.

  My sister loved pasta, used to joke that her religion was Pastafarian, and we used to cook it together all the time. Meatballs were a rare treat back then.

  We bought most of the groceries, toiletries, and our clothing with Angie’s part-time income, so the food budget was super tight. But, I could make a mean batch of meatballs when I had the supplies to do it. I watched that beautiful celebrity chef Giada make them on TV and tried her recipe. They turned out good. Ang used to drool over them.

  After my dinner, I take a shower and then, in the dark, just my lamp on, I sit at the mirror. It’s late so maybe he’s there, watching.

  “Alessandro, talk to me,” I plead, “I don’t know what’s going on. Are you gonna avoid me after what happened? Are you sorry? Because I’m not upset with you. I want to talk. I want…” I stop and let out a sigh. I feel silly talking to the mirror, not knowing if he’s even there.

  “I just hope this doesn’t mean you’re done with me. Please don’t send me back down there. Please don’t send me away. I want… to be with you.” I wait, as if I’m gonna get an answer and when I don’t, I wander back to my desk and sit.

  There’s a jigsaw puzzle spread out on a puzzle mat. It’s of a field of wildflowers and I’ve already done all the edges. I fiddle with it for a while, then roll it up and put the mat on the floor under the desk. I pull out my sketchpad and start to work on sketches of his eyes. His eyes when he was angry. His eyes when he was looking lustfully at me. I’m daydreaming about being suspended from his canopy bed. How would that have gone? I’m squirming at the possibilities. Dangling by ropes, him holding one, controlling how close I am to him, touching me. Me, at his mercy. Mercy.

  One o’clock in the morning rolls around and I’ve been doodling nonsensically for ages, writing out Mrs. Alessandro Romero, Holly Romero, Holly-Mooney Romero and drawing hearts, birds, flowers, clouds. Thinking about being tied up and at the mercy of his whims. I finally stretch and put my sketchbook away.

  I go back to the mirror and I stare a minute. And then I carefully, with my heart hammering hard, pull the straps of my nightie down over my shoulders. It falls, exposing me to the waist.

  I get right up to the mirror so that my nipples are touching it. I lift the length of my hair and put it over one shoulder.

  I kiss the mirror.

  “I’ll be waiting, in case you want to come sleep with me. Sleeping in your arms was beautiful. I felt so safe. So loved. I’d really like to do it again.”

  I let my nightie float down to the carpet and turn, walking in just my white lace booty short panties, back to my bed.

  In case he didn’t see that, I decide to stay on top of the blankets, width-wise so that my knees are facing the mirror. I squirm out of my panties and drop them on the floor. I throw my arms over my head, pulling my knees up like he taught me, my heels almost to my butt, and then I let my knees slowly fall open.

  I’m lying there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the breeze from my opened window blowing over me. I’m very aware of down there. I’m very aware that he might be watching me, getting a perfect view of my vagina, which he has touched. And, of my asshole, which he’s already had his dick inside of. And I know, after what happened before, that if he is watching, this will make him react.

  Will he come in here and take my virginity?

  Will he put it in my ass again? I wince in memory. That really hurt. But it was something from him.

  I’m chewing my lip, wanting something from him, anything but this.

  And then I’m feeling stupid lying there like this. I roll over and turn out the lamp and I’m just about to roll back over when a crash rents the air and my mirror explodes.

  Glass is everywhere. It hasn’t hit me, but I’m reeling. My heart is racing. I hear the key go into my lock. I scramble under my covers.

  Oh shit. Whoa, oh shit. I can see where the mirror used to be. I see his bedroom. His room isn’t dark, it’s not bright either. There is a lamp on his bedside table that’s on.

  He’s here. He’s moving toward me with purpose, lightning fast, flicking my light on, wearing only his suit trousers, bare chested. He yanks the blankets off and he’s thrown me
over his lap.

  He slaps my ass, hard. I screech in shock. He slaps it again and again, and again and again. And then throws me to my back on my bed, separating my legs roughly. I shriek but then I feel something hot and wet down there. His mouth. His mouth is on me. Between my legs! His head is between my legs!

  He’s not taking it slow, either. He’s furious. But he’s fervently licking me and sucking, making me squirm. My butt is on fire from all those slaps, but my vagina is feeling something the opposite of pain. I’m tingling like mad. My toes are curling. The roof of my mouth is vibrating. I arch my neck and a sharp noise escapes me.

  He slows, finally, but keeps going. Slowly and with long strokes, licking and then he’s going faster but licking and sucking with short strokes and a circular motion. He quickens his pace. Then slows. And it’s driving me insane. All of it. I hear these keening crying noises coming from my own mouth and they sound so foreign. He sucks my clit hard. He’s groaning like he’s the one in ecstasy.

  My legs are draped over his big strong naked shoulders. His face is scratchy, like he hasn’t shaved. And it feels amazing. His fingers are digging into my butt cheeks roughly, holding me captive. I grasp the bedsheets and I’m panting. My whole butt is off the bed, I’m balancing on my middle back, and he spears his tongue just slightly inside me and then sucks, hard, not relenting, then sensation is climbing. Up, up, up, and then something protrudes into my butt just slightly, his thumb, maybe, and that’s when I sail through the roof and I shudder and cry out his name as I come crashing back down.

  He slaps my ass again, hard, before I’ve finished the ‘o’ at the end of his name.

  “Fucking brat,” he snaps and then I’m flat on my back and he’s up on his knees.

  His shadow is foreboding. I blink, trying to adjust to the darker room. His zipper goes down. His button is undone, and then he stands and gets his pants off. He climbs onto me, straddling me, then he’s moving up. Before I can process it, he’s straddling my face, naked, his knees are against my ears, and his cock goes to my lips.

  I breathe in sharply.

  He’s absolutely still, looking down at me. And then it’s in his hand again and he’s holding it against my mouth.

  “This what you want?” He uses it to part my lips. “To suffocate on my cock and my balls? Think I won’t? You should not fucking test me!” He looks so mad.

  And then he angrily thrusts forward and my mouth is full, too full. I gag.

  He yanks my hair and pushes forward, I choke.

  He pulls out.

  “Suck. Lick. Hold it.”

  I’m gasping.

  He taps my cheek, not really hard, but enough to get my attention.

  “Take it!”

  I shakily reach up and take it into both hands.

  “Your training begins, mi pequeña flor.”

  “Wh-what?”

  “Do not stop. Do not!”

  “What do you mean? My train---” Is he gonna send me down underground?

  Oh God.

  “You’re my slave. Mine. Suck my fucking dick.” He shoves it in my mouth and I choke. He’s thrusting and I’m choking. He eases up so that just the tip is in my mouth.

  “You wanted this, Holly. Now you can be a dirty fucking slave and belong to my cock. It’s your job to give it what it wants.” He pulls back. “Understand? See what you did?”

  “I want you,” I say, “I want all of you, not just this. I did what I did to get your attention. You leave me alone in here, like a pet bird in a cage. After my birthday and all that happened? This was my way of squawking!”

  “You want attention? You fucking got it. Suck it,” he orders and then rolls to his back. “Time for your first lesson in head.” He grabs me by my hair and roughly, angrily pulls me over until I’m on my knees, he’s moved to his back, and my face is at his pelvis.

  “You’re hurting me.”

  “Shut up. Did I give you permission to speak?”

  A sob escapes.

  “This hurt is nothing. You don’t even know hurt yet. But being what you now are to me? You will. Lick. Tip to root, hold my balls.”

  “Alessandro, please, can we talk?”

  “Suck!”

  “If I do good, can we talk?”

  “This ain’t a fuckin’ negotiation.” He grabs my hair and roughly shoves his dick down my throat. I gag and try to brace myself in a push-up stance, but a girl push-up as I’m on my knees.

  I try. I lick around the tip and then I suck it in, just the tip at first and then I lean on one hand and wrap the other around the base of his cock. I go as deep as I can.

  He sucks in air through his clenched teeth and then one hand is in my hair, making me go deeper. I’m doing something right, obviously. I gag. I try to pull back, but his hand is on the back of my head, stopping me from pulling back. I seize up in panic. He releases his hold.

  I recover a little and run my hand up his abs. They’re hard, rippled. I bob my head, not taking in as much, but trying to use suction and my tongue without biting. He lets out a sexy moan. And I feel proud of myself, strangely. It makes me wet. Or wetter.

  My hand lands on his chest and I climb up, reaching for his face.

  I start to lower myself on him, my chest to his. He watches me do it and then my mouth is on his. I’m kissing him, rubbing myself against him. And then I feel his hardness slide between my legs. He groans and seems to get lost in the kiss for just a moment, but then he throws me to my back and is on top of me, breathing hard, staring at me.

  “Did I give you permission to stop? You suck at head.”

  “Sorry. Teach me. Show me what you like. Gentle, so I get a chance to learn.”

  He’s breathing heavy and his eyes are searching my face.

  I rise up on my elbows. I put my lips to his and lick our lips. He goes crazy with passion and he’s kissing me hard, hungry, my jaw in both hands, and then I’m flat on my back again, but my head is dangling off the bed.

  He grabs me by the hair and is biting and kissing my throat, feasting on my skin with nibbles, licking, sucking. I’m covered in goosebumps.

  “Alessandro? Make love to me?”

  His body locks tight. It feels like we’re at some sort of tipping point here. Like he wants to be sweet and he’s fighting against the darkness that wants to take over.

  “I’m ready. I want you.”

  He freezes and then something changes. My words have thrown him. He slowly backs away but is looking into my eyes. He’s shaking his head. I swallow and rise up on my elbows. He moves back and now he’s no longer touching me. He flicks the light off and storms out. I hear the door lock.

  Darn. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.

  I hear noise and he’s back in his room and I’m watching the hole, waiting until he’s moved into that space. But instead of seeing him, I hear a loud groaning noise. It’s furniture. The light slowly evaporates as something covers the hole in the wall.

  I turn my lamp on and look at the carpet. It’s littered with broken mirror pieces. I see pieces of glass that have a Jim Beam label on them and my light-colored carpet also has dark wetness on it. It’s alcohol. There’s a bloodstain, too. He must’ve stepped on glass.

  I turn out the light again. I roll over and close my eyes.

  ***

  I wake up to Maria. And the back of Rocco. And she’s frantically saying something in Spanish and throwing something fabric over me. It’s my housecoat.

  I look over. I’m still naked and I’m on top of the covers. I pull the robe tight around me.

  She reaches into my armoire and then she’s pulling a t-shirt over my head and passing me panties and pajama shorts under the housecoat. I get them on and then I dash into the bathroom. She’s shouting at me and I realize she’s worried about my bare feet on the glass-littered rug.

  While I’m in the bathroom, I hear a vacuum cleaner. I stare in the mirror. I look a fright. My hair is a tangled mess. My eyes are bloodshot. And I’m frantic in my brain.
I’m elated and frightened at the same time. I keep finding ways to get reactions from him. Having no idea how he’ll react is a thrill. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve come unglued or something. I have to pull it together.

  I must.

  I come out of the bathroom as the vacuum is being wheeled out. My door closes. There’s a breakfast tray on my desk. There’s no more broken mirror on the floor but there are towels down in two places and I see that there’s a bottle of carpet cleaner on the floor.

  I lift the first towel and blot it a bit. I look under the second and then do the same thing. I keep myself busy by scrubbing, rinsing the cloth, and scrubbing some more. And for some reason, I’m crying the whole time I’m doing it.

  The hole has been covered on the other side by something wooden. I’m guessing I’m looking at the back of his massive armoire.

  Finally, I sit and sip my cup of now cold coffee. My own cup is overflowing with sadness.

  I feel alone. So alone. It’s my fault he can’t see me. How crazy is it that I want him to be able to see me? He has this big house, the property, the other buildings, his business. What are the chances he spends much time in his bedroom staring at me? But the idea that it’s possible that he watches over me sometimes, that at any time I could be under his gaze? It’s something I’ve been clinging to. It makes me feel less lonely. And now I’ve gone and messed that up.

  I worked hard to get his attention after he saved me from that fire. And I got it all right. And now I’m in a constant state of need, of feeling frazzled and unsettled.

  I was safe. I was protected. I was sheltered but I was sort of content in my lonely but safe existence. Blissful ignorance.

  Now? Now I don’t know what I am, besides needy, panicky, and whatever else you want to call the stupid way I’ve acted that has “poked the monster” with a stick repeatedly.

  Maria comes, Rocco stays in the doorway. She gives me heck for cleaning the carpet. She does this in Spanish but the way she’s gesturing at the cleaner bottle I know she’s telling me off.

  I shrug. What else is there to do? I can at least try to clean up the mess I’m responsible for.