Sold by Clarissa Wild

Harper

I’ve been walkingcircles in my room the entire time, hoping, waiting for a sign. It’s ridiculous, but I don’t know what to do anymore. My heart and mind are conflicted, and it’s making me so anxious.

If only he hadn’t kissed me.

If only he hadn’t turned my world upside down.

Maybe I wouldn’t be so fucking confused.

I growl to myself and keep pacing around, hoping to shake off these nerves, but nothing I do works. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. This man is my captor, a criminal, a guy no one should ever fall for.

Yet I let him kiss me … and I actually fucking liked it.

When his lips were on mine, it almost made me beg for more.

That’s when I pushed back and left. I couldn’t take seeing myself in that position, so needy, so willing to do whatever he wanted just for a taste of the don.

I’m sick. I shouldn’t even be thinking about this, yet I am, and I can’t stop.

I’ve tried to put my mind at ease by doing something else. Sleuthing is the only thing I can do to make me feel less guilty about it all, and I tried looking around the house, but everything was locked tight. Marcello just disappeared. He wasn’t in the garden nor in his study. I even knocked on the doors, but it was no use. No one opened up. And when I looked in Mario’s room, he wasn’t in there either.

It was like they both just vanished into thin air.

The only ones left were his personal guards. Two men stationed outside the doors to his house. Two men only there to keep me locked inside.

And I couldn’t do anything except wait. Wait until he came back … wait until he came to claim me.

But he didn’t.

No matter how long I waited, how long I paced around looking for answers in my mind, he didn’t come.

And then there was sudden shouting all around.

I peeked through my door and watched old but powerful-looking men barge into the home, all of them marching to a single door leading to the basement with Marcello following suit.

I didn’t dare to go look. Whatever it was that was going on down there wasn’t good. All I could hear were the screams of a man and Marcello’s loud, commanding voice. It sounded like a shakedown. A do-or-die moment. Sweat beaded on my back just from watching the door, waiting until he finally came out.

But when he did, I couldn’t even look.

The moment he stepped outside, I immediately shut my door and planted my back against the wood, panting heavily. I knew he’d most likely seen me, knew he’d probably get angry with me for trying to sneak a peek.

As I lay on the bed, pondering, waiting for him to come and tell me what had happened, why he and Mario had disappeared, only to come back with a dozen or so men, I knew I was in deep shit.

Because I cared too much about what he was doing.

It went beyond normal sleuthing. Watching him had become an actual obsession.

And now I’ll pay the price.

I sigh as I roll out of bed and slap myself against the face. Get your fucking act together, Harper. You can’t be that fucking smitten already. Not with a fucking mafia lord.

If, after all this time, he still won’t come to me, I guess I’ll have to go to him. Not to talk about that kiss or the way he keeps fucking with my head, but about the fact that he disappeared, and I want to know why and what he was doing. But more importantly, I want to know if it has anything to do with my parents. Because I know damn well he and Mario are hiding something. I’m so close to finally finding answers.

So I walk out the door and sneak through the hallways, trying to be as quiet as possible so I can at least look around the rooms a little, in case they’re unlocked. Unfortunately, most aren’t, with the exception of the library. I spend hours searching it top to bottom, to no avail.

The clock chimes with midnight, one, two, three in the morning. The house is silent and still.

Suddenly, some new commotion downstairs piques my interest. I slip to the stairs to listen in. To my surprise, the locked steel door to that one room that I was forbidden from entering is open. Mario slowly shuffles out.

My eyes narrow. I’ve always wanted to know what was so important that they had to hide it behind closed doors, and now’s my only chance to find out.

So I wait until Mario is gone and sneak closer to the door in question, looking around to make sure none of Marcello’s staff is present before I take a peek. Marcello is inside the room, which is filled with medical carts and machines, stacks and stacks of pill bottles, and a bed in the middle of the room.

Marcello is seated next to the bed, slouched over the skeletal body lying under the sheets. It’s a woman with beautiful dark hair and the complexion of a ghost, and there are wires attached to her body and inside her nose. Her labored breaths make me hold mine as I struggle to watch the gentleness with which Marcello grabs her hand and holds on tight. A glimmer of what looks like a tear forms in his eyes, and he brushes it away.

“I’m sorry, Mama, for all the pain I’ve caused. I wish I could turn back time. That I never would’ve taken you to that restaurant. That there was no ambush, no gunfire. I wish I could erase it all.” His body falters as he leans over, clutching her hand close to his forehead, almost as if he’s begging her to come alive again.

“I swear to God, I will fucking make the Russians pay for what they did,” he growls, pressing a kiss to her hand.

I sigh and lean against the doorjamb, watching the misery take hold of Marcello. Pain radiates off him, infecting anyone who comes near, including me. I can’t help but feel for him as he sits there hoping, praying his mother comes back to him even when he knows she can’t.

Even when he already admitted to me in the garden that she was on her deathbed.

Poor Marcello. No matter how bad a person is, no one deserves to have their mother taken away from them. Not like this. Not in this agonizingly slow way. And certainly not in their own damn house.

No wonder he’s losing himself, knowing that his mother is dying and he can’t do anything to stop it. Guilt is eating away at him. Maybe that’s why he’s so easy to lash out at those who try to be gentle and care for him.

People like Mario.

People like me.

Maybe this is the reason Marcello bought me and claimed me as his own. How is a man like him supposed to know what love is when no one ever had the chance to show him? When his own mother was ripped away from him, just like mine was ripped from me?

I rub my lips together and lean my head against the door, watching him suffer in silence while caressing his mother’s hair so gently it melts my heart.

I shouldn’t be watching, shouldn’t even remotely care about the sorrow he’s experiencing right now, but I can’t help myself. This is the first time Marcello has ever shown a semblance of humanity, of caring about another human being. And it moves me. It just fucking moves me so much that I want to cry along with him.

Is that so wrong?

Suddenly, I lose my balance and bump into the door, enough to make it nudge open a little farther. The creaking noise alerts Marcello to my presence.

He looks up. Our eyes connect, and my heart stops beating for a second.

I’ve been caught.

The pain that was so poignant mere seconds ago vanishes like it was never even there. His eyes flicker with anger—pointed directly at me.

He stands, violently scooting the chair back, only to march straight for me. I try to turn but trip over the doorstep and barely manage to catch myself against a thick support pillar in the middle of the hallway.

I hear his footsteps behind me, but I’m too late to run. The moment I spin on my heels, he’s right up in my face. He grabs my shirt with a fist and shoves me against the pillar.

“What did you hear?” The husky tone in his voice doesn’t hide his aggression.

I gulp. “Nothing, I—”

“Don’t lie to me!” he says through gritted teeth, making me turn my head away in fear. He leans in, smelling my fear before letting go of my shirt. “Tell me what you heard.”

“I …” I mutter.

I heard enough. Enough to know there is history here.

“Did you hear me speak about the restaurant?” he asks, his breath smelling of alcohol.

I nod, biting my bottom lip. I can’t even look at him. He tips up my chin with his index finger and forces me to meet his gaze. “What else?”

“That you wanted to destroy the Russians,” I say, swallowing when he cocks his head at me.

Is that why he’s been gone so much lately? To best these same men who not only put his mother in a coma but sold me at an auction, too?

“Is that it?” he murmurs, narrowing his eyes as if he’s waiting for me to spill my guts.

“I won’t tell a soul, I swear,” I say, hoping he’ll believe my word. Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you should never, ever get on a don’s bad side.

“No, you won’t,” he says, making me look at him.

My chest constricts. Is that a threat?

“What you saw in there was private,” he adds, the pain still marring his voice.

“I … I …” My cheeks flush with heat. Why am I stumbling over my own words like I’m still a goddamn teen? I’m not. I should be over this by now, but it’s only getting worse. “I’m sorry.”

His face remains stoic, but with a tender finger, he caresses my cheek so carefully that I almost melt into a puddle right then and there. But he’s intoxicated, so it’s wrong to give in right now.

“I’ll go if you want me to,” I whimper, trying to leave.

However, he plants his hands on the pillar behind me, trapping me in his arms before I can flee.

I could give him a knee, lock him in my elbow, and stomp him in the face until he buckles. I could do all of that, but do I really want to?

Do I really want to run? Or do I want to face this beast head-on?

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, his tongue dipping out to lick his bottom lip. “Oh, Harper … what am I going to do with you?”

My heart rate shoots through the roof. What I overheard was important. The question is, how important? Important enough to hurt me for it if I don’t shut up? Or so important that he’d kill for it?

“I’ve already told you more than I ever wanted to, and now you go and snoop on me too,” he says. “I thought you knew better by now.”

“I didn’t mean to make you angry,” I reply. Maybe there’s still a chance. “I was just trying to find you and—”

“Find me? What for?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.

“I just … Well, you were gone right after our meeting in the garden, and then when you finally came back, I heard a lot of noise coming from downstairs, so I was curious.”

I don’t know why I’m telling him any of this. Maybe it’s because I was caught and feel guilty, or maybe it’s because his demanding stare forces me to. With just one look, he manages to persuade me to tell him the truth. To bare my soul to him. To yield. It makes my stomach churn.

“Curious,” he repeats as though it amuses him. “About where I went?” He grabs my chin. “You ran away from me after I kissed you, and now you want to know where I go?”

I frown as he releases my chin. “I didn’t run away.”

He slams his hand into the pillar behind me so hard I jolt up and down. “I despise liars,” he growls.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” I spit out before I realize it.

His jaw tightens. “I don’t want you to tell me anything,” He shakes his head and looks away. “I want you to show me what you really think.”

“About what?” I ask.

He looks up, his eyes dark and emblazoned. “About me.”

I gasp, flabbergasted he would ask me that or even remotely be interested in that. “I don’t know. I thought it was moving, the way you talked to your mother. She is your mother, right?”

“Yes, she is, but that’s not what I asked,” he says, groaning to himself as though it strains him just to hear my answer.

“I—”

My words are interrupted by a greedy, seductive kiss, one that manages to take my breath away. He tastes of expensive whiskey and smells like a midnight tropical rainforest, and I want nothing more than to dive in deep until I go under.

But that isn’t good for me, and I fucking know it, so why can’t I push him away?

The moment his lips touch mine, my body freezes to the floor, and my mouth is unable to do anything but accept him. And even as his tongue pushes inside and roams around, desperate to find mine, I still don’t pull away.

I feel so dirty, so lusty for him when I shouldn’t be.

Ever since that last kiss, I haven’t stopped thinking about it. And now he’s doing it again, making my heart beat faster and faster until I can no longer contain myself, and I moan against his mouth.

He briefly pulls back and stares at me, his eyes flashing down toward my swollen, pink lips, the look in his eyes carnal and animalistic.

Right then, he grabs me by the waist and spins me around. I squeal as he shoves his hands up my shirt and cups my breasts, squeezing hard while pushing himself against me. His cock hardens against his pants, leaving me panting with need against the pillar. With one hand, he pinches my nipple while the other dives into my pants. It goes straight into my panties where he rubs my clit as if the world is going to crumble if he doesn’t do this now.

His lips are against my ear. “You shouldn’t have come downstairs,” he whispers, nipping at my earlobe to suck on it. “I cannot control myself around you.”

His dick grinds against my ass as he pushes up against me, his fingers diving deep inside my pussy. It feels so good that I don’t want him to stop. A moan slips from my mouth, but it only seems to turn him on more. The more he takes, the more I’m willing to give, and I don’t know why I’ve become so complacent. So easy.

“I know you want it too,” he groans against my ear, still fondling me to the point that I’m about to erupt into a delicious orgasm. “You’re so wet for me.”

“Marcello …” I murmur, unable to stay in control.

A grunt leaves his mouth, and within a second, he’s torn down my pants and panties, as well as his own. His cock bounces against my ass before he pushes it against my entrance.

“You came to me all hot and bothered, looking to start something,” he growls, “So now I’m here to come and take what I desire. You.”

He thrusts inside with no warning, no remorse, and my mouth drops wide open as he fully buries himself inside me. A stifled whimper flies out of my mouth, unable to stop the sound from slipping as he fucks me hard.

His coarse hands are rough against my skin as he slides along my nipples until they’re peaked, after which he harshly tugs them until more loud moans emanate from my throat.

“Yes, that’s it, kitten. Mewl for me,” he murmurs, planting a sweet, sinful kiss against my neck. “Feel my cock deep inside your aching pussy begging for more.”

Marcello thrusts and thrusts until my knees are wobbly and my head is spinning. I struggle to stand, clasping the concrete pillar in front of me like it’s my only recourse. While slamming into me, he grabs my waist and slaps my ass until it glows bright red.

“Good kittens don’t snoop on their masters,” he groans.

“You are not my master,” I growl in a moment of clarity.

“I bought you, so I own you, kitten, whether you like it or not. And nothing is going to stop me from claiming what belongs to me.” He slaps me again and again until pleasure mixes with pain, and I cannot keep the orgasm at bay anymore.

“Fuck, I’m coming!” I moan as my head leans against the pillar, sweat dripping down my face.

“Yes, do it, kitten. Come all over my thick cock and milk me,” he orders, still thrusting in at full force. When he’s buried balls deep, I explode, a wave of ecstasy crashing into me until my legs quake, and my entire body tingles with need.

Right then, he pulls out of me and spins me on my heels. Picking me up by my legs, he shoves my back against the pillar. My feet instinctively wrap around his waist as he pushes inside me once again. My arms fall around his neck as he buries his face in mine, planting kisses nonstop until I’m drunk on lust. Drunk on him.

And I realize then and there I don’t want this to stop.

Not any of this.

Not these kisses, not this debauchery, nor his savage fuckery.

I don’t want to give it up even though I should, even though I’ll probably be forced to once the truth comes out.

But I push it to the back of my mind as he fucks me into oblivion, clutching my body as if I’m his only tether to reality and the only thing keeping him from self-destructing. He’s completely wasted, and none of this is right, but I don’t fucking care.

I probably wouldn’t even be able to say no if I wanted to.

This man is so powerful, his domination so all-consuming that I’ve lost control over my own body. He knows just how to kiss and fuck me until I beg for more. “Yes, fuck, yes,” I groan.

A devious grin spreads on his lips. “Are you so hungry for my cock, kitten?” As my head tilts back, he plunges into me, his tongue darting out to lick my skin. “Good. Because I am going to fucking blow my load inside you, and you’re going to beg me for it.”

I know we shouldn’t. I’m not even on the pill. It’s dangerous. But I can’t fucking stop, and he won’t either.

He kisses and fucks me until my lips are red and my brain is foggy. Suddenly, his teeth sink into my shoulder, and I cry out in pain.

“Beg!” he says, drawing my blood.

I mewl. “Please!”

“That’s it, kitten,” he says, kissing me with my own blood laced on his lips. “Beg.”

“Please,” I murmur between kisses. “Give me your cum.”

“Good kitten,” he says, and he plunges two, three more times before a guttural roar follows, and he releases himself inside me, filling me with his warm seed until it leaks out of me.

He thrusts a few more times as though to bury his seed deeper inside me and mark me as his. A final kiss on the lips seals the deal.

I am truly and utterly lost to this man.

Never in my life have I begged someone like that, and a mobster who bought me no less.

He cups my face, caressing my cheek with his thumb in such a gentle way that I instinctively lean into his hand like a pet undone. “You are mine, kitten. No matter where I go or how long I stay away, you will always belong to me.” His tone is possessive, but the words are sweet, and my body can’t help but respond with goose bumps as my heart floods with warmth.

I never thought I could need something like this, but I do. My whole body zings and buzzes with a pleasure I can’t describe and have never felt before.

As he looks down into my eyes, I can’t look away, no matter how many times I tell myself I should. No matter how many times I tell myself that he only bought me for pleasure, I know deep down that isn’t true.

I shouldn’t fall for this man. Shouldn’t let this man claim my body and my heart.

But I also know now… it’s already far too late for that.