Pain and Pleasure by Callie Vincent

15

Esmeralda

We'rein his room in under a minute.

His hand has been locked and gripping around my wrist, pulling me the entire time. We stop at the mini bar in his bedroom as he grabs a handful of ice and wraps it in a towel before handing it to me.

"For your hand," he growls out, not looking at me as he lets go of me, placing the makeshift ice pack in my hand and putting it over my knuckles.

He then picks me up, throwing me over his shoulder as he ignores my protests and walks me over to his bed before throwing me down on top of it. I growl at him as I bounce onto the blankets, glaring up at him as he removes his cufflinks and begins to take off his jacket and shirt.

"I'm not a fucking child," I spit and he snorts humorlessly at me.

"Sure do act like one," he bites back and I narrow my eyes at him as he walks to a wooden chest by his dresser.

"What are you doing?" I question him, anger still in my voice as I put the ice pack on his dresser.

My hand doesn't even hurt and it's probably because the liquor I've consumed is numbing everything but my annoyance. He pulls a small box from a chest and walks back over to me, setting it on the bed as his hand reaches out and grabs my ankle, yanking me towards him.

"I asked you a fucking question!" I shout at him, but he continues to ignore me as he opens the small box and pulls out not only a tie, but handcuffs as well.

My eyes widen as he grabs my hands, being careful around my knuckles as he pulls me back and spreads my arms. Before I even know it, he's handcuffed me to his bedpost. I'm about to shout obscenities at him, but he grabs the tie and ties it around my head, covering my mouth with it. I frown up at him, angry and fuming as he looks at me with both hatred and desire.

Of course he's turned on by this, the sick fuck.

"It's time to collect your penance, mi ciela," he growls at me, shoving my dress up around my hips as he stares at my bare pussy.

I shouldn't be turned on right now. My anger and confusion from this whirlwind of a night should have me seething, but I can't ignore the fresh batch of wetness that pools between my thighs. I know Dante sees this because his eyes darken and he smiles wickedly at me.

"Is this for me? Or for that boy that tried to touch what's mine in my own fucking business?" He sneers at me, and it makes a fresh wave of anger surge through my body.

I growl behind the tie and he ignores me, palming the flesh of my thighs before lifting me and spinning me around to my knees, my ass up in the air as I stare at my crossed arms. I feel the heat of his hand before I feel the bite of his slap against the flesh of my ass, the sound of his skin hitting mine echoing in the bedroom.

"Your punishment is your complete surrender tonight, Emmie. Not only for acting like a careless little schoolgirl, but for disobeying me and making me do things I told you I don't do." He slaps me again and the heat takes over all of my flesh.

He means for making him fuck me with more than just careless lust. He means for making him feel. He's pushing me because I purged some of his own demons that he's tried to keep at bay for longer than I've even known him. This has absolutely nothing to do with me, but everything to do with his own fucked up heart.

He lands a few more slaps on my ass and I don't have to look at it to know that it's as red as a cherry, the soreness overpowering my now bruised knuckles. I feel so degraded right now, but my lust for him still soars high, my own body betraying me.

"You're mine, mi ciela. Mine to fuck, mine to please." He slaps me again. "Mine to punish."

I hear the clinking of his belt and then feel his cock pushing into my wet flesh within seconds. I do everything I can to bite back the moan when our bodies meet once more. He pounds into me carelessly as my fingers grip the blankets. I'm coming around him within seconds and the force of my own orgasm makes him come too.

He curses out his climax, shoving up and so far into me that I can't tell where he stops and I start. He pulls away a few moments later before untying the fabric around my mouth and releasing me from my handcuffs. He moves to hold me, but I slip out of his grasp and off the bed within seconds, pulling my dress down and eyeing at him with hatred.

"Come back to bed, Esmeralda," he growls, his cock still hanging from his pants.

I back away, fire in my heart as tears rush to my eyes. I will not cry in front of this man. Not now. I shake my head fiercely at him and he frowns as I start to walk away from him and towards the door. He leans from the bed and makes it to the door before I can, his hand slamming against it, his broad chest filling my vision as he blocks my escape.

"Look at me," he orders, but I continue to stare at the ground.

"I said look at me, damnit!" he shouts and tries to reach for me, but I back up and practically hiss at him.

"Don't," I say, my voice low and filled with poison.

His hands drop to his sides and he stares at me through narrowed eyes.

"I don't deserve to be punished because you're too weak to fight your own demons that live inside of you," I spit at him, and he stands there in silence.

"You wanna get in here?" I slap at my chest and his eyes track the movement. "Then you let me in here." I slap at his own chest. "Let me in there without making me feel like a monster for wanting the same fucking thing you do." I spit the words out at him and yank his arm away from the door, walking away from him and leaving him alone with the very same demons that he tries so hard to keep hidden.

* * *

I've been in my room for nearly an hour and I can't sleep worth shit. The little buzz that I had going is now completely gone, and even though my hand hurts from the punch I threw earlier, the splitting headache stretching across my skull demands most of my attention. I'm under the covers in a fresh pair of panties and a tank top. I took a shower once I got to my room and my hair is making my pillow wet, but I could care less at this point.

I'm facing my window when I hear the door open and close. I look over my shoulder to see Dante walking to my bed. He's still shirtless, but he takes his pants off before lifting the covers. He climbs into my bed behind me, propping himself up on his right arm as he gazes at me. I turn over and question him.

"What are you doing?" I lay my head on my hands and stare at him, too tired to fight.

He leans forward and kisses my forehead. The action is so sweet and subtle, that my eyes drift closed and I inwardly sigh in contentment. This. This is all that I've wanted. To lay with him. To be still and in the moment, soaking and reveling in one another's presence.

"I don't usually say sorry. There have not been many opportunities in my life where I've misjudged my actions, but I did tonight with you, mi ciela. And for that, I am sorry."

He brushes hair back from my eye with the knuckles of his other hand, resting it on my shoulder. He leans forward and kisses my lips softly, a quick and gentle brushing of his mouth over mine.

"I won't forgive you so easily anymore," I mutter as he pulls away.

"Then I'll make it up to you as much as I can," he whispers.

His thumb strokes my jaw as he holds my face. I like tender Dante. I like him even when I'm mad at him and isn't that the whole problem?

"I just want to lay here for the night. My hand and my head hurts," I say and he looks at my slightly bruised knuckles.

An angry look crosses his face for a second before something else covers it. Something a whole lot like pride.

"I can hold my own," I say. "I appreciate that you were there, but if you weren't so busy hosting a pissing contest with the guy and would've just gotten rid of him immediately, my knuckles wouldn't look like this."

His thumb brushes over them and he really does look sorry for a moment. He looks a little sorry and it makes me a little mad, because I can't stay mad at him for long. Because I love him. My fierce, tormented protector.

He kisses my knuckles before laying down and resting his head on my stomach. We stay like this for a while, just breathing in each other and forgiving one another with each minute that passes.

"I was married once," he whispers, and my body goes rigid.

What the fuck?

I swallow audibly, but don't respond, hoping my silence will allow him to elaborate freely. This is a new set of waters we're approaching, and I want to tread this lightly.

"We were nineteen and living in Columbia still. Our families were long-time friends. Hers also had a lot of money and connections. Things my father wanted," he continues.

I keep stroking his hair, staying silent and letting him choose to keep talking or not. Thankfully, he keeps going.

"We grew up together. Anna was sweet and kind, an innocent soul, but we were always just friends. Nothing more. Our love was deep, but not intimate." He says the word love and it makes my heart crack a little.

It cracks because he's saying it about another woman. Cracks because he's never spoken about it in regards to me.

"Our fathers thought it would be good to carry on our ties and business through more generations, so we got married. We were young and naive, but we were happy. Happy enough to try at being intimate."

My body is so tense that my muscles are sore. He kisses my stomach, looking up into my eyes as he continues to speak.

"It wasn't long before she wanted a baby. We were married for a year, and I already knew about the traditions not only in our culture, but in her family. Women were the caretakers, being a mother held an important title. One that she wanted more than anything. Since we were kids." His voice is darkening the more he speaks about her.

This may be the biggest demon inside of him. Except, she's not a demon because the way he speaks about her makes me think that she's a ghost.

"She had trouble getting pregnant. There were a couple of miscarriages, and it caused a strain in our marriage because I wasn't home enough to take care of her. The family business had picked up and my father was ready to execute the expansion and relocation to America." His hand idly rubs my stomach and I lay there as he unloads his surprising past onto me.

"When she got pregnant the last time, she carried to full term. The pregnancy was...stressful. She didn't want to leave the country and I kept forcing it on her. It was a better opportunity, better safety and security for our child. I didn't think about what the stress could do to her. Or to our daughter…"

His voice cracked when he said the word daughter and it made tears spring to my eyes. My hand continues to smooth his hair back as he lays his head back down on my stomach.

"She went into labor a week before our move. Nearly eight weeks early. About thirty-six hours in, she died as soon as she pushed our daughter out into the world. The doctors immediately had to do CPR on our daughter. Only to find that she, too, didn't make it."

He's not crying, just saying the words like a robot reciting a speech. Emotionless, numb. He's a hollow shell shedding its remaining contents into this very bed.

"We never got to name her. I never even got to hold her." He looks up at me.

I don't try to hide the streams of tears pouring from my eyes. This man, this deep and dark man living in a faraway castle, slaying demons in dragons inside his own mind. He's never let another in, and I wonder if anyone ever made him feel comfortable enough to talk about this.

"My father carried on with business as usual. We moved to California as promoted a week later. I've been back home once to meet with my brother and our partners. My mother and sister have only visited here twice."

I guess not.

He props himself back up on his arm, wiping my tears away with his hand before holding my jaw. I rest my cheek on his knuckles, gazing at him as the tears keep falling. My broken man, my invisible knight.

"Do not cry for me, baby. I'm telling you this because this was a lifetime ago. I was a different man then. A man who had barely seen the horrors that this world has to offer. I need you to see why it's hard for me to strive for the things that you want." His hand trails from my jaw to my heart. "For the things that you deserve." His fingers stroke the skin beneath my breast, my heart thumping loudly for him.

"You deserve the moon and the stars, Esmeralda. Heaven and all of earth, but I can only give you hell," he mutters, staring at his hand that now covers my heart.

I lift my hand to place it over his and he locks eyes with me.

"You're so quick to assume that I haven't been to hell before. That I haven't been damned my whole life. That maybe you and I will have room for me, if we let go of the ghosts that still haunt us." I wipe my tears and burrow my cheek into his hand.

He stares at me, a wondrous and dark gaze in his eyes. He whispers before leaning in to kiss me.

"Sweet, brave Emmie," he says against my lips before claiming them.

He kisses me languidly and for a while. I melt in his mouth and his body as he holds me in his arms.

"I love you, Dante. No matter what. No matter how much you push me or hide from me, I can't help but love you," I whisper against his lips.

He licks around my mouth before giving me one last peck, tucking my face into his neck as we lay in the dark together. His breathing regulates and becomes even, so I know he's on the cusp of sleep.

My lips find his neck and I kiss him softly before whispering into his skin.

"You protect me and I protect you," I say before I close my eyes, feeling his arms circle around me just a little bit tighter as I drift to sleep.