Savage Little Games: Chapter 12

Since touching Vanessa innocently isn’t prohibited in our agreement, I plan to do more of it now that she’s lasted two nights with me. I’ll keep my hands off her big, beautiful tits and fine ass for now. I’m saving that for when the bruises disappear, and she asks me to put them in those places.

By the time I get done with my morning workout and return to the bedroom to shower, Vanessa is awake and even dressed in a pair of white pants and a black sleeveless top we bought when I took her shopping. Guess she was serious about tagging along with me today. Although, the sexy black heels on her feet will be hurting after a long day following me around the casino.

Her long blonde hair hangs over one shoulder, shiny and beautiful. She looks like a woman ready to do business, a feminine force to be reckoned with despite her small stature. And she doesn’t even look remotely impressed by the sweat running down my chest and abs. I’ve had women I’ve never met before ask to lick the sweat from me before they drop to their knees.

What the fuck does a man have to do get this woman horny? If I don’t get my hands on her soon, I may actually go insane. But too much too soon will only chase this elusive butterfly away.

I have an idea, if I can remember where the black hair ties are stocked in the bathroom. I go in to retrieve one then come back to the bedroom to tell her, “Turn around.”

Her painted pink lips open as if to ask why, but she wisely changes her mind. “Right here?”

While I’m glad the makeup hides her busted lip and black eye, she’s like a different person with it on. More disagreeable, more distant. No longer the natural beauty who sleeps in my bed next to me.

“Yes, turn around right here.”

“Fine,” she says with a sigh, her hands braced on her hips. “But then can I go find some breakfast?”

“Yes. I’ll shower fast and go with you,” I promise as I gather up her hair in my hands and run my fingers through it. I can’t resist inhaling the scent of her coconut shampoo either.

“Wow, you’re being even creepier than normal today.”

“Shut up and stand still.”

I have no clue what Dante is doing to my hair, but I know better than to refuse or ask questions. It feels like he’s separating it in sections and intertwining the sections. Is he braiding my hair?

His hands are gentle, and fast, as he winds the strands over and under each other until he reaches the ends. There, he uses a hair tie to hold it.

“Done,” Dante says as he gives the end of the braid a tug. “Now I’ll get a shower and we can find something to eat.”

I follow him into the bathroom to look in the mirror while he pulls his phone from his shorts to type out a message or email on his phone.

It’s a thick, loose, beautiful, Dutch braid that falls to the small of my back. He even left a few light strands on either side of my face. “How did you…You learned to braid hair for your three daughters?” I turn around to ask him just as he reaches into the shower to turn the shower on.

“Three daughters who never wanted to cut their hair but didn’t want to brush it either.”

He straightens with a smile that’s breathtaking. I’ve never seen anything like it on his face. It’s a sweet father’s smile that’s completely at odds with his usual power-hungry mafia king persona. Throw in the fact that there’s literal sweat dripping down his massive, sculpted upper body into his athletic shorts and I have to ask myself why I haven’t climbed on this man and ridden his big dick yet.

When he arrogantly, smugly, shoves his shorts and underwear to the floor with a smirk I quickly remember why I haven’t.

Sure, his cock is as perfect as the rest of him. But getting too close to him is hazardous to one’s health. It’s not the possible threats from his enemies I mostly worry about. The real threat is Dante Salvato blowing holes through your heart and soul with a different kind of weapon—his power. Not just as a mob boss, but as a manipulative bastard who does whatever it takes to get the one and only thing he wants or needs from women before tossing them aside.

On the other hand, the only thing I can do to hurt him is to keep bruising his ego by denying him. Which I plan to do forever.

“I’ll wait in the bedroom,” I tell him before I turn around and walk away without another glance at his nakedness.

Every inch of him is unfortunately already imbedded into my brain, taking up more space than he should.

Whenever I think I’ve got one up on Dante, he goes and does something to throw me off my game.

Like, for instance, turning a simple breakfast later that morning into a power play.

The spread laid out on one of the long tables on the veranda looks delicious. There are eggs, bacon, pancakes, fruits, and pastries to choose from. But there’s only one large, comfortable looking swiveling patio chair nearby.

Dante drags the chair to the table then sits down. With a tug on the end of my braid, I find myself being pulled down onto his lap. His thigh is rock hard under my ass, but at least that’s the only hard thing I can feel.

Ugh. How he turned something as innocent as a pretty braid into a dog leash so fast is remarkable. I’m guessing he’s already thought of other more salacious situations in which he would love to pull on it as well.

“You want me to sit here, on your lap, while we eat breakfast?” I ask in disbelief.

“Yes.” He curls an arm around my waist to readjust my bottom and get more comfortable. I try to resist which results in unnecessary squirming friction.

Glancing back to the glass door, I tell him, “I doubt your daughters would appreciate the PDA if they come down this morning to eat.”

Reaching for a strawberry, he presses it to my lips and says, “They won’t come down. Open.”

“I…” I begin to tell him I can feed myself when he shoves the strawberry inside. “Ass,” I mutter as I have no choice but to chew or spit it out. Thankfully, the leaves have already been sliced off the tops.

“Madison takes online classes year-round. Cass will be working out with her judo trainer. And Sophie will be on the roof playing tennis for as long as she can before the day turns too hot.”

“You have a tennis court on the roof?” I ask, leaning forward to grab another strawberry.

“I wanted a helipad.” Dante reaches for a blueberry muffin. He holds it to my mouth, offering me a bite first which I take because it has the sugar clumps on top that I love. “But Sophie’s safer playing here than anywhere else.”

“So, one of your daughters is a nerd and the other two are jocks?”

“That’s fairly accurate.” He’s already halfway through the muffin when he says, “New rule. You sit on my lap everywhere we go.”

“Everywhere?”

“Everywhere. And just remember that the more you squirm the more my dick likes it.”

“Pervert,” I say with a sigh of defeat as I finally lean my back against his chest.

Sitting on his lap is not that big of a deal. He could make me do worse as part of our agreement. Watching me try on clothes was more intrusive. While being on his lap makes me feel silly and childish, I’ll tolerate it. That’s really all I can do at the moment unless I want Mitch’s blood on my hands.

A tinkling ring fills the otherwise quiet office later in the afternoon, and I’m so bored I feel the need to say, “Your phone is ringing.”

I’ve been sitting on Dante’s lap in here as well—for hours. At least the chair is cozier, and with the door shut, I don’t worry about anyone barging in. Well, other than Eli, who is like a constant shadow. Sometimes I even forget he’s still somewhere in the room. I glance around but don’t spot him lurking around at the moment. Doesn’t mean he’s not hiding in some corner of the bookshelves.

“Drawer on the right,” Dante instructs me, so I lean over to open it. I try to ignore his groan behind me as I lift my ass.

The drawer is one of those deep ones, and inside there are two rows of cellphones all plugged in a long charging base that must run under the desk.

“That’s a lot of phones you’ve got there.”

“Just grab the one that’s ringing before it stops.”

A middle one that has “AZ” as the contact’s name is lit up, so I pull it free from the charger and hand it to Dante.

“Yeah?” he asks as he puts the device up to his ear.

I can’t make out much of the muffled conversation on the other side. It sounds like a male voice and like he mentions something about “cargo” and “warehouse.”

“Goddamn it. Anything on the security cameras?” Dante inquires.

“Fucking destroyed.” Those words come across loud and clear.

“Who was on duty last night?”

The man provides names I can’t make out.

“Their condition?”

“Only one survived with a minor wound,” I hear the man answer, followed by something else.

“How fucking convenient,” Dante grounds out through his clenched teeth, clearly not happy about the news. “Bring him to me before the end of the day tomorrow.”

The man agrees. Dante ends the call, throwing the phone down on top of his desk.

“Bad news?” I guess, figuring he’ll offer a vague confirmation before changing the subject.

Leaning his head back against the leather, Dante’s hand that has remained on my side glides up and down slowly, over and over again. A moment later, his thumb slips up under my shirt to stroke the skin just above my waistband back and forth over the same few inches in the silence. He’s so distracted I wonder if he’s doing it on purpose or just absentmindedly.

Either way, it’s not technically breaking the intimate touch rule, so I don’t give him shit about it.

Finally, he says, “My warehouse in Arizona was just raided.”

“In broad daylight?” I ask in surprise.

“Yes.”

“Feds?”

“Doubtful since the fuckers took everything and killed two of my guards.”

“Ah. Sorry,” I tell him even though I know deaths are a common occurrence in his world. They probably don’t even faze him anymore. “You think the one who survived might have betrayed you to the thieves?”

Dante’s thumb stills. He rolls his head toward me with a half-smile on his face. “Exactly. The rat is also a murdering son of a bitch now as well, if he wasn’t already one before…”

“How will you find out if he was involved or not?”

Staring straight ahead, his thumb begins again, circling now on my side. “Check his phone records, have IT look for any recent deposits that are unusual for his bank account, then talk to him.”

“The kind of ‘talking’ that results in bleeding?” I guess.

Chuckling Dante asks, “Do you really want to know the gory details?”

It’s hard to imagine the rich businessman ripping off fingernails or slicing into people. That would be the mafia king version of Dante. And seeing him do those terrible things would remind me exactly who he is, and will always be, no matter how gorgeous the package may look on the outside.

“Could I watch?” I ask.

“What the fuck?” His palm completely leaves my side, and I only miss it a little when his long fingers grip the chair arm instead and glowers at me. “No, Vanessa, you can’t watch.”

“Why not?”

Dante studies my face as he tries to figure out why I would want to observe him at his worst. It doesn’t take him long to put it all together. “I’m not going to give you any new reasons to hate me.”

“Hate you? I think you mean give me new reasons not to fuck you. You don’t want to do anything to diminish whatever slim chance you think you may have with me.”

“A slim chance is still a chance. Just wait, butterfly. I haven’t even started trying to convince you to spread your legs for me yet. And I won’t until all the bruises those assholes gave you are healed.”

He hasn’t started trying yet?

Jesus, he hasn’t.

Not because he doesn’t want me, but because he doesn’t want to hurt me.

All he’s done for the past two days is flaunt his body in front of me, which has been enough temptation for a lifetime. Will I be able to keep refusing him once he’s actually ?

Yes. I can, and I will. I will never give in to him. Never.

“We still have ten weeks to spend together, every single day and night,” Dante reminds me. “Before this arrangement of ours ends, you be mine, butterfly. And when that happens, you’ll be begging me for it. You’ll let me fuck you whenever and however I want, even if I need you in a puddle of my enemy’s blood with the world burning around us.”

“That’s-that’s awfully arrogant of you,” I say, not bothering to point out it’s another not situation. “I’m not going to fuck you. And trust me, I will never fuck in a puddle of blood.”

“Want to bet? You may still hate me even when I’m inside of you, but at least by then you’ll hate me less than you want me.”

He’s not wrong. I do hate him. He’s a murdering, domineering, arrogant, manipulative mafia king. I will want him more than I hate him, though.

I just have to make sure my opinion doesn’t ever change, which should be easy enough when it’s impossible to forget the long list of his fatal flaws.