Page 59 of Monster's Edge
Ian Salucci is nota nice man.
He’s sure as fuck nice to look at, though.
Tall, lean, and muscular, he fills out the white button-down shirt he’s wearing. I know that he works out a lot. I can tell just by glancing at his shoulders. The button-down leads to his black pants. They’re tight in all the right places. His shoes are gone, along with his socks. His toes rest perfectly still on the lush black carpet.
That’s not how I’d sit.
I love soft things too much to ever sit totally still like that. When I walk onto a carpet, I always like to pause and wiggle my toes so I can justenjoyevery moment, every inch. Right now, I don’t have the luxury of taking my time, though. As much as I want to stand in the bathroom door and juststareat Ian, I know I can’t do that.
Slowly, I approach the center of the room. He’s sitting in an armchair that faces the bathroom. I think that earlier it was against a wall. He must have moved it.
Ian watches me with those piercing damn eyes as I walk toward him. I’m wrapped in the towel, but I don’t think I will be for long. I think he’s going to make me drop it for him and get rid of it. He’s going to want to see me naked.
That’s fine with me.
Ian is the first person I’ve been with who really seems to like my body. Other partners have been fun and enjoyable, but when I think back on my previous sexual encounters, they all seem veryfumblingcompared to Ian. I can’t really describe them other than by saying they’ve all been a bit awkward.
Maybe it was just me.
As soon as I’m standing directly in front of him, he lifts a finger to point at my towel. Then he points at the floor. Okay, he wants the towel off.
I slide the black fluffy towel off of my body and drop it to the floor. I try to move slowly in a way that’s kind of sexy and sleek, but I don’t know how effective my movements are until my eyes catch the front of his pants and I see a large bulge there. Okay, it’s official: Ian likes looking at me.
I stand in front of him with my hands at my sides, and I justlookat him.
“Thank you, Mr. Salucci,” I find myself saying. He seems as surprised as I am that I’ve spoken without him leading the conversation. He raises an eyebrow, and I quickly add, “for rescuing Georgetta, and for rescuing me.”
It’s important for me that he knows just how much I love Georgetta. She’s one of my favorite people, and she’s always been there for me. No matter what I’ve gone through in my life, she’s always been someone I’ve been able to count on. I know now that even if she wanted her own life, she was doomed to serve my dad, but it means a lot to me that she didn’t just let me get captured or sold by Mr. Ricci. She knew that Ian was the lesser of two evils.
Instead of saying anything about Georgetta, Ian just looks at me. His eyes roam every inch of my body. He looks everywhere from my eyes to my breasts all the way down to my toes. Then his eyes lock on mine again.
“You asked to see the dungeon,” he says.
“I did,” I nod. I told him I wanted to see this place, and I did. My reasons might be different than his reasons, though. I don’t necessarily feel a need to submit to another person. I know that’s what this place means to Ian. He’s a dominant kind of person. He needs the power, the control. He probably needs it in every aspect of his life and that’s why he’s such a good criminal.
99% of crime is just staying organized enough not to get caught.
That’s a statistic I made up myself, but I think it’s pretty close to true.
Guys like my dad aren’t especially intelligent. Nobody’s accusing my father of being the smartest man in the mob. The Amato family isn’t known for its cleverness or its book smarts. We’re known for being the best because we get things done.
Well, my dad does.
I’m still not really sure what I do aside from disappointing the people around me.
For me, this place is going to hurt. I know that. It’s not even going to be controlled pain. This isn’t like the places that girls in books go. When I read a story about a young reporter who wanders into a BDSM club, I know that she’s going to meet the Dom of her dreams. She’s going to meet a top who is so fucking perfect that he just gives her orgasm after orgasm after orgasm. He respects her safeword and he’s disappointed in her when she doesn’t use it during those harsh moments when she really needs to.
That’s not me.
I’m not the reporter.
Ian isn’t the man who secretly has a heart of gold.
Nope. His heart is stone, and he’s not going to allow any sort of cracks in that stone. He’s going to be rough with me, and callous, and he’s probably going to make me cry, but I don’t even care anymore. I want to cry, and I need the pain.
“Then get on your knees, little flower.”
A command. An order. I drop to my knees. I try to do it gracefully – girls in books always look graceful – but I know that I slip a little bit as I wiggle into place. A moment later, I’m on my knees looking up at him. He’s staring at me carefully.
