Page 9 of Monster's Edge
“My father is a private man,” I finally say. I hope that’s enough. Somehow, I know that it won’t be.
“What do you mean by that?” Ian asks. He places his hands on my shoulders. It feels like we’re going to have some sort of heart-to-heart, but I’m not fooled. He’s not my friend. He probably doesn’t haveanyfriends. He’s just doing this so I feel comfortable enough to share my thoughts with him.
“I just mean...” Well, what do I mean by that? Because my dad really is private, but not with everyone. He divides his life up into different little compartments. Don’t all crime bosses do this? He keeps me in one box, my brother in another, and his businesses in another. Then again, I’m pretty sure he’s been bringing my brother into the fold more and more.
Not me, though.
I’m the daughter. I’m not the one the businesses will be passed to when my dad dies. Instead, my brother will take over and continue the reign of crime.
“My dad...he doesn’t tell me everything,” I finally say. I sound less graceful than I wanted to.
“Whatdoeshe tell you, Rose?”
Before I can answer, though, he kisses me. Ian kisses me hard and fast. It’s not gentle or sweet or like anything I’m used to, really. When he pulls away, he raises an eyebrow.
I know this entire thing is some sort of test, but I wish I understood it better. That kiss ignited a fire deep inside of me. I’m embarrassed now because it definitely made me wet. If Ian reaches between my legs, I’m going to be completelysoaked. Completely. If that happens, then he’s going to know.
He’s going to know that I’m a total weirdo freak who likes to be hurt by big, bad, scary men. He’s going to know that I like the pain that comes from domination. This is my secret. This is something I fully plan to take to my grave. The less information people know about you, the less likely they are to hurt you. Ian, though...
Well, he can hurt me deeply.
“My dad doesn’t tell me shit,” I blurt out. Damn. Okay, I hadn’t mean to say that. Ian cocks his head, and I realize that this was why he kissed me. He wanted me to blurt things out to him. He wanted that. He wanted me to say something I shouldn’t say. He wanted me to admit to things that should have kept to myself.
And now I have.
“It’s my brother he tells things to,” I whisper.
Ian cups my chin. He’s not gentle. Once again, his touch is rough. With his other hand, he pinches my nipple and it’s all I can do not to cry out – or groan. Shit.
Where the hell was Ian when I was trying to find a boyfriend? No, I’m not allowed to have boyfriends. Yes, my dad keeps me on total lockdown. Still, if I could date someone like Ian, I would break every damn rule in the book because this is exactly what I’ve always wanted.
Ian doesn’t love me. Hell, he certainly doesn’t like me. If I had to guess, I might even say that he hates me. I still can’t seem to resist the idea that he might fuck me, though, because I want that. If he’s going to kill me, I especially want it. One last fuck before I die: how could I resist that?
“You aren’t telling me to stop,” he says.
“I think...I thought...I’m pretty sure you asked me to be polite,” I whisper. I think he said that. Everything is starting to blur together. Maybe it’s the drugs he gave me or maybe I’m just not very good at dealing with stress and chaos.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
Again with thegood girls. He keeps saying that to me. I didn’t even know I liked that.Good girlisn’t something the men in my books say very often. It’s certainly not something I’ve ever heard someone say in real life, but I like it. My entire body likes it. If Ian lets me, I will be having an orgasm very soon. My entire body is ready. He’s hardly touched me and already I’m aching with need, with desire.
“Are you going to torture me?” I whisper, needing to know.
“In a way,” Ian chuckles. That’s the kind of thing men in my world say. They don’t answer you directly. They never do. The world of the Italian mafia functions primarily because of secrets. You have to know the lingo if you want to survive. If you want anyone to be able to answer your questions, do you a favor, or work with you, then you have to know how to read between the lines.
What Ian is saying is that I can’t expect the expected. He’s going to torture me, but it won’t be by chopping off my fingers. I’m probably too pretty for that. It sounds conceited, but it’s true. The men Ian works with don’t usually hurt women. If he did want to slice me up and kill me, he wouldn’t have me in a bedroom. He’d have me in the basement, complete with a concrete room he could easily hose down and a drainage pipe that would soon be filled with my blood.
No, what he wants right now is to offer me a slow sort of erotic torture. He’s trying to drive me insane.
He’s trying to make me go crazy.
“What are you doing to me?” I whisper. Soon I’ll be out of questions. I’m wasting one now. He hasn’t specifically said that I only get a couple of questions, but I know how the game is played. Every time I ask a question, he loses a little bit of patience. When the patience runs out, I’m done for. Over. Finished.
“That’s an interesting question,” Ian considers. He’s still touching me. He’s still dressed but touching me. I want to see him undressed, I realize. My hands stretch out, but I quickly remember my place and lower them back down. He seems to notice because he nods slightly, almost approvingly.
I stand there as he keeps playing with me. I read in a magazine once that women can have orgasms purely through nipple stimulation. I don’t know if it’s true. I don’t know if I’m going to find out that out tonight.
“I’m going to make you beg,” he finally says.
