Bound (The Devil’s Vow #2)

Prologue

The Soft Side of Possession

I leaned against the door for a moment to catch my breath. My legs trembled with the aftershocks of what had just happened.

The enormity of it all pressed down on me.

My body was sore in ways I had never experienced. A dull ache settled in my hips and between my thighs, but there was also a sense of satisfaction that mingled with the soreness.

Gianni had claimed me, and my body felt a strange peace, as if a part of me had finally found what it had been seeking.

All would be good if he just stops trying to end ballet for me.

I pushed off from the door and slowly walked toward the shower.

The bathroom was luxurious, with white marble floors and countertops that gleamed under the soft light.

A large, freestanding tub stood near the window, but it was the walk-in shower on the other side of the room that called to me. It was enclosed in glass, with dark tiles and a rainfall showerhead.

I turned on the water, letting it warm up as I slipped out of the remnants of my wrinkled dress.

The fabric fell to the floor in a heap.

Wow. If I knew sex was that good, I might have snuck out of practice a few times and got some dick.

I went over to the other side of the bathroom, stopped in front of the mirror, and gazed at my reflection. My brown skin was flushed. My hair was a wild mess, and my wrists bore the faint marks of the belt that had held me captive.

I touched my left wrist gently, feeling the slight sting as I traced the brownish red lines.

Damn.

I thought back to Gianni’s touch, and how he had taken control of my body and made it his.

A shiver ran through me.

He was fucking amazing.

Steam began to fill the bathroom.

I took a deep breath, reached around to unclasp my bra, and then let the lace garment drop to the floor.

But he’s also a possessive asshole.

A soft sigh escaped my lips.

But just as I was about to turn towards the shower, something caught my attention.

In the mirror's reflection, I noticed blood and Gianni’s semen trickling down my inner thighs.

Holy fuck. I’m no longer a virgin.

I looked to the right and next to the shower was another of my kind of shower cap. This one was black.

So. . .he just made sure all of his people knew to have these shower caps in all bathrooms that I might use?

It was insane how much he had taken care of such a tiny detail in the grander scheme of things.

Even I forgot my damn shower cap when I took a trip or even when I moved back to Obsidian Bay.

What are all the mysteries of Gianni and why did he choose me? And when I discover all the answers. . .will they horrify me?

Sighing, I went back to assessing my hair in the mirror. Since all of the events from last night and today, my hair was now becoming a little wavy and lazy curls were forming. Soon they would be tightening up.

I smiled.

I’ll have to work on you later, girl. There is just a lot happening right now.

I took the satin cap from the hook, slipped it over my head, and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water cascade over my skin.

For now, my hair - safely tucked away under the cap - would remain untouched, later, I’d face the mystery of how Gianni knew so much about me when he was ready. Because one thing was clear: he was always one step ahead, and I was only just beginning to catch up.

Soon hot water washed over my body, rinsing away the evidence of our heated encounter.

My mind still whirled.

Drops slid down my trembling legs, taking the blood and semen away.

Under the warm water, some of the soreness began to go too.

Perfect.

Closing my eyes, I allowed my mind to wander back to Gianni and the moment he claimed me—the taste of his kiss, his fingers tracing paths of fire on my skin, his voice whispering nasty words, and finally that huge cock moving inside of my pussy.

Damn. He really is something else.

And then as if I had called him to come, suddenly, Gianni’s strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me back against his solid, muscular chest.

What? He’s in here?

I gasped, startled, as Gianni’s presence engulfed me.

I opened my eyes.

When did he show up? When did he even open the shower door?

I hadn’t even heard him come in, hadn’t felt the subtle shift in the air. But now, his warmth surrounded me, his scent—masculine musk and something darker—mingled with the steam.

His breath was hot against my ear, sending delicious shivers down my spine.

Of course I was delighted to feel Gianni’s hard muscular body against me, yet I was still pissed at him too.

My heart pounded, a frantic rhythm in my chest, as those possessive arms tightened around me some more.

And again. . .I had to admit that it felt so damn good to be near him, even if he was a jackass.

Sighing, I turned around and faced Gianni, needing to see him.

To feel the connection that had blossomed between us in this short time.

When I faced him, our eyes met.

And the intensity in his gaze took my breath away. His green eyes were filled with a mixture of hunger and something else—something deeper, something that tugged at the edges of my soul.

Have you really thought about what I said?

I reached my arms up to hold him.

My wet breasts smoothed against his muscular chest.

Groaning, Gianni leaned forward and his lips found the curve of my neck. Instantly, he pressed soft, lingering kisses against my wet skin.

“Mmmm.” I closed my eyes and lost myself in the sensation of him.

Goddamn. It is going to be hard to stay mad at him.

He slipped his hands down my back. The touch was so gentle, and almost made me forget that he was a killer in the true sense of the word.

Should I bring up the ballet topic again? I don’t want him to think I’ve softened on it.

Before I could find the words, his lips were on mine, claiming my soul once more. The kiss was passionate, searing, as if he needed to remind me that I belonged to him, that I would forever be his.

Moaning, I melted into Gianni.

The water continued to fall.

It was a gentle soundtrack to the emotional storm that simmered between us.

He deepened the kiss and explored my mouth with his tongue. His soft lips moved against mine, and the shower blurred to nothing. All my attention went to Gianni—the heat of his kiss, the way his hands roamed my body.

Fuck.

This was why I had been so adamant today about keeping ballet because I knew. . .that a part of me wanted to completely surrender to Gianni, to let him mold me into whatever he desired.

Already, I could feel myself submitting to him more and more, and it had barely been twenty-four hours.

But thank God that there was another part of me that had spent years perfecting every plié, every arabesque. And, that part of me still thought we had a chance to win this fight.

Ballet had been my life, my identity, long before Gianni entered my world. It was the one thing that was truly mine, something no one could take away.

But now, with each touch, each kiss from his sexy lips, I felt that identity slipping through my fingers.

Why does it feel so good to be with him?

Basically, I was fighting so hard for ballet not just because it was my passion, but because I knew, deep down, that the more time I spent with Gianni, the more he claimed me, the more I would start to give up.

He was a fucking force of nature.

It scared me how easily he was winding his power around my heart, how effortlessly he was pulling me into his world.

And what frightened me the most was how much I was starting to want it all too.

I could already feel myself changing.

The person I had been before Gianni—a girl who lived and breathed ballet, who spent hours in the studio perfecting her craft—was slipping away.

In her place was someone new, someone who was beginning to see the allure of his world, who was drawn to the danger, the darkness, the raw power that Gianni exuded.

Damn it. . .

Gianni pulled back slightly, and then rested his forehead against mine. His breath was ragged as he looked into my eyes. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

Tension gathered in my shoulders.

I decided to remain quiet, and see what else he had to say.

He kept his voice low. “Long ago, I knew I would have you as my wife, but. . .”

I widened my eyes.

“I never knew if you would want to be my wife.” He lifted his head. “In my mind, it didn’t matter. You would be mine regardless.”

I shivered. “That’s no way to love, Gianni.”

“I’m not sure I ever cared about love. I just wanted you in my possession. I needed you to be all mine.”

My bottom lip quivered. “And now?”

“I’m thinking, princess.”

“Thinking about what?”

“Thinking about how much I love that you are falling for me. Love the emotion in your eyes when you look my way. Love the way you whisper my name when you cum. Love the way your heart beats against my chest.”

I looked away and sank into the warm water falling around my shoulders.

Thick clouds of steam rose up our legs and waist.

I sighed. “Don’t make me choose ballet over you, Gianni.”

My words hung between us.

I looked back at him.

Gianni’s green eyes darkened.

I could feel the shift in the air between us.

The tenderness from moments ago was quickly replaced by the steely resolve I had come to recognize all too well. His jaw clenched as he held me.

But then. . .he exhaled slowly, and his breath mingled with the steam that rose around us. “I’m not sure you understand what you’re asking of me.”

I pulled back slightly. “What do you mean?”

“You’re asking me to let you continue with ballet, to let you perform, where other men can touch you, watch you. Men who aren’t me .” His eyes flashed with a possessiveness that sent a cold shiver through me. “That’s not something I can easily accept.”

So frustrated, I left his hold. “Gianni, ballet is not about other men . It’s about me , about my passion, my identity. I’ve worked my entire life for this. I can’t just give it up because of your jealousy.”

“You’re mine, and the thought of anyone else laying a hand on you, even in the name of art—it’s fucking intolerable.” He sneered. “All I see is blood.”

My heart ached at the intensity of his need to possess every part of me.

But I couldn’t back down, not on this.

“Gianni, you have to trust me. Ballet is my life. It’s not a threat to you or to what we have.”

He released a bitter laugh. “Trust you? It’s not you I don’t trust—it’s them . Men who will look at you, fantasize about you, as if they have a right to something that belongs to me.”

Jesus.

I took another step back. “I’m not a possession, Gianni. I’m your wife, not your property.”

He closed the distance between us. “But, you know what it means to be my wife. It means that no one else gets to have any part of you. Not your body, not your time, not your passion. It’s all mine.”

“That’s too much control.”

A dark smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “You’ll have to learn how to crave my control.’”

We stared at each other, the tension between us thick enough to cut through the steam. This was the battle, the fight to hold onto the one thing that was truly mine.

I had to win.

But I could also see the fierce determination in his eyes.

“I won’t give up ballet, Gianni. It’s too important to me. It’s who I am. Stop being a stubborn asshole and compromise with me.”

The line of his jaw twitched.

“Please. I’m begging you.”

“I want an heir.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Kids.”

“Yes, but. . .I have a career.”

“Are you on birth control now?”

“Of course. I knew one day I would lose my virginity so I wanted to be prepared.”

He frowned. “When will you give me my beautiful kids?”

“Are you serious?”

“ Very fucking serious.”

I tried to gather myself. “I would want at least five years of ballet—”

“Three years at the most.”

I swallowed again. “I can compromise with three years, if you can fucking compromise with my being in ballets in the first place.”

He went silent and then ran his fingers through his wet hair.

“Gianni. . .be realistic. Be kind. Be the husband that I want.”

He let out an exasperated breath. “I can. . .compromise. . .”

He said the word like it was the nastiest thing he’d ever had on his tongue. As if someone had taken a piss in his mouth and forced him to swallow.

But it didn’t matter how much he despised the word; I could see a win and I damn sure was going to take it.

I swallowed. “Okay. I’m glad that you can compromise. Thank you.”

“You can be in the. . .ballet.” He sneered as if that sentence was difficult to even say out loud. “However. . .”

“However?”

“I can’t let you do it the way you want either. Not without conditions.”

It took everything in me to not roll my eyes.

Who was he to tell me what I could and could not do?

Was this what happened in other marriages?

Or was it just his possessive mafia male bullshit?

Still. . .I liked that he was at least wanting to discuss the possibility of compromise.

I reined in my frustration. “What kind of conditions, Gianni?”

“I can’t be there to protect you during every rehearsal and performance. But my baby brother, Corrado can. He’ll talk to your director, Melanique, and lay out some parameters.”

“Parameters? What does that even mean?”

“It means that he’ll make sure you’re not put in positions that I find unacceptable.”

“What positions?”

“No intimate partnering, no exposure that could be seen as inappropriate. You’ll still dance, but within the boundaries that I’m comfortable with.”

“Men will be in the audience—”

“None can be in the front rows. They’ll have to be in the back, far fucking back—”

“How the hell will Melanique be able to make sure of that?”

“That’s not my problem.”

“And the ballet, there are moments when I will be touched—”

“She will need to rewrite those moments or she and the male dancer that is supposed to touch you will have a very significant problem on their hands.”

I frowned. “That’s not how ballet works. I can’t perform half-heartedly or with restrictions. It’s all or nothing.”

He cupped my face in his hands. “This is the only way, Princess. The only way I can allow you to continue without tearing the world apart.”

“So I’ll be dancing with my wings clipped, under the watchful eye of your brother?”

“Should I remind you about the lovely stage our people are building in the back of the castle?”

I blinked. “No.”

“I’m giving you as much as I can, Erica. Please understand that.”

“You’re being beyond possessive.”

“I am.”

“I don’t like it.”

“As your husband, I expect complete submission to my obsession of you because frankly. . .I don’t know how to be any other way. . .at least I am learning how to give in to you too.” He gathered me back in his arms.

I closed my eyes, leaning into his touch.

This wasn’t the complete freedom I had been fighting for. It was a compromise—one that came with conditions attached.

But I also knew that Gianni was trying to meet me halfway. For a man who was used to getting everything his fucking way, this was as much of a concession as I was going to get. . .for now.

I’m back in the ballet. I can fight for more things later.

“Fine,” I opened my eyes and lifted my head to meet his gaze. “I’ll accept your conditions . But this isn’t the end of the conversation. I won’t stop fighting for what I love, Gianni.”

His lips curled into a small, satisfied smile, though there was still a hint of possessiveness in those green eyes. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, my bratty little princess. But for now, this is our middle ground.”

He pulled me into a tender kiss.

Fuck.

The tension in my shoulders began to ease, if only slightly.

It wasn’t the victory I had hoped for, but it was a win, nonetheless.

A medium-sized win in a battle that was far from over.

I leaned away from the kiss.

He licked his lips.

Warm water continued to fall around us.

And there, I studied the man that was changing me in so many ways. “Thank you, Gianni, my stubborn, possessive daddy.”

“You’re welcome, my very bratty and apparently. . .possibly homicidal princess.”

I smirked.

The look in his eyes softened, just for a moment, as if he were seeing something in me that even I didn’t fully understand.

Without a word, he reached for the soap, lathering his hands before gently running them over my skin.

Then. . .he began to wash me, his fingers tenderly gliding over my body.

“Gianni?”

“Yes.”

“How did you know about my hair products?”

“You don’t like them?”

“You know I do because it’s what I use.”

“Then, you should be pleased.”

“Why are there shower caps in this bathroom and even the one in the hotel?”

He touched the bonnet on my head. “This is what you use when you take a shower. Always. So. . .I figured you would need it too.”

I widened my eyes. “And how did you know that I needed them in the first place?”

“Is it a secret that you need shower caps?”

“Answer the question. . .please.”

He slid soap over my shoulders, leaving trails of fragrant lavender and shimmering bubbles. “I would rather answer that question at a later time.”

“I want answers now.”

“And I told you that they would come. Just give me time.” His hands moved down my arms, and his fingers spread the lather in gentle strokes, as if he were painting a masterpiece on the canvas of my skin.

I watched him, mesmerized by the way he moved, the way his eyes—dark, intense, and filled with an emotion I could scarcely name—never left mine.

In fact, his gaze held me captive.

Had me completely tethered to him.

I shivered. “You’ve been watching me.”

Gianni’s hands reached my breasts, and his touch grew even softer, as if he were afraid to break me, to shatter the fragile connection between us. Those soapy fingers traced the curves of my breasts and then circled each nipple with a devotion that made my breath catch in my throat.

My body hummed with lust. “Are you going to say yes or no about watching me?”

“You known me well enough by now to answer that question for yourself.”

“Then. . .yes. . .you’ve been watching me.”

Silent, he continued washing my breasts.

There was something in the way he touched me, a deep, unspoken reverence, as if I were not just his lover, his wife, but something super sacred, something to be cherished and adored for the rest of his life.

And now. . .I was seeing that this was the other side of possession too.

The softer, more poetic side.

I had always thought of possession as something harsh, a force that took without giving, that claimed without regard for the one being claimed.

But in this moment, as Gianni’s soapy possessive fingers traced gentle patterns over my skin, I began to understand it all a little more.

His touch was a primal language of its own, each caress a word, each gentle pressure a whispered phrase that spoke to a part of me that words could never reach.

It was as if he were telling me, with every stroke of his fingers, that I was not just his to own, but his to cherish , his to protect , his to love in a way that went beyond mere desire.

And here, in the warmth of this shower, I was realizing that possession didn’t have to mean that I would be losing myself.

It could also mean that I was finding a new me within the safety of his embrace.

He locked his gaze onto mine. “Does it scare you that I watched you?”

I stiffened. “Yes.”

His fingers slid down my sides, and my breath hitched.

There was so much care in his hands, so much focus in his gaze.

It was as if Gianni were sculpting me from the water and the soap, shaping me into something precious, something worth treasuring.

“Through the years, I’ve tried to calm my obsession over you, but honestly. . .it scares me too.” Gianni slipped his hands down lower, tracing the curve of my hips.

And when he slipped his hands between my thighs, a sensual desire ran through me.

I gasped.

There, Gianni cleansed my pussy with a care that bordered on the spiritual. His fingers brushed against the most intimate parts of me like he were performing a sacred rite.

And all the while, his gaze remained locked on mine.

God. . .how could I ever have stopped myself from falling for him? And more importantly. . .when did he fall for me?