The Yellow Dress Ch. 02

Sliding his arms around her waist, he pulls her against him, and rests his chin on her head. She can feel his erection pressing against her back. Revulsion and arousal skitter around her insides, fighting for supremacy.

Almost by accident, one man meets her eye and now he can't seem to look away. She watches him imploringly, trying to communicate her situation without speaking. He can tell something is up. From behind her Salvo makes a soft growling noise and they both away at the same time.

Salvo's grip tightens. She sighs and he laughs, his breath tickles her neck. That laugh; so harsh, so cold, so sexy. Boy, is she fucked.

The doors slide open. One person gets out. No one new joins them.

She is wondering how they must look to these strangers, until suddenly and unexpectedly he spins her around and he is kissing her face, his hands on her waist. He pushes her against the wall and the hand rail is digging into her back as he peppers her face with small gentle kisses. And her mind is filled with him, nothing but him. She slides her hands up between them, originally to rest them against his chest, so she can push him away, but this action doesn't quite materialise. Instead she curls her fists around his lapels and clings to his jacket. He is all around her his smell, his body, his face. The memories of their time together crowd into her head and the lift no longer exists.

Nothing else exists. Only him.

She is still frightened, but she is also aroused. He is angry, she can feel his anger, hovering beneath everything he does and says but he wants her too. Her only hope of survival is if he carries on wanting her.

Before she knows it they are in his suite. The two men have gone and they are alone together. She doesn't get a chance to take in her surroundings he almost throws her through the door. She stumbles forward, the heels of her shoes sinking into the thick carpet, but regains her balance.

"Take off your clothes."

"No."

"Take. Them. Off." Rage seeps from every pore as he speaks. He is moving towards her with big strides.

She quails, and begins frantically unbuttoning her top. Her hands are trembling too hard for her to do it very proficiently.

It grows stronger, that familiar sensation; arousal laced with an undercurrent of fear. The buttons are finally undone, she takes her top off.

"Leave me alone," she says, drawing herself up so she seems taller, her chin jutting forward.

"I cannot," He replies. It sounds more like an accusation than a statement.

"I don't want you."

But already she could feel the heat of her attraction to him unfurling inside her. He looks down at her legs and back at her face. He doesn't need to speak. She unbuttons her jeans.

He reaches for her and grips her arms and they both stagger - him forward, her backwards - into the nearby wall. His eyes burn into hers, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He searches her face. He is looking for something that she cannot give him.

"I'm in London for three days, I had to see you again."

"How did you know where I was?"

"I've known since where you were since you got here."

They stare at each other and volumes pass between them as silence reigns

"I thought you were here to kill me."

He scowls. "I would never hurt you."

An involuntary sounds exits her mouth, something between a cough and a laugh. She shakes her head, unable to speak. Has he forgotten how many times he's made that threat? Did he ever mean it? Is this such a normal thing for him?

He kisses her, tenderly, a hand cupping her face. At first her eyes fall closed and she responds instinctively, and then she remembers herself and pulls away.

"Salvo, you can't just walk back into my life and..." but she stops mid sentence. The gentle affectionate Salvo of a moment ago has disappeared again.

"I can do what I want. You are mine, you belong to me." He is so close to her she can feel his breath against her face. "And you want to belong to me." He smiles nastily. "You're only alive because I let you live."

He leans forward and presses his lips against hers, she doesn't try to resist this time, she can't move, he has her pinned against the wall.

"I escaped," she says, when she can speak again.

"And I could have brought you back to me at any time."

"No!" Her head starts to spin. The enormity of the situation has finally started to dawn. This is a nightmare. She shakes her head, as if somehow this will change things. "No!"

Desolation pours over her, she needs to keep it together, she cannot let it pull her under, she fists her hands and feels her nails bit into the palms she relishes the small pain, it brings her back from the brink.

"You didn't have to hit Geoff, you might have broken his nose. Or worse." She knows mentioning Geoff will make Salvo angry, but she doesn't care, the words are just pouring out.

He doesn't deny it. Pressing his lips tightly together he gives her a curt nod. "He tried to touch you. no one else is allowed to touch you."

Her mouth falls open "How dare you..."

But he isn't listening. "Who is he to you? Did you let him fuck you?

"No, there hasn't been anyone..." She shuts her mouth, but he's heard enough.

He watches her face as he undoes his trousers and pulls out his already erect cock. Taking her thighs roughly in both his hands he lifts her and slides her up the wall until her pelvis is propped just above his. He doesn't break eye contact as he thrusts into her in a single swift movement.

She knows he will be angry if she closes her eyes but she needs the escape, it's too intense. He is all around her, He is filling her, she is squashed in the corner of this vast hotel suite, unable to move, unable to escape this violation. She can't hold his gaze. She wraps her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck and presses her face into his neck. She holds her breath and praying he will mistake her avoidance for affection.

He doesn't react. Instead, with her still impaled in his erection, he carries her over to the desk and with one arm holding her against him he sweeps it clear. A coffee cup, an iPad, pens, papers and God knows what else, clatter to the ground. He lowers her down onto the newly-cleared surface.

He holds her ankles so her feet are on the edge of the table and she is spread wide. His cock fills her. It feels incredibly deep from this angle, her eyelids flutter closed, she bites her lip to prevent the moan, which threatens to escape. He is towering over her, looking down at her. He is inside her but he isn't moving.

"Beg me," he orders.

She opens her eyes again. "What?"

"Beg me to let you come."

No! She won't do that, she will never do that again she squeezes eyes shut, shakes her head, turning her face away. It's not much in the way of defiance, but trapped beneath him there is little else she can do.

"Fuck you!"

"Oh, I will mia tigrotta, but you will beg me first," he replies.

She squeezes her eyes closed and clenches her fists as he trails kisses up her newly exposed throat. She needs him to start moving, the urge to grind her pelvis against his is battling with her determination not to participate. It's hard.

He leans forward and with his lips against her throat he says "Do you want me to fuck you?"

"No."

"Are you sure?" He pushes her bra out of the way and his eyes leave her face as he envelopes a nipple in his hot damp mouth. She squirms at the sudden jolt of pleasure that surges through her. Grabbing clumps of hair in her fists she pulls. He doesn't budge.

It is odd to be enjoying the exquisite sensation of having him inside her after so long, and to be having an argument with him at the same time.

He starts to move and his eyes fall closed. As his thrusting increases in tempo she wants to arch towards him but she resists. He grips her hips and pins her to the desk as he plunges in and out of her. Her feet slide off the desk and the ensuing discomfort forces her to wrap them around his waist.

He pins her to the table by her throat and with his thumb he strokes her clitoris. His eyes are glazed.

"Tell me you want to come."

"No." She is beyond anything more sophisticated than single-word answers.

He stops stroking and presses, she squirms beneath, she is so unbearably close. He stills and she just manages not to release the groan of frustration but that doesn't matter, because she sighs instead. Pressing her lips closed she prays he didn't hear but his laughter tells her he did. And that he knows exactly what he is doing to her. He takes both her hands in his own and pins them on the desk, on either side of her head and fucks her.

He's stopped teasing her with his hands. She knows he is about to come, she has learned to recognise the signs. This need to restrain her as fully as possible. The far away look in his eyes. The change in tempo. The sounds he makes. He is intent on finding his own release and she knows she isn't going to get hers. Her feelings about this are bittersweet. She is both relieved and frustrated. With a final thrust he roars and falls forward.

He is lying on top of her panting. She was trapped beneath him, supremely uncomfortable, coated in his sweat, her head filled with mixed up feelings. Her chest feels tight, her throat constricts and she balls her fists, still pinned above her head, to stop the tears from coming.

He catches his breath and stands. She feels cold and exposed without his chest pressed against her. He lifts her off the desk and into his arms and carries her to the bedroom. It's so similar to that first day and yet entirely different at the same. And she knows him now. She isn't afraid of him. Or rather it's a different sort of fear; a more complicated fear.

They sink into a huge, comfortable bed. He's instantly asleep. She is wrapped up in him, he is holding her tightly, their legs are tangled. As his breathing shallows his grip diminishes ever so slightly.

She lies perfectly still and waits.

Carefully, carefully she tries to get herself free. She begins by moving her legs out from underneath his legs and waits again for as long as she can bear to for him to settle. She carefully lifts his arm by the wrist. Instantly he is awake and she is back in the vice like grip. His arms are around her, his legs wrapped round her own legs. He is wide awake and staring her. He doesn't speak. He doesn't have to. Everything is communicated through that one look. Don't try anything. I know your game.

***

She wakes to him fucking her again. She has no idea when she fell asleep or how long she has been asleep for. He is behind her, a hand on each of her hips making long slow strokes. Disorientated, her instincts tell her to scramble forward, but he has hold of her hips. When she gives up and stops moving his hand snake around the front and finds her clitoris. She becomes aroused quickly. She was so close to coming earlier. Her body remembers this.

He digs his hands in to her hair and fists them, pulling her back, forcing her to arch her neck.

"Why did you cut it?" His voice is filled with quiet menace.

"I don't know I..." She had wanted to do something to erase her old self. to wash the past away, to put it behind her. She knows better than to tell him that though. "I felt like a change."

"Don't cut it again." Salvo speaks as though no more discussion is needed. His decision is final.

Beth huffs out a breath, she is not quite awake and her responses still aren't very guarded.

He grips her jaw in his hand and turns her head to he can look at her face. She meets his stare.

"I mean it piccola tigre I want it long."

She gives him a small nod before she casts her eyes downwards. Rage simmering behind all of his word and actions.

He releases her hair and rests his hand on her hip again and carries on fucking her. Pulling all the way out and plunging back in again. Stroking her clitoris with the same rhythm.

After a while his movements slow and stop. He has fallen asleep, still inside her.

***

There is a knee pushed between hers, holding her legs apart, a hand possessively holding her hip as the other leisurely explores her folds. She is wet, and aroused and frustrated. His erection is pressed against her entrance and for a moment she is completely disoriented. Instinctively she arches, to make it easier for him to enter her. He slides in. She sighs. As Salvo bottoms out inside her Beth's eyes fly open and everything comes crashing back.

She tenses and like a shot his hand has left her hips and is around her neck. Forearm presses between her breasts he pulls her flush against him. She stills, scared of what is going to happen next, but he just continues to play with her.

She takes in the opulent surroundings as her sleep addled brain replays what happened the night before. As she is trying to process what all this means his fingers continue move expertly back and forth and the friction steadily increases. It's harder and harder to think.

He directs her hips with his hands until she is tilted just at the right angle so that he is stroking that sensitive spot he'd found deep inside her before. That familiar, delicious pressure is building inside her, coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust. But somehow he is holding her in that place between plateau and peak as the pressure builds low in her belly. Until she is just about to topple over the edge, then he stops thrusting, or subtly changes position or slows the movement of his hand and the elusive climax moves back out of reach.

It seems to carry on like this forever, he knows exactly what he is doing. It is as she nears the edge again that she cries his name. She doesn't mean to, it slips past her lips before she can stop it but at last, he gives her release. He allows her to tip over the precipice and the ensuing orgasm is far beyond anything she's ever experienced. She clings to the quilt, as wave after wave of pleasure sweeps through her. The sensations are almost frightening in their intensity.

Her face is wet. She is so grateful, so relieved to finally be allowed to come. The familiar sense of shame tinged with embarrassment washes over her. She is pathetic and despite all the therapy, after all she has worked through with Abigail she is still so conditioned to respond to him. To do as he wants, to leap through his hoops.

He withdraws and pulls her back against him so she's pressed tightly against his chest. She has no idea if he came.

***

She wakes minutes, or maybe hours later to find herself on top of him. Draped over his torso, her cheek pressed against his chest. She can hear his heart beating. One arm is wrapped around her. With the other he is stroking her hair. It feels worryingly normal and safe.

When he realises she is awake he rolls them both over so he is no longer underneath her and gets out of bed. He returns with a cloth.

"Lie back."

She does as she is told. He lifts her knees and pushes her legs apart. It's reminiscent of the health examinations that happened to her after she got home. The cloth feels warm as he presses it against her. She lies absolutely still as he sponges her clean. It's not unpleasant exactly but it feels too intimate. She stares at the ceiling while she waits for him to finish.

He is no longer washing her; he is examining her. She can feel his breath against her skin.

His mood has changed. It is different to how it was yesterday, to how it was in Rome. He isn't as menacing, he's almost affectionate. Although she still can't leave and she is still constantly on edge.

There is a knock at the door.

"Enter," he says. She hears someone trundle into the room and start unloading crockery.

She can't see but she knows that coffee has arrived. She can smell it, she starts to pull herself upright but he rests his hands on her knees and throws her a glare. She lies back down.

"I like this." He tugs at her pubic hair, "but I want it shorter."

She doesn't know what to say to that, so she doesn't reply. He doesn't notice.

Suddenly he's done. He gets up without speaking and wanders into the other room. When he returns holding a tray she decides to risk sitting up. He hands her a cup and after she has had a sip he feeds her one of the pastries. It's delicious, especially with the coffee. When she has finished it he wants to feed her another.

She shakes her head. He glares at her again. She opens her mouth. She can see where this is going; everything will be fine between them, as long as she does exactly what he wants.

They spend the rest of the day lying around in bed, naked. They have more sex. They order room service. They eat scrambled eggs and smoked salmon, followed by, at his insistence, strawberries and Champagne.

The sound of ringing pierces the tranquility and at first she can't work out where its coming from. It stops. He feeds her the second half of the pasty. It starts again immediately. Cursing in Italian, he leaps out of bed. She studies his naked back as he walks the short distance across the room and back into the main suite.

His voice is loud enough that she can hear every word, but she doesn't understand what he's saying. He's shouting but then he's forever shouting. They all are, him and his men. It's the way they communicate.

She gets up, wraps a sheet around herself and stalks up to the doorway connecting the two rooms. He is gesticulating, pacing up and down the room, red in the face. She shrinks back and hovers so the door mostly conceals her. He hasn't noticed her, he is too involved in his phone call.

Her eyes skate to the other door, it's just across the room, only a short distance away. He spins around so he is walking towards her again but he still isn't aware she is standing there.

She isn't wearing any clothes but then neither is he. He turns again and marches towards the window, his voice is getting louder. She gives the door one last look and then moves carefully over to a small table in the corner and perching on the edge of a chair she waits.

The conversation is finished. Dropping the phone he moves towards her in big strides. His fists are clenched. She gets to her feet and starts to back away. He slams his palms on the wall on either side of her head. At the impact she starts. He watches her for a long moment without speaking, his chest rising and falling.

Suddenly he drops to his knees and rests his head against her belly. She stands and waits, unsure of what to do. As the seconds stretch into minutes, she wants to touch him, to run her fingers through his hair. She resists.

He gets to his feet again and kisses her, a hand cupping her face. Her eyes fall closed and she responds. Then she remembers herself and pulls away.

As he searches her face there is an expression in his face she's never seen before. Then he pulls her into his arms and holds her so tightly she can hardly breathe.

Slowly his breathing returns to normal and his grip loosens.

He walks over to the window. She peels herself upright, away from the wall and curls up in the corner of the enormous sofa. A small age passes. He doesn't move or speak.

"Is everything ok?" She asks in a small voice. She isn't sure she wants to know the answer but she can't bear the silence any longer.

"Everything is fine piccola. There is no problem. These people think they can fuck with me. But you don't fuck with Salvatore Castellano. My organisation, it is strong. They are... how do you say? They are small fish. I am big fish. I sort this out."

He sinks down into the sofa next to her and pulling the sheet away, he lifts her onto his lap and starts playing with her hair. She feels like a child.

"They think I don't know what they're doing. I know what they are doing." The rage simmering beneath his words contradicts the gentleness of his actions.