Owned By Massimo

Chapter 21-I'm Not The Enemy

Isabella's POV

“What are you doing? Where are you taking me?” I asked, my voice shaking as Massimo dragged me down the hallway with a firm grip on my arm. His fingers dug into my skin, not enough to bruise but enough to remind me I had no choice. I stumbled to keep up with his long strides, my bare feet sliding on the cool floor.

He didn’t answer. Just kept pulling me until we reached a heavy door at the end of a lower hallway. He opened it and pushed me inside, then stepped in after me and closed it with a loud, final click. The sound echoed in the dim space.

The moment I saw what was in the room, a shiver ran through my entire body. Strangely, it wasn’t only fear. It looked like a torture chamber mixed with a b**m room. Black padded walls, chains hanging from the ceiling, a padded bench in the center, whips, paddles, and ropes neatly arranged on shelves. There were cuffs, blindfolds, gags, and metal spreader bars.

The air smelled of leather and something darker. My n*****s hardened instantly against the shirt, and heat pooled between my legs even as real fear twisted in my stomach.

“Don’t think you’re here to get pleasure.”

Massimo’s cold voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

“What are you going to do to me?” I whispered.

“Strip.”

His command left no room for argument. My hands trembled, but I started unbuttoning the shirt. The fabric slid off my shoulders and pooled at my feet. I stood completely naked in front of him, not even trying to cover myself. I wanted him to see me. All of me. My breasts rose and fell with every fast breath, my n*****s tight, my thighs already slick.

His dark eyes raked slowly over my body, from my face down to my dripping p***y and back up. The hunger in his gaze made my knees weak, but his face stayed cold and controlled.

He grabbed my hand roughly and dragged me toward a set of chains hanging from the ceiling. He spread my legs wide and strapped my ankles to the floor chains, then raised my arms high and locked my wrists above my head. I was completely spread open, helpless, my body on full display. The position pulled my breasts up and left my wet p***y exposed to the cool air. I tugged once, but the chains held firm. My heart raced with a wild mix of fear and arousal.

“Now,” he said, circling me slowly like a predator, “will you tell me who sent you? Who you’re stealing information for?”

“I already told you, you dickhead. I’m not the enemy here,” I snapped, even though my voice shook.

Something cold flashed in his eyes, but he stayed calm. He walked to the table, picked up a long, thin whip, and returned. Without warning, it landed across my back with a sharp crack.

Pain exploded across my skin, but right behind it came a rush of hot pleasure between my legs. I cried out, my body jerking in the chains. I tried to press my thighs together to ease the ache, but the spreader position made it impossible.

“I hate it when people lie to me,” he said quietly, his voice dangerously calm. “I hate when people try to make a fool of me.”

“I’m not trying to make a fool of you!” I gasped. “Can’t you see you’re being played? There are real traitors in your house!”

The whip came down hard on my ass. I threw my head back and screamed, the sting mixing with a flood of wetness dripping down my inner thighs. My c**t throbbed painfully. I was soaked, aching, desperate for his touch, but completely at his mercy.

“Do you know how it feels to be pleasure deprived?” he asked, stepping close behind me. His hot breath brushed my neck. “To want something so badly and not be able to get it?”

I was breathing hard, my body trembling from the mix of pain and need. “Please…” I whimpered.

“Please what?” His hand came around and squeezed one of my breasts roughly from behind. “Want me to touch you here?” He rolled my n****e between his fingers, pinching just hard enough to make me moan.

Then his hand slid lower, cupping my soaked p***y. Two fingers teased my swollen c**t in slow, torturous circles. “Or here?”

“Yes…yes, please,” I moaned, pushing my hips toward his hand as much as the chains allowed. The pleasure was intense, building fast, but he kept it light, never giving me enough.

“Then tell me, princess,” he whispered against my ear, his fingers still teasing. “Who asked you to steal from me?”

“I don’t know anything!” I cried out.

He pulled his hand away instantly. The whip landed again, this time across my ass and thighs. I screamed, my body arching. Pain and pleasure twisted together until I couldn’t tell them apart. My p***y clenched around nothing, dripping shamelessly down my legs.

“You claim to be the Don but the real traitors are right under your nose and you don’t see them!” I snapped in frustration and desperation.

The whip came down harder. “Don’t you f*****g speak to me like that,” he growled. His hand wrapped around my throat from behind, tilting my head back against his strong chest. I liked it. God, I f*****g liked it. The dominance, the control, the way he held my life in his hands. It made me even wetter.

“I didn’t do anything. Why won’t you believe me?” I breathed. “I thought you were smarter than this! I was in that room and someone entered and was typing on your laptop. I didn’t see the face…”

“That was Vincent,” he said coldly. “One of my most trusted men. I told him to check the office and make sure nobody was snooping around.”

“You’re blaming the wrong person, Massimo,” I snapped, anger mixing with the overwhelming need pulsing through me.

“You thought you could just waltz in here and cause trouble and I wouldn’t notice?”

“I’ve told you, Mr. Mafia, I’m not the villain here.”

There was a long silence. The room filled only with my heavy breathing. A chill ran down my back. Then he slowly walked around me until he stood in front of me. His eyes dropped to my dripping p***y, the wetness clearly running down my thighs. A dark smirk tugged at his lips.

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the room.

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving me there.

Chained. Naked. Aching. Dripping. Alone in the silence with my throbbing body and racing thoughts.

“I'm not the enemy.”