Chapter 26: "Do you think I like pain?"

POV: Beatrice

I no longer knew how many glasses I had drunk of that icy champagne to try to soothe the heat between my legs that I couldn't avoid. We dined in silence, the only sound filling the room was the delicate clink of cutlery touching porcelain plates. Each fork echoed each bite, each cut, each movement filled the space, and this made me notice Stefano and his bare chest in front of me even more, the man who seconds ago had turned me on under the table with just a few fingers, added to a look that seemed to undress me completely.

Luckily, I learned to resist alcohol, and I felt fine, but the effect I wanted wasn't working. I thought of his hands, now holding the fork with the pressure typical of his touch, sliding over my vulva for the second time that day, the abstinence from sex driving me madder and madder... I had never gone so long without, nor tried to resist anyone I was interested in, or at least that my body was thirsty for.

I couldn't help but notice the wolf adorned with a forest on his wrist, running up to the end of his forearm.

"What does it mean?" I asked, instinctively, without thinking or wanting to, my body found a way to try and push Stefano out of my mind.

"Protection and loyalty," he replied, seconds later, as his gaze roamed over the tattoo on his wrist.

"It says a lot about you," I murmured as I controlled my finger from tracing the lines of the tattoo on his wrist. "Do you know how many you have on your body?" A smile formed on my lips as I continued to watch the wolf ready to pounce on its prey, drawn on its wrist. They matched Stefano's physique perfectly, giving him an even more dangerous and forbidden appearance.

"Twenty-five," he replied curtly, trying not to prolong the subject, Stefano hated talking about himself. I raised my eyes to him, who did the same for a few seconds, his face serious, his lips a little pouty, without showing any reaction.

"There are many, perhaps not for those who like pain," I said.

"Do you think I like pain?" His lips moved, his eyes squinted and waited for my answer.

"Maybe... Do you think you could fuck me without tying my hands, marking my skin... punishing me?"

"I could do anything I wanted, Beatrice." He remained serious, although his dark eyes shone as he looked away from me. He placed his fork on his plate, scooping up some more of his food, the muscles in his arm stood out as he leaned in briefly. Everything around me became a blur as I focused solely on those words laden with disguised intentions. Unable to ignore the erotic energy consuming me, the impure thoughts kept hammering at the back of my mind.

"I have to go to the bathroom," I said, still dazed by it all, I moved my feet, the combination of this and the drink causing me to hit my foot on one of the table legs, and the champagne glass wobbled and fell, shattering mostly on my bare leg. A groan of pain escaped my lips as the effervescent liquid mixed with the red of some of the cuts on my skin.

"Damn," I said to myself.

Stefano's cold gaze roamed over me until it landed on my leg. He calmly got up and walked towards me, maintaining his characteristic pose of power and control.

His steps were precise and calculated as if he were crossing a minefield. The atmosphere around me seemed to get even denser as he approached, even though it was burning there. I tried to raise my body, but his hand, which would normally have been away from me and my body, stopped me.

"Don't try to get up, Beatrice. I don't want any trouble if it's something deeper. Let's go to the bedroom, I'll take care of it." His cold, seductive voice echoed in my ears, momentarily snapping me out of the awareness of the pain I was in. I felt Stefano's firm, thick hand wrap around my waist, not caring that part of my leg was honeyed and sticking, lifting me with ease. His eyes met mine as I wrapped my hands around his neck, and he finished settling me in his arms. I swallowed, my eyes going down to his mouth, I was about to lift my body a little, wanting to touch it, when Stefano turned away and walked with me into the house, bringing me back to reality. I still felt the pain from the wound in my leg, and involuntarily, I squeezed his neck a little tighter, feeling his jaw clench, and Stefano didn't stop me, even though he wanted to.

With every step we took, the sound of his shoes echoed through the empty corridors of the mansion until we were at the door to his room, and he unlocked it centimeters away. He closed the door behind us and placed me on the bed without much care or concern. His icy eyes moved slowly down from my neck to my thigh, pulling my dress down to the middle of my thigh, the goosebumps evident on my skin, his fingers tracing a path there. When the fabric covered just a part of my leg before he could see my panties, his eyes studied my wounds before moving away, disappearing into his closet in search of something. My eyes traveled around the room again, looking more calmly at the corners of the room, until my eyes landed on the brown paper tucked into the corner behind the armchair, a part of the object visible, confirming that Stefano had bought that painting, which we had both spent a considerable amount of time analyzing, ending in a clash. My mind rewounded Stefano's every move since I had arrived there, and I felt increasingly confused about whether Stefano had something other than that, his contradictory attitudes, which made me constantly question whether there was something beneath that mask or not.

His footsteps echoed again, and I took my gaze to his waist, the fabric marking his member, as he returned, carrying a first aid kit. He positioned himself on the end of the bed, bending one knee between my legs, his hands wrapped around my ankles, bringing me down until my thigh was closer, which made me imagine Stefano placing himself between my thighs, looking into my eyes.

Stefano opened the aid kit and took out a wet wipe to clean the wounds on my leg, with a mixture of patience and brusqueness. His serious expression and attempt to look centered made me feel that he had done this many times before to himself and perhaps to other people, even though he seemed indestructible, even though I would never believe that anyone could physically hurt him. He didn't say a word, he didn't look away. Didn't Stefano want to seem affected by his touch on my skin too, or did he just not feel what I was feeling?