Sienna
Dante required me at his side for every public appearance. Charity dinners. Quiet meetings in private rooms where men in expensive suits spoke in coded sentences.
I wore the dresses Rosa laid out, stood close enough that cameras caught the ring on my finger, and answered when spoken to.
At night the rules shifted.
He started with the tie.
I came out of the bathroom one evening in one of his shirts and nothing else. He was already waiting, black silk tie loose in his hand.
“Wrists,” he said.
I should have refused. But before I even realized what I was doing, my hands were already held out.
He bound them in front of me, firm but careful not to cut circulation, then guided me to the edge of the bed.
He spent a long time with his mouth between my legs, slowly and relentless,
