Chapter 82: Pleasure and Punishment
Dante’s POV
I ended the call before he could respond and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. He knew better than to argue. Rossi had been my jeweler for years, since before Esme, before the empire was built. He’d learned long ago that when I called, there was no negotiation.
The city blurred past as I drove through on pure instinct. My mind was somewhere else, planning, imagining Gianna’s face when she realized escape was impossible, when she understood that running only made things
worse.
Then I saw it.
A neon sign cut through the dark… Pleasure and Punishment… flashing pink and purple against the night.
Adrenaline hit me like a shot. Perfect. Exactly what I needed.
I pulled into the lot and cut the engine. The place wasn’t subtle, dark glass, low music slipping through the walls. One look and you knew not to ask questions. This was where men came to forget, to take back whatever control life had stolen from them.
I pulled up and went straight inside. A blonde looked up from her computer and offered a warm smile.
“Good evening, sir. I’m Amanda. Welcome to Pleasure and Punishment. What are you looking for tonight?”
I skipped the pleasantries. I didn’t have time for them. Didn’t have the patience.
“Punishment.”
The single word hung in the air between us.
Her eyes widened slightly, then she had what could only be described as an oh moment, her professional facade shifting to reveal genuine interest. She was acting all giddy now, like a child who’d just been given permission to show off her favorite toys.
“Right this way, sir.”
She led me through the showroom, silk and lace on one side, toys for the curious on the other. I ignored it all until we reached the black curtain.
I followed closely behind her, my mind still on Gianna… on what I’d do when I found her… on how I’d make her understand that escape was never truly possible, not from me, not from this.
Soon we were in a different part of the store, a section separated by a heavy black curtain. The atmosphere shifted immediately, darker, more intense.
And there, arranged with near–artistic care, were tools of exquisite torment. Whips of varying lengths and materials hung from hooks on the wall, some long and lashing, others short and stinging.
The receptionist kept up a flirty running commentary, touching a flogger like a curator and smiling too wide. This one’s buffalo hide, perfect for beginners. This one“… she lifted a braided implement… “is for people who know what they want. Leaves a mark.”
”
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Chapter 82 Pleasure and Punishment
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She glanced back at me, her eyes heating with poorly concealed interest. “The sensation is quite intense. The perfect blend of pain and pleasure.”
I ignored her commentary, her attempts at engagement. This wasn’t new territory for me, though it had been years since I’d walked this path.
Years ago, before I met Esme, I was into this lifestyle. Not casually… deeply… completely… in ways that both fascinated and disturbed me.
I grew up in a brutal world where weakness was punished and strength was the only currency that mattered. The first time I was introduced to sex, I was seventeen and still naive in ways that seem impossible now. My father had introduced me to a woman named Isabella who was fifteen years my senior.
She had a taste for teenage boys, and her ex–husband was a rival mafia boss. My father needed information, needed leverage, and saw an opportunity to train his son and gather intelligence simultaneously.
It was sick. The whole situation was sick. But that was the family I grew up in, the world that shaped me into
what I am.
Isabella taught me everything about sex, everything about power and submission, about the razor–thin line between pain and pleasure. She liked it violent, needed it that way. She wanted to be spanked, whipped, and dominated completely… to surrender control in a way that paradoxically gave her the ultimate power.
I was young, innocent in my own way, and at first, it seemed strange… wrong, even. But later… later I got off on it. The pain and pleasure, all controlled by me. The absolute authority, the trust required, the intoxicating rush of taking someone to their limits and beyond.
I got the information my father wanted. But Isabella and I started a toxic affair that continued long after everyone thought it was over. Secret meetings, escalating scenes, a darkness that fed on itself and grew.
Everything changed when I met Esme.
Esme, who was innocent and soft…looked at me and saw something worth saving, something that could be more than my father’s weapon… who wasn’t born of the mafia world and didn’t understand its brutality.
I knew I had to become a better man if I wanted to earn her love. So I gave it all up… the lifestyle, the darkness, Isabella and everything she represented. I put it all behind me.
It was hard at first, fighting against instincts that had been cultivated and reinforced. But I fell so hard for Esme, so completely, that I just wanted to be worthy of her. Wanted to be the man she believed I could be.
But Gianna… Gianna awakens these dark sides of me… the sides that want to punish and pleasure in equal measure. Maybe it never really died, that part of myself. Maybe I just buried it under layers of respectability and false civility.
And now it was going to resurface.
I walked past Amanda’s curated display, my eyes scanning the darker things… the items that weren’t for beginners, that spoke of serious intent.
Nipple clamps, adjustable pressure, with and without chains, some with small weights attached. Butt plugs in graduating sizes. Vibrators designed for torture as much as pleasure, with remote controls and variable settings. Spreader bars for legs and arms. Bondage tape.
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Everything designed for torture and pleasure intertwined.
I pointed at an entire section. “I want it all.”
Amanda’s mouth fell open, genuine shock replacing her flirty one. “All of… all of it?”
“Everything I just indicated. Box it up.”
She recovered quickly, her face heating with a different kind of interest now… the predatory kind. “Oh, sir… what girl has you so riled up that you want to punish her this bad?”
She was practically vibrating with curiosity and arousal, her professional boundaries dissolving.
I ignored her question entirely, my voice flat and commanding. “Pack it up. Now.”
She saw the seriousness in my expression, which meant the conversation was over. “Right away, sir.”
I walked back to the main counter while she scurried around gathering items from displays and shelves.
She and another attendant packed the items into black bags, then she rang everything up, her fingers trembling slightly as they moved across the register.
“Your total is fifteen thousand, four hundred and seventy–three dollars.”
I pulled out my Black Amex card, platinum, and handed it to her without blinking… the kind of card that raised no questions, that never declined.
She processed it with shaking hands, clearly unused to transactions of this size at two in the morning.
“Get someone to help take it to my car,” I requestes as she handed back my card. I reached into my pocket, pulled out a few bills, about a thousand, and slipped them across the counter.
Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, thank you, sir. I’ll get someone right away.” She picked up the phone, pressing a button. “Marcus? I need you up front.”
A young man showed up almost instantly, early twenties, all nerves and quick obedience. One look at me and he seemed to understand the type of man I was… the kind you didn’t question or try to remember later.
He gathered the bags, almost tripping over himself as he followed me out to the parking lot.
His eyes widened at the sight of the Lamborghini. I pressed the key fob, and the doors lifted with a smooth hiss.
“That’s a beauty.”
I gave a faint smile. “Drop the bags inside.”
He loaded them into the passenger seat, nearly filling the space. I pulled out a roll of cash and pressed it into his
hand.
“Thank you, sir,” he stammered, stepping back, clutching the money.
I started the engine, its roar swallowing whatever else he said, Rossi should’ve reached his store by now.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
