All Chapters of Submitting To The Devil - The Devil's Snare - Book Two : Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

Bianca "Kneel," Derek commands, his voice low and unyielding. I hesitate, a bead of anxiety racing down my spine, but ultimately, I succumb to his will, sinking to my knees at his feet. A shiver runs through me as I deliberately avert my gaze, afraid of the smouldering intensity in his eyes that holds secrets I'm not ready to face. It's so much easier to embrace the unknown than to brace myself for the reality of his intentions. If I didn't know better, I'd say I'd rather be caught off guard than fully aware of what could unfold. Deep inside, a flicker of defiance sparks; I am resolved to fight for my freedom, even if my size feels utterly insignificant against him. Derek towers over me, a formidable presence with broad shoulders and a chiselled physique that his shirt clings to, speaking volumes about his dedication to the gym. His muscles seem to ripple beneath his skin, a clear testament to countless hours of intense training that leaves me dwarfed in both height and streng

Bianca "Bambi?" Benji's voice drifts towards me, closer than I had anticipated. I look up to see him stepping into the room, his bare feet silently connecting with the cool tiled floor. A rush of confusion washes over him as he considers the precarious position I'm in. "Shit, Bianca?" he exclaims, the surprise lacing his voice. Before I can gather my thoughts, he gently rolls me onto my back, the warmth of his presence creating a stark contrast to the chill surrounding us. "Are you awake?" he asks, his voice a low murmur that cuts through the stillness of the room. Despite the question, I hold his gaze firmly; my eyes lock onto his as I fight the need to close them again, silently conveying the truth that lingers between us. "Can you sit up? You need to strip," he commands, his voice firm yet gentle. With his steady support, I manage to prop myself up, my back finding a small measure of comfort against the cool porcelain of the tub. As he assists me, I feel the fabric of my t

Continued: "Absolutely not." "You have no choice. You do it of your own accord, or I'll get Solomen to come in and force you. I know what I'd rather do. And I know what Don Densel wants to be reported back to him," she sighs unhappily. "What are you going to do?" I implore my voice barely a whisper, laced with a mix of fear and desperation. "Swabs," the response comes flatly. "We need to ensure you're healthy. If you have any birth control, take it out." "I don't have any, and I'm clean," I retort, my tone defiant yet shaky. I huddled further into myself, pulling my arms tightly around my legs, seeking a fragile sense of protection against the growing uncertainty surrounding me. "Fine," she hisses at me, her voice sharp and dripping with annoyance. I can feel the tension crackling in the air as she turns on her heel, her frustration echoing in each decisive step. My heart races, a flurry of anxiety flooding through me, especially as I watch her fingers graze the cool, wood

Continued: Silence envelops us as we walk, the sound of our footsteps blending with the hustle of the street. I catch sight of Luca's men trailing behind us—a formidable group of ten, armed to the teeth as always. And here I am, equipped with a single gun once again. If it comes down to it, I've only six shots to protect Luca. Damn it, he's right. What the hell is going on with me? "Alright, walk me through the day. What happened after you called me?" he asks, his gaze piercing and expectant as we pause at the street where I reached out to him just yesterday afternoon. I recount every detail, the tension palpable as I relay the urgency of the call and how I had used Rossi's bank account to secure the entire floor we believed would keep us out of harm's way. I describe the chaos of the shootout—my choice to shoot Densel in the neck, knowing he was wearing a vest. How we had scrambled down the side of the building, narrowly escaping bullets as Bianca and I clung to the fire stai

Continued: "Help me," I pleaded, echoing my earlier desperation from the boat. The weight of my vulnerability was palpable in the air. "I'm trying, Bambi, but you're hating me every step of the way," he confessed, his voice laced with frustration yet tinged with an unmistakable warmth that hinted at his deeper feelings. What motivated him to reach out and offer his assistance? And why was it so difficult for me to let him transform this moment—no matter how long it lasted—into something more bearable than the unbearable experience I had just endured in the bathroom? "I don't trust easily," I remarked, twirling a forkful of creamy Fettuccine Alfredo, the comforting taste of my favourite dish that my mother used to prepare with such love—if she really was my mother at all. A shroud of uncertainty enveloped me, and the more I pondered, the more the mysteries of my past loomed large, casting shadows over my thoughts. Whether these uncertainties were a product of my imagination o