He is a force to be reckoned with. A lift of his finger & people are beheaded in seconds. A word from him & the streets of NY are bathed in blood. Any evil deed, you name it & he has done it. Vicious, nefarious, brutal & downright cruel. Majestic in...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Anastasia's POV:~
“Stand straight. Chin up. Stare ahead.”
Taking a deep breath, I do as the man says, eyes stuck to the t.v. screen against the wall where Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone is playing.
I watch as Ron tries to levitate the feather with his wand but fails as usual and Hermione takes over, teaching him the proper pronunciation of the charm.
“…it's Wingardium Leviosa. Not Leviosaaa.”
Professor Flitwick looks impressed with her while seeing her doing it so easily, Seamus Finnigan does the same and like every other time, ends up blowing himself.
His half-burnt state along with Harry’s shocked expression pulls a laugh out of me. No matter how many times I see, this scene always forces me to chuckle.
The man in the pink shirt before me glares as he stands with the tape. He goes to bed, takes the remote and switches to a news channel then comes back.
“Stand straight.”
I gulp, “Sorry.”
He sighs for the tenth time since he has got here and circles my neck with his tape, his pink hair falling over face as he does and my nose crinkles.
This man taking my measurements right now has come from the house of Versace with a team of his assistants who are acquiring Alessandro’s bedroom at the moment to make a dress for me that will be suitable for the theme of the gala this weekend.
The dress will be custom-made.
Do not ask me why. I really do not get the reason.
Why waste so much time and money when I get could get a dress from a random store as well?
I know this is Versace we are talking about and they are one of the bests out there. Still…
But what less can you expect from a man like Alessandro? He always goes overboard with everything he does and knowing his pride about his country, it is no wonder he assigned an Italian clothing brand for me too.
“Rita,” Cole, my tailor calls out to one of his assistants as he binds my neck with the tool in his hand.
The addressed woman nods, her pen hovering over her notebook as she waits for him.
“Note down. Neck 13…”
The door of the room opens, revealing the man of my dreams along with the cause of the soreness in my butt and the ache in between my legs.
My thighs rub together on automation at his sight.
God, he is so cruel.
He did not give me my release that day and forbade me from achieving it myself. My pussy is still craving for his touch and I can not do a thing about it.
