"I remember." I smiled too—first real one all day. "You always gave me your share."
"Seeing you smile was sweeter than the candy." His gaze softened.
In that moment, the warm lights, Marco's gentle smile, the sweet tiramisu—it almost made me forget the photos and email.
Dessert done, Marco checked the time. "About that hour. I'll take you home."
I didn't argue. No idea if that creep was tailing me.
Marco drove me to my building, insisted on walking me up.
"Marco, really, no need. It's daytime, we're at the door—I'll be fine," I pushed. "Hospital's probably swamped; get back to work."
He hesitated a long time, finally nodded. We said goodbye downstairs. I watched his car pull away, vanish around the corner.
Glanced at my phone—1 p.m., lunch hour, streets quiet.
I turned, quickened my pace—
Suddenly, a hand clamped over my mouth from behind. An arm snaked around my waist, dragging me toward a black luxury car parked curbside. The strength was overwhelming—I couldn't break free, couldn't twist to see who.
"Don't move." A voice whispered in my ear, warped through a voice changer, mechanical and terrifying. "Come quietly, or you won't like what I do."
With that, a hard, cold object pressed into my side. A gun? I swallowed hard. Wanted to fight, scream. But I didn't dare—afraid he'd shoot.
Door yanked open. Shoved into the back seat. Before I could react, fabric blindfolded my eyes, a silicone ball stuffed in my mouth. Hands twisted behind my back, roped tight. Tried to speak, but the thing gagged me—only muffled whimpers, drool trickling down.
"The gag suits you." The mechanical voice said. "So cute."
I kept trying to make noise, ask who he was, what he wanted. Failed.
His hand pushed the gag, sliding it in my mouth, making my jaw ache.
"Want to know who Iam?" He asked.
I nodded.
"You will, but now I'm punishing you."
With that, I felt his body press over mine. His hands started ripping at my coat and sweater, rough and violent.
"No! Stop!" I screamed in my head, thrashing wildly, but in the tight space, my struggles meant nothing. His power crushed me.
Fabric tore loud in the sealed car.
His hands yanked harder, shredding the sweater away, buttons popping, exposing my lace bra and the smooth curve of my cleavage. I squirmed, but he pinned me down, the blindfold keeping me in darkness. The gag muffled my protests into pathetic moans. He chuckled through the voice changer, that eerie mechanical rasp sending chills through me.
"God, your body is so fucking beautiful," he growled, his breath hot on my skin. "Mature, ripe, like it was made for this. Look at these tits—perfect, Elena. So full and inviting."
His fingers traced the edge of my bra, then hooked under and ripped it off with a savage tug, the straps snapping. My breasts spilled out, nipples hardening in the cool air of the car. I felt exposed, vulnerable, my mature curves on full display—my body that had carried a child, with its soft swells and faint stretch marks that only made it more real, more womanly.
He paused, like he was admiring. Then his voice turned sharp. "Who else has seen this? Who else has looked at what's mine?"
I shook my head frantically, the only answer I could give with the gag in place. No one. Not since... but why explain to this psycho? It was the truth—I hadn't let anyone close like that in years.
He let out a cold laugh, distorted and menacing. "You're being good, huh? You know what to say so I won't get mad."
But I wasn't lying. I didn't owe this freak shit. My head shake was real; he could believe what he wanted.
