4
NATALIE
He’s too strong to fight off, but I try. I can’t not fight. Thing is, I know he’ll win. He’ll get the pictures. But maybe I can hold on to one shred of dignity if he has to make me.
When I went to the bathroom, he must have taken his suit jacket off, and watching him roll up his sleeves a minute ago, seeing his thick forearms, it just made me realize how weak I am. I wonder if he expected this. Expected me to fight. Because he was ready for me.
The Henley’s first. I hear it tear as he forces it from me and I stumble back when he does, hit the back of my knee on whatever’s behind me. I fall backward. It’s an ottoman. I fall onto the ottoman and Sergio Benedetti comes at me with that grin. It’s wicked and dirty and makes his eyes shine bright. And when he drops between my legs and grips my boots, I kick at him.
He laughs. He’s actually laughing.
“Stop, you’re sick!”
He gets my boots off. Then kneels up, grips my wrists and twists my arms. “Sure you don’t want to give me that slow strip tease?”
“Go fuck yourself!”
“I’ll be honest,” he says, pulling me in close. “I like this better. I like it rough.”
I don’t know why but I’m shocked. Why would that surprise me, though? He’s got my jeans undone and I slap at him as he tugs them over my hips, down my thighs, off my feet.
“Stop!”
“No.”
He stands, pushes me backward so I’m laying on the seat of the chair behind the ottoman.
“It’s enough. You can take pictures like this.”
“No, not enough.” He reaches down and with one flick of his hand, my bra is ripped in two and hanging off my shoulders.
I cup my breasts to hide them from view. “Stop! Please stop. I’ll do it. Please!”
He leans down over me, holding me with one hand. “Too late, sweetheart,” he says as he strips my panties from me and just like that, I’m naked. I’m naked and he’s standing over me and looking at me.
I sit up. Cover myself as best I can. “You bastard. I hate you,” I spit, but my voice is weak.
“He takes out his phone and snaps a photo. Then another. “Arms at your sides. I want to see it all.”
I slide off the ottoman, but he comes at me with that stupid phone snapping away. Picture after picture.
I hit the wall, the corner. There’s nowhere for me to go. “Please stop,” I say. “Please.” I wipe my face with the back of one hand. “I’m sorry. I just needed to see the stupid warehouse and it’s not even going to matter anyway. I’m so sorry.”
He ignores me and I cower, and only when there’s no more flash do I dare look up. He’s stepped backward, just one step, but he’s still looming over me, all dark hair and blue-black eyes and danger. He can make me do whatever he wants. Anything he wants.
I’m hugging my knees, using my legs, my hair, anything, to hide myself.
He studies me, just watches me for a long time before snapping another photo.
I turn my face away simultaneously. Hide myself from him.
“Take your arms away,” he says. His tone is different. Serious.
That shift in his mood changes things. I don’t know why, but it does. I know there’s no way out of this. Only through it. I’ve known it all along.
“Do as I say, Natalie.”
And so, I do. I move my arms away and he takes a photo. I look at him. He’s not grinning anymore. That cocky expression on his face is gone. He’s not making fun of me as he does it. He’s just taking pictures. I’m actually not even sure he’s enjoying it.
