Flabbergasted, I backed away until the wall at my rear forced me to faceplant into his cock. My hands shot out, grasping his taut thighs to keep my balance.
“That eager, are we?” He reached for me.
“Don’t touch me.” I tried pushing away from him. “You’re disgusting.”
He gripped my chin, forcing me to look up at him before he leaned down, bringing his face so close I could make out the black rings around those clear blue irises. “Trust me when I say this, little fox. Youwillfuck me, soon and youwillenjoy every disgusting thing I do to you. That includes begging to come while begging me to stop.”
“You’re a monster,” I choked, more out of exasperation than fear.
“I know?” His dark laugh sent goosebumps scurrying down my skin. “If I were you, I’d watch were you’re going. While I enjoyed these pretty lips.” He rubbed a thumb over my bottom lip, and I tried to jerk away but his hold tightened. “Unless I say different, the next time we meet, I’m fucking all three holes, in which order, depends on my mood.
There were so many menacing threats etched into his words I didn’t know whether to scream or cry my frustration. “I hate you,” I grunted childishly.
His answering chuckle had me grinding my molars. “Then you’re going to enjoy a lot of hate fucking until your pussy’s tired of me. With the way I like to fuck though, that’s a definite never.”
Oh, my God.
Not waiting for my response, he shoved his cock back in his pants and turned his back on me. Without thinking, I grabbed my discarded knife and threw it, my aim wild, unfocused. The tip sank into the door frame, mere inches from Remo’s head as he was about to step out. He stopped, stared at the still vibrating knife then glanced over his shoulder.
“Next time you throw a knife at me, little fox, make sure you draw blood. I’m certainly going to.” A wicked smile spread across his face, intensifying his threat. Then he was gone.
Only after hearing the outer door closing, did I stop glaring at the inner one and slowly stood, working the kinks out of my body with a few stretches. His last words echoing in my head, Iturned toward the sink. Catching sight of my face in the mirror, I grimaced. Thick mascara streaks painted my cheeks, dipping down to edge my pink swollen lips, the insides grazed raw by those piercings. My hair was a tousled mess of sex hair. If only it were the satisfying kind, I’d walk around like that just to prove my gratification.
Before I could sufficiently react, I doubled over, retching violently. Repulsion churned in my stomach, for myself, for him, and this absurd situation. Tears spilled, hot and unchecked, streaking down my cheeks.
“No, Ishika,” I scolded, a minute later, aggressively swiping my cheeks. “That monster doesn’t deserve your tears.”
Angry with my lack of restraint, I cleaned the sink, washed my face, finger-brushed my hair into a ponytail and fixed my clothing. I had no idea how my legs carried me out of the room, through the hospital corridors and onto the bus until I stepped off in front of the police station. Only when I sat down opposite the uniformed man ready to take my statement, did hesitation burden my shoulders.
Is this the right decision?
The memory of the piercing obscurity in Remo’s eyes sent a chill up my spine, but I shook my head, not willing to acknowledge my body’s fear of the man.
“Would you like to begin?” the officer asked, his English underpinned by a thick Italian accent.
“I was sexually assaulted and–”
He raised a hand to stop me, his expression sympathetic. “Would you prefer a female office,signorina?”
I glanced around the room, noting all the men with a frown. “Is there one available?”
He reddened, his smile slight. “If you can wait about forty-five minutes, someone–”
I shook my head, already too tired to spend anything more than the next ten minutes here. “It’s fine.”
“Okay.” He nodded for me to go on.
Throughout my recount, he listened, made notes when necessary and remained silent whenever I sought a calming breath. I wouldn’t consider myself a damsel in distress type of woman, but rape wasn’t something to leave you unfeeling or a little scared.
“Do you know the man?” the officer asked. Slowly, I shook my head. “A description or name maybe?”
I gave him a description, annoyed with how well I remembered even the slightest detail. “His name is Remo Rossi.”
Startled, the officer’s pen slipped, extending the end on the last letter he wrote across two lines. His dark eyes snapped up to my face, his brow furrowed deeply. “Did you say?—”
“Remo Rossi,” I repeated, anger already heating my neck, knowing what was coming.
“Signorina.” He set his pen down and linked his fingers on the table. “Do you have any idea who Mr. Rossi is?”
