Silence reigned briefly, before recognition dawned, her eyes widening as she went full tilt. “Oh, my God, you scarred me!” she shrieked, the sound tearing through the quiet room.
Fuck, her rage was a turn on of note, sparking heat low in my stomach as I grinned. “Correction. I marked you.”
“Marked me?” She fought the belt, her muscles straining against the restraint. “You ass! You insane, screwed up psycho!”
Her chest rose and fell in rapid pants, her mouth screaming words I didn’t think existed in any uncouth dictionary. Italian, French, Russian, a language I assumed was some Indian dialect, flowed from her lips in a venomous torrent.
When her shouts choked down to nothing but raspy croaks, she glared at me, her breath hitching in her throat. “You are so dead, Mr. Rossi.”
I let out a loud laugh, the authenticity of the sound unfamiliar as I watched her struggle. “You?” I pointed a finger, my shoulders jerking with mirth.
She scowled, her gaze burning hot holes through me. “Laugh all you want, but I promise you, I will kill you.”
Anyone listening to her right now, would believe the vengeance in her words. “Well, little fox, I’m intrigued to findout just how indulgent your threats are.” I stepped closer and untied her hands.
Face flushed a deep red, she rubbed blood back into her wrists, her eyes never leaving mine. “Remember my threat, Remo, you’re going to fall for me. Hard.” With that, she grabbed the half empty bottle of oil I’d neglected to pack and threw it at me, with surprising aim.
Laughing hard, I sidestepped the bottle but couldn’t avoid the oil spill completely, the slick liquid soaking into my shirt, though after the night I’d had, it didn’t bother me in the slightest.
“I washed you down and changed you into–” I didn’t get to finish because she was off the bed and racing for me, her movements unexpectedly fast.
Another laugh spilled out of me as I let her chase me to the stairway. Ultimately, it was her no doubt painful pussy where I’d tattooed my name that had halting and limping back to the room, still glaring at me over her shoulder.
Fuck, I was going to enjoy playing with this fox.
thirty-one
. . .
Ishika– 31 years old
Sunday morning sunshine seeped through my shut eyelids forcing them open. With a soft sigh, I sat up and stared out the window between thick curtains I never bothered to close at night. Unlike the city with its bustling people and noisy traffic, the countryside was quiet and the sun not intrusive, so I never woke up feeling groggy or like I hadn’t gotten enough sleep.
When Dr Carlo brought me to Italy, I had no idea his little family-owned villa was one of the perks. There was no rental and the only cost to my pocket was to maintain the upkeep of the place which I readily accepted. Although it was located on the outskirts of the city, buses where plenty, reliable, and punctual and why I hadn’t bothered with acquiring a car.
Stretching, I dragged my hands through my hair and pushed aside the covers. The sudden chime of the doorbell had my feet pausing midstride to the bathroom. I made a face checking the time. By normal countryside standards, eight thirty was considered late since most people got up early. Either for church, big traditional breakfasts, tending their gardens orfarming. Being a resident doctor, however, sleeping in was a scarce privilege.
Only, I wasn’t getting any.
Seven days had passed since that blowjob followed by that godawful tattoo I couldn’t get rid of, not without embarrassing myself. Seven days I’d stayed hidden, reduced to a rat fearing a big monstrous cat.
To add insult to injury, my sleep was constantly disturbed by dreams or should I say nightmares, featuring my mafia monster either killing me or fucking me. Worse, were the ones that got me all hot and bothered enough to seek reprieve under a cold shower.
His aura was that good.
If that wasn’t enough to unsettle me, I constantly peeked out my window expecting to find him parked outside, watching me. I ignored his first threat and see where that left me, no way was I ignoring another. Thankfully, he hadn’t made an appearance.
“I hate you,” I vented my dislike for the mafia monster
Like some potent omen, the doorbell chimed once more followed by Trixie’s shout, “we know you’re in there, Ish, so open up.”
God, she was loud. Clearly, they hadn’t bought my bullshit swine flu story that I swore was worsening every time they called or wanted to visit.
Grabbing a robe, I shoved my hands through the sleeves, secured the belt around my waist and while pulling my hair up into a messy bun, I ran downstairs.
“We brought wine,” Trixie waved the two bottles in my face the second I opened the door before disappearing toward the kitchen.
“Seven fucking days, girl,” Brandi scolded, her expression pure disbelief.
