He tilted his head, lips twitching. “Every time you pretend you hate my touch, little fox, I’ll prove to you what a liar you are. And I won’t stop until you’re screaming my name in pained pleasure, until you’re riding my cock like a fucking ghost train to hell and I’m the only cock you’ll beg to want.”
Breathless, I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re a–”
“Monster?” Still holding my nape, he slipped his hand into his pocket and produced a small knife. Alarmed, my eyes widened as he brought it to my neck. He paused for moment, then before I could pull in a breath, he swung me around and cut the ties.
Eyes on the wall, I rubbed circulation back into my hands, refusing to look at him. When I finally worked up the courage to turn, he was gone.
That night, even though I should’ve gone home, I worked the late shift with the girls and when we sat down to a midnight snack, one part of me was sorely tempted to tell them about Remo’s visit while the other remained embarrassed with my submission to him.
“I heard Remo was in the hospital this morning?” Stasia said, nudging a plate with an apple crumble slice toward me.
I drew the plate closer, pretending interest in stirring my coffee but when I looked up to find three pairs of eyes on me, I caved. “Let me guess, Guiselle?” I mumbled.
Stasia nodded. “What did he want?”
“What do you think?” I exhaled wearily then told them about the tattoo and this morning’s visit.
“Oh, My God, he actually tattooed your…” Her cheeks pinking, she leaned closer. “Your pussy?” I nodded, trying not to laugh at her toss-up between curiosity and disgust. “I’d like to meet that man and stuff a knife in his eye.”
“You and me both,” Stasia scoffed, reaching out to rub my arm affectionately.
“Did it hurt?” Trixie still looked fascinated.
“Like a bitch.” I shuddered, remembering the pain. However, with it came the memory of his taste of him on my lips, that demanding mouth on mine, his intense fingers in my pussy, that punishing cock between my breasts and the reddish bruise I now sported.
Shifting in my seat to stem the sudden rush of arousal I should not be feeling, my eyes darted between my friends, guilty embarrassment slithering down my spine.
Brandi passed me a plate of grapes. “Well, at least you don’t have to worry about him anymore. The Rossi brothers are leaving town.”
Surprised, the grape I popped into my mouth went down before I could bite into it. My body erupted into a coughing fit. When I finally cleared my throat while Stasia rubbed my back, I stared at Brandi through watery eyes, my expression coaxing her for details.
“A wife of one of the henchmen mentioned it,” she explained.
“When? How?” I asked, my voice breathy with disbelief. Brandi took a sip of her coffee unfazed by the tension tightening my body. Could it be true? Had Remo really left town? “Now, Bran,” I spluttered, unsure why I suddenly felt flustered.
Her eyes went wide before she gauged my meaning. “Sorry, babe.” She smiled her apology. “My friend Mia, who I haven’tseen in a while, is in town visiting her family. I met her at the supermarket this morning. Her husband works for the Rossi brothers up at their castle. He mentioned they were flying back to New York tonight. Apparently, the brothers were returning home.”
“So, I was anxious for…” I trailed off, surprised by the abrupt displeasure filling my chest? I should be happy. The man practically raped me, mutilated me, I should be angry.
“You wanted him to stay?” Trixie hedged.
“What?” I barked out a laugh, my eyes darting to each woman, hoping they weren’t reading too much into the chaotic debate going on in my head that I probably wasn’t masking well.
“Sorry.” She shrugged. “But for a minute there, you kind of looked like you were disappointed.” The other two nodded their agreement.
I reined in my annoyance, mentally kicking myself. “Well, I’m not.”
“Maybe you’re attracted to the bad boy type,” Trixie pronounced, earning a slap on the arm from Stasia. “What?” The younger woman pouted, rubbing her arm. “I mean lots of women are attracted to the bad body type, right?” She looked at all of us, as if trying to get someone to agree with her. When no one did, she sighed. “Okay, maybe I’m alone in this.” My laugh had her smiling again. “I’m sorry for being insensitive, Ish.”
“You’re not,” I soothed, wrinkling my nose. “And you’re right, plenty women are turned on by the bad boy type and loads more who’d probably kill for Remo Rossi’s attention. I’m just not sure if he’s the type of guy for me,” I added, relatively sure I was lying to myself.
Could I hope though, that he was gone? For good perhaps? If the answer was yes, what was that strange tightness in my chest I decided not to explore further.
two months later
thirty-three
. . .
