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Adrianna Bagniola, the target, wasn’t secured in any obvious way. I didn’t even think they were certain which way they were going. And whatever that look on her face was, I don’t believe she was a terrified hostage.
No, this whole charade is a setup of some kind.
His eyes narrow some more and he leans forward. “You come into my house like a spy. You sneak around, and there are double-dealing plots and schemes wherever you go.”
“Really, I don’t know…” It sounds feeble. I know. But he doesn’t let me finish anyway.
He gets up noisily and stands. For his size, he’s surprisingly fast getting around the desk. “I don’t trust you, Miss Benedetti.” He’s reaches toward me. As he does, I catch a whiff of Jago’s scent on him.
That puts me off my guard, then the size of him overwhelms me. His hands and arms are too big for me to get out of the way in time. “Whatever you’ve got up to with my boys, whatever filthy, whorish tricks you might have used…”
I turn, but I’m backed against the desk. There’s nowhere to go.
“All the trouble around here, it’s because of you. It’s ALL because of you. I don’t need this shit. I don’t need all this aggravation. I’m sending you back to your daddy. He can fucking deal with you, he can take all the chaos and put out all the fires that break out around you, everywhere you go.” He’s rough as he grabs my shoulders. “I know the depths you’ll sink to, a slut like you.”
I’m ready to swing at him, but he hooks his ankle behind mine as he spins me round.
“Lets see what it is you’ve been trying to corrupt them with,” he rasps, holding my shoulder with one hand and shoving me forward. With the other, he starts to yank at my pants.
I grip the desk with both hands. He’s pulling my pants, tearing them as he does. I lean farther forward, supporting myself and taking my weight on both hands.
He jams a hand inside my panties. His fat fingers grope around. His hefty body is hot, crowding behind me.
An hour ago, I had it all. I was a hair’s breadth from having all my wildest dreams come true, and more. Now I’m about to be groped and mauled and probably worse, totally against my will, by some deranged, lumbering, mountainous fuckhead with fish breath and a mind like a rank sewer pipe.
To make it even worse, the way he’s gripping me with one hand and grappling with the other tells me this is not his first rodeo.
Well, it’s not mine, either. It wasn’t by luck or by accident I stayed a virgin all this time. I swing forward, rocking across the desk as far as I can. I need to be dead on target first swing. He won’t let me get a second shot. And I kick one stiletto straight out and back.
The awful sound of wet sinew twisting comes as he lets out a howl like a speared bull elephant. Now I need all the strength I’ve got and a feat of balance.
Spinning fast, I grab his balls so hard his eyes pop. He shoves me, and I’m losing my grip. He howls as I clamp my hand tighter.
Using his momentum, I get him swung around and back over the big desk. At the same time, I jam my two middle fingers hard into the soft flesh under the angle of his jaw.
Crunching his balls hard, I tell him, “You know that I can finish you right now. Right?” He snarls and roars.
I can’t deny the rush of pleasure I get from crushing his balls. Really, I have no idea how much they can take before they’re permanently fucked beyond repair. The human body has amazing powers of recovery. But I aim test his to the limit.
“I don’t know what all that bullshit performance was all about. Seriously, I have no fucking idea. Maybe it was just an excuse, a way to get yourself worked up to have a go at me. Was that it?” He doesn’t answer.
“Whatever it was,” I fix his eye, and I snarl. “You bring your junk anywhere near me,” another squeeze. I wonder if I can twist harder. I give it a try. His eyes bulge. I jab at his throat to remind him. “If this mess,” one more crushing twist. “Comes anywhere near me, ever again, I’ll serve it back to you as paste in a sandwich.”
I clamp my hand tighter one last time and twist. Hard.
He’s holding back a squeal or a yelp. The glint in his eye signals deep down, a dark, deeply buried part of him is loving this and wants more. I know it, that sick pleasure, and only because I recognize it. The thought of him and me being alike, especially in something like that, disgusts me.
It makes me want to kill him. Slay him and chop him into little pieces. Obliterate him and burn the body.
And just like I can see him in his eyes, I know he can see me in mine. Like it or not, in this instant we’re kindred spirits. He reflects the very worst of that terrible part of me, the part that I would burn out with acid if I could.
I hate him for bringing that to the surface in me, I hate him for mirroring it, and I hate him for what it makes me want to do to him. And I’m terrified how much he can see me, even when I’ve got his life on a knife edge.
It’s repulsive, and it’s unbearably intense. I don’t know how to let go. My guts bubble and quake. I could puke in his face. The least he deserves is death by fire. I settle for coughing a thick gob of spit into the middle of his face.
His eyes well and he shakes. I let go his balls and drive a knee into them as a farewell.
“Get out of my house,” he wails. “Never come back here. Never. If I ever see you within a mile of this place I’ll have you broken in pieces and fed to the dogs.”
