“You want dirty pictures?” she asks, spitting the words.

I casually shrug one shoulder. It’s sort of funny to see her like this. I wonder about the pep talk she must have given herself to get so worked up because she’s so mad she’s practically shaking. “You think you’re going to blackmail me?” She takes a step forward, then back again. “Huh? Pervert?”

She’s bouncing from one leg to the other like a boxer. I chuckle at the image but it only makes her angrier. She finally stands still, fists her hands at her sides, her face going bright red.

“Well you can try and make me.”

I lean deeper into my seat, consider her, wonder if she’s realized how much more interesting she’s just made this. Taking my time, I unbutton the cuffs of my shirt, roll the sleeves up to my elbow before I reply. “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Are you?”

“Fuck you.”

“And you seemed so sweet,” I say, standing.

She spins to run from the room, but I catch her easily, my hand wrapping around her arm to halt her. I pull her into my chest. Cock my head to the side. “I was thinking I’d get a slow strip tease, but this will be much more fun.”

“Let me go!”

I lean in close, inhale the scent of her. Smell the fear creeping back up to the surface. Make a point of doing so. “Just remember, you chose this. It could have gone easier.”

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.”