Page 23 of CurVy 13

I look at Donnie, shocked and appalled. “It’s not just me? How many other women are you fucking!” My voice pitches in a way that might suggest I’m jealous, so I pull on the seams of my composure. That’s not what this is.

He grins, and I want to slap that smile off his face. “If I didn’t know any better, Pup. I’d think you were being possessive.” He laughs, actually laughs, in a throaty way. Stirring my insides with that sound, he manages to annoy and rouse me simultaneously.

Fighting with that truth, I growl. “Actually, I’m more worried about you giving me a damn disease!”

He laughs again. “I thought you were smart, Pup.”

“What did you do to her?” For reasons that only bother me, I hate the idea of being one of many. It makes me feel dirty and insignificant.

“A friend of mine is watching over her grandmother.” He leans in, and I get a whiff of cigarettes from his breath. “See, Louise likes to complain to strangers on the internet. Her entire life is on Facebook. It’s rather boring, unlike yours.”

“So, you haven’t… You didn’t?”

A slow grin touches his lips. “She’s not my type. And you asked for this, remember? You asked to be kidnapped, to be fucked and used. I’m just the one who answered.”

I swallow over a lump.

“Go in, Pup. Be a good girl. I’ll see you here at four-thirty. If you try anything, if I get so much as a hint that you’re being followed, I’ll text my man, and he’ll kill her grandmother. You understand? No one has to die. I’m only asking for a not-guilty sentence. Nothing more. Nod your pretty head and get out.”

I nod and open the door, but he reaches out and grabs my elbow. The energy in the car shifts, his tone deepening as he rumbles, “Don’t speak to anyone unless spoken to. Don’t let anyone touch you. You see, while I’m touching you, you’re mine. If I get a whiff of another man’s scent on you, Pup, I’ll bring out the screwdriver… Do you understand?”

It's just a threat, but it’s a painfully visual one.

I agree with another curt nod. I’m pulling away from him when I feel his fingers protest, his hand reluctant to let go.

He finally does.

And I walk to the courthouse.

CHAPTER 9

TYLER

She puts her hand on my thigh. My body stiffens. My willy starts to get stronger, but I focus on the keys.

"Martha Argerich was a showstopper by eight, but you're a dirty little boy who can't concentrate."

I slide forward, trying to hide my willy beneath the keyboard so she can’t see.

"You're too close. Back up."

Blood falls from my cheeks.

"Back up right now. You can't extend your arms if you hide your lap like that, silly boy.”

I slide back along the stool, and her hand squeezes my upper thigh, her fingers brushing the inside.

Fuck.

My willy gets stronger and pushes up beneath my zipper, pulling a groan from me.

"As I thought," she purrs, her lips brush my ear as she says, "A dirty boy like you will never play like Argerich. You don't want to finger those keys, do you? You want to stick your little fingers somewhere else?"

I can't breathe.

I feel so strange.

My hair stands on end, and I can't help it. Something is taking over—something wrong. This is very, very wrong, and I don’t want to feel it.

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