Page 8 of His Property

“Tell Gabi I said hi.” He lowers his eyes to his desk work.

“You bet,” I say, testing him a little. He doesn’t react.

I turn to leave his office, heading straight for the exit. Lorenzo’s right hand, Joe, passes me in the hall, and I give him a smirk and a nod, but he only scowls in return.

Once I’m past him, I smile, hooking my thumbs in my pockets. The list burns in the back pocket of my jeans, and as horrible a timing I know a time-sensitive job like this is, it’s starting to lift my mood. I need the distraction. Maybe it’ll even be fun.

I’m whistling by the time I make it to my car and head home.

3

MAE

My candle burns and fills my bedroom with its pleasant, vanilla scent.

I breathe it in and close my eyes. My middle finger glides over my clit, slick with arousal, and I arch my back.

I’m almost there. My core is wound tight, and warmth hugs my body.

I started out by seeing the characters in the book I was reading ten minutes ago, but now I see myself and Victor. I trail a hand over my waist and pretend it’s his touch instead of my own. I run my fingers up my side and over my breast. My lips part. My thumb circles my nipple, and when I pinch down hard, I gasp.

So. Fucking. Close.

I slip a finger into my pussy and gather arousal before going back to my clit and rubbing, faster this time. My breaths come out in pants, and it almost feels like he’s here, rubbing me, kissing me, claiming me as his. I told myself the last three nights that he shouldn’t be the one in this fantasy, but right now, I let him control me. Hurt me. Do whatever the fuck he wants to me.

“Yes,” I cry, my mouth open wide and toes curling. The tension in my core snaps, and I’m flooded with pleasure.

My pussy spasms, and I fall limp on the bed as I come down from my orgasm. I rest my arm on my damp forehead and breathe heavily with my eyes closed. It’s one in the morning, but only now do I feel like I could sleep.

Someone bangs on my front door.

My eyes open and I jerk upright, my head shooting in the direction of the bedroom doorway. I get that awful sinking feeling that happens when you’ve been caught doing something bad, and I can feel my already flushed face getting hotter. I climb out of bed, adjust my pajama shorts, and pull on my spaghetti-strap top I tossed onto the floor.

Whoever’s at the door bangs again.

“Who is it?” I grab my robe off the door hook and throw it on, wrapping it tightly to hide my chest.

I don’t get an answer, and it only makes the sinking feeling worse. I check my curtain to make sure it’s closed and the neighbor kid couldn’t have been peeking inside my window or something. It isn’t even cracked.

Another bang, and I walk to the front door. A quick peek through the peephole shows me it’s TJ.

What the hell?

I quickly unlock the door and swing it open. I’m prepared to go right into a lecture about common courtesy and not showing up at this time of night, but the tears and the absolute terror on his face punch me in the gut.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, my face falling.

“I’m so sorry, Mae.” TJ’s face contorts, and fresh tears spill from his eyes.

“Sorry?” I give my head a shake. “Sorry for what?”

On cue, a man steps into view next to TJ with a gun pointed at his head.

I recognize him immediately, even with the shock and terror that flood in with the memory. I don’t have to dig too deep. He was at the forefront of my mind five minutes ago.

Victor.

For him, there’s a delay of recognition. He gives me a wide, sinister grin, then shoves TJ into me. My robe falls open when I reach out to catch TJ, but I barely register the cool air on my exposed flesh. TJ and I backpedal away from Victor while he comes inside and kicks the door shut, turning and locking it before facing us.

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