Sergio (Benedetti Brothers 3)

“Pictures?” She’s panicking. “Why?”

“You repeat yourself a lot, you know that?” I pause but I’m not expecting an answer. “Like I said, insurance. You talk and the photos get sent to your parents, your friends, are posted along the walls at school, etc…”

“Etcetera?”

“Trust me, this is the easiest way for me to do this.”

“What’s the alternative?” she asks as she pushes out of my grasp.

“The alternative would be…painful.”

She swallows. She’s wringing her hands. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“You’ll be fine. It’s just a few pictures.”

She shakes her head, rubs her face. “No.”

I point to the bathroom, and when she walks out of the room, I resume my seat on the couch. She doesn’t come back for a full ten minutes, but when she does, her fear seems to have lessened, or at least it’s well hidden behind eyes of fire.

She’s pissed.

“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.”4NatalieHe’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.”

I don’t know why but I’m shocked. Why would that surprise me, though? He’s got my jeans undone and I slap at him as he tugs them over my hips, down my thighs, off my feet.

“Stop!”

“No.”

He stands, pushes me backward so I’m laying on the seat of the chair behind the ottoman.

“It’s enough. You can take pictures like this.”

“No, not enough.” He reaches down and with one flick of his hand, my bra is ripped in two and hanging off my shoulders.

I cup my breasts to hide them from view. “Stop! Please stop. I’ll do it. Please!”

He leans down over me, holding me with one hand. “Too late, sweetheart,” he says as he strips my panties from me and just like that, I’m naked. I’m naked and he’s standing over me and looking at me.

I sit up. Cover myself as best I can. “You bastard. I hate you,” I spit, but my voice is weak.

“He takes out his phone and snaps a photo. Then another. “Arms at your sides. I want to see it all.”

I slide off the ottoman, but he comes at me with that stupid phone snapping away. Picture after picture.

I hit the wall, the corner. There’s nowhere for me to go. “Please stop,” I say. “Please.” I wipe my face with the back of one hand. “I’m sorry. I just needed to see the stupid warehouse and it’s not even going to matter anyway. I’m so sorry.”