The Woman in the Trunk

And each step back to my apartment had anger bubbling up.

I didn't like being lied to in general.

But this reaction felt over the top, even for me.

I was storming into my place without thinking shit through rationally, kicking out Emilio.

And there she was.

In yoga pants that fit her round ass all too well.

With that challenge in her eyes.

With that haughty lift of her chin.

With that smart mouth her father disliked, but I always found intriguing.

Except now, I didn't just find it intriguing. Oh, no. I found it sexy as fuck.

So when she threw that sass at me, I pounced on her, not giving a thought to how it was an abuse of power, how she was trapped, how she might have let me do it just to save herself from retribution.

For a second, that fear gripped my system.

Until, of course, her lips started responding under mine.

It was still a dick move, though. And that realization made me pull away, made me rush toward my room before I could rip off her panties, lift her up on that counter, and fuck her until she was screaming out my name.

It was about five seconds too late that I realized my mistake.

I wasn't just any man.

And she wasn't just any woman.

I had left my captive unattended near an exit.

And like any good victim, when she saw a chance for escape, she took it.

I was right behind her.

She couldn't have gotten too far on those short ass legs of hers.

But by the time I broke onto the street, she was nowhere to be found.

Even after I called in Chris and Emilio, then Anthony, we got nothing. We staked out the bakery for hours, her apartment, her father's place.

It was just before the bakery closed that I realized where she was most likely to go, what her most rational next step was.

If she wanted to get away from us, she needed her shit, her IDs, her money, her car.

They were all in Cape May where she'd left them.

We were there in a couple hours, watching the house.

There was no sign of Giana, but an older lady showed up, packed up Giana's shit, put it in the trunk, then drove the car back to her own house.

It didn't take too much work to get the woman out of the house for a while with some bullshit about "winning" a free dinner at a pricey place in town, to slip in and wait for Gigi to show.

I knew she would.

Then there she was.

A part of me thought she might immediately give in.

The other part was glad when my little hellcat reared her head again, tossing burning hot coffee at me, and making a run for it.

Skin scalded, pain searing across my nerve endings, I rushed after her, grabbing her arm near the top of the stairs. But she whipped around with her free arm, slicing across my wrist with bared nails, sinking in ruthlessly, drawing blood, surprising me enough to release her. I caught up to her again at the landing, grabbing her, slamming her back against the wall, watching as those gray eyes blazed up at me, that haughty fucking chin raising, daring me to put my hands on her.

And, fuck, I wanted to put my hands on her, alright.

But not to hurt her.

At least not in any way that she wouldn't like.

"You done fighting me yet?" I asked, watching the rise and fall of her chest in that plain black tank top she had on. No bra, and the air conditioning had her nipples pebbling up under the fabric.

"Not even close, asshole," she snapped, bringing her knee up.

Luckily, if there was one move I was always prepared to defend myself against, it was a knee to the balls.

My hand shot down, grabbing her knee, yanking up, pulling it wide, pinning it against the wall.

It should have ended there.

Fighting had never been a form of fucking foreplay for me before.

But there was no denying my cock straining against the fly of my slacks, the tight grip of need in my balls.

I shifted closer, my hips moving inward, taking advantage of her vulnerable positioning, pressing my cock against her pussy.

The gasp that escaped her should have been startled, offended, fearful—anything but what it was.

Needy.

Her chest was rising and falling rapidly. There was no way was from the twenty-foot flee from the bedroom. She might have been small but she wasn't so small that such a short distance would wind her.

No.

She was breathing heavy because she wanted me almost as much as I wanted her.

Curious, I thrust my hips inward harder, making a choked whimper escape her.

A slow, satisfied smile tugged at my lips. "So what are you running from, hellcat?" I asked, thrusting inward again, watching her eyes go small as I started to drive her up, toyed with her obvious desire to feel my finger, my tongue, my cock against her wet pussy. "What I represent? Or the fact that, despite that, you still want me?"