Waking again, he was there, calling himself Pietro. The body of Nikos, the eyes of Jose, the essence of capture, kidnap, abduction in the fierce intent of his movement.
“You’re so scared, my pet,” he said stroking her head. “Such fear, such beautiful fear, how it makes you sweat.” He traced a bead of perspiration down her throat, drawing the wetness all the way to where the neckline of her blue suit hit the button just above her breasts.
“Who are you?” she gasped, her frightened eyes trying to understand where she’d seen his face before.
“A bandit,” he replied.
Such seductive eyes to lure her on.
“What do you want from me?”
“To f**k you, my pretty dark one.” The scorn on his lips was invitingly evil. He played with her hair, loosening the black unruly curls, so they were falling ever
