“Well hey, thanks,” Davo says. "If you want any more, you know where to find me.”
"You'd still sell to me? Even after…”
“Shit happens to me all the time,” Davo laughs. “He didn’t pull the gun on me, so I’m good."
"He had a gun?” I don't know why I’m surprised. Of course he had a gun. He’s a fucking mobster. A criminal brute like all the others. It doesn't matter how good he looks dressed up like a professor, everybody can tell there’s more to him.
“Yeah. I felt it when he grabbed me. Either that, or he was real pleased to see me.”
I laugh. Davo’s funny.
Right now, my plan is to stay out super late and only go back to my apartment when I’m pretty damn sure he’s going to be asleep rather than lurking around my apartment. He’s a lot older than I am, and old people need their sleep.It is well past one in the morning when I get back to my place. The bars are still open, but I'm tired. Tomorrow, I’m going to transfer out of Professor Caprio’s class. I can't stand being in his presence like six hours a week.
I’m careful as I come home. I make sure nobody is lurking around, waiting to catch me out this late. I let myself into my apartment with a sigh of relief. Thank god, I didn’t run into…
“Hello, Mia.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” I sling my bag into a corner of the room and I swing around to give him the dirtiest look I can muster.
"What the fuck do you wa…”
I don’t get to finish the question before he has hold of me, big arms wrapping around me to sweep me up off the floor. This man handles other people like they're mannequins. Like he’s the only real person in any given room.
He sits down on the couch. He pulls me over his thighs. I scream at the top of my lungs, both to attract the attention of anybody who might hear me, and to dissuade him from doing what I think he's going to do.
“Oh my God, stop! Oh my God, what the fuck! You’re touching me!!”
A massive hand slaps around my face, closing my mouth. “Stop screaming," Professor Caprio growls in my ear, his big body bent over mine, controlling me as I lie hopelessly prone on his lap. “Or I’ll gag you.”
He pulls his hand away.
“Get the fuck off me—….”
He slaps his hand over my mouth again, growling to himself about spoiled brats. He has something next to the couch. A bag. He was prepared for this. He’s had all day to think about what he's going to do to me. Apparently he didn't waste a minute of it.
I feel something big and rubbery pressing at my lips.
“Open,” he insists, but obviously I'm not going to open my mouth and let him gag me. Who the fuck does he think he is? I’m calling my father as soon as I can get away from him and he's going to fucking die. They're going to cut him up while he's still alive.
“Open,” he repeats, and this time, he slaps my ass. Hard.
The shock of it makes my jaw drop and he slips the gag into my mouth, fastening it behind my head with the touch of a man who seems to have done this before. The gag is one humiliating intrusion, but it’s the slap on my ass that really has my attention. That fucking hurt. My skirt has ridden up, but I've still got my underwear on. It did literally nothing to save me.
The shock of being spanked, just that one time, has brought tears to my eyes. I’m not crying. I swear I’m not crying, but my eyes are watering and I can't help sniffing them away. I’m surprised when he doesn’t keep spanking, but instead nudges me off his lap, keeping one hand in my hair so I can't stand, but I end up fucking kneeling on the ground between his long legs, looking up at him with a tearful gaze. What the fuck is happening to me?
Professor Caprio looks down at me with a composed expression, and damn, he’s sexy when he’s angry, his eyes all glittering dark, his jaw tight beneath stubble. I can see the weight of an almost endless tragedy focused on me, and more besides.
He's completely in control now, and he knows it. His hand is still locked in my hair, making it impossible to move, and the gag means I can’t speak either. I suddenly feel very, very small, and quite scared. There’s so much intensity in his mature gaze. He was angry when I doused him with water. Now he's triumphant, but that doesn't seem to make him happy.
He uses the thumb of his free hand to brush the tears away.