Desire And Danger 18+

Nine

"I saw him coming here! Where is he?" Bursting through the door, I shove Francesca aside and wander into the room that seems to be an office.

Fancy wooden furniture from more than a decade ago fills the air with fading polish and leather scent, along with the musk and roses fragrance oozing from the old hag's exotic perfume—an Arab fragrance, I fathom.

I bank as I hear the door banging shut from behind me, and my attention shifts back at Francesca who finally manages to grasp the proper sight of me, and recognition dances in the pair of her gray, mascaraed eyes.

"You?" she utters with a wrinkled face, shock lacing her voice. Winding out the stubborn strands of aureate hair off her face, she agitatedly adds, "How did you get in here?"

I blow my cheeks, letting out the bad air filled in my lungs. There's no one else inside here except her. It's a big office but I see no other door but a large file cabinet and a bookshelf occupying the two sides of the room, apart from the leather sectional sofa paired with an old mahogany table.

Francesca starts laughing, probably having a blast at the way I'm scanning every section of the office with a touch of hysteria in my eyes, my whole body, as my feet move impatiently over the Ottoman rug covering the mid-floor with the hope to see Adrian seated or standing somewhere.

Just that. Not in a bed. Not with any other woman.

"You're so fucking persistent, huh? If I heard it correctly, I believe he broke up with you, didn't he?" Francesca taunts me, drawing her lacy-covered arms toward her chest as her body coasts about two feet away from me.

Her round breasts jerk up with a glossy fullness when she folds her arms on her chest, thanks to the plunged V-neck top she's wearing. It's long-sleeved, tight, and black, crammed into a pair of glossy, latex skinny pants that holds her old but vivacious body in place. She's full of makeup on her face, her lips shaded in bold pink.

To respond to her question, my heels clad thrice or so until I'm standing closely in front of her with an undulated look of menace. "I asked you one question, Francesca. Where is Adrian?" The words seep coldly through my teeth, passionate anger searing through me like a burn in the wind—so strong and consuming.

"Do you see him anywhere here? Do you, you foolish girl? No, right? Then it simply means he's not here! Just leave this place before I call security to drag you out!" Francesca lashes out with contempt, and soon her body falls back against the wall when I whirl her around, clasp her arms together, and pin them behind her lower back so tightly that her body jerks in protest.

She doesn't notice when I've drawn out my gun, and neither do I. All I know is that I'm pointing the short barrel against her stomach that thumps violently with each sharp breath she takes, and my breasts are crushed onto her back to strain from moving freely.

"Let go of me! What do you think you are doing?" Her voice is laced with horror, her breath thick and labored as she pants through her nose.

A thrill of adrenaline spikes violently through my blood knowing she's finally at my mercy. My lips twist into a diabolical grin as I press her body even harder onto the soft wallpaper drawn with intricate gold and cream designs.

"Where is Adrian, Francesca? I'm not gonna ask again this time," I whisper into her ear, breathing in the pungent smell of her perfume and hair shampoo at once.

I squeeze her hands tightly against her back, pulling a whimper out of her seething mouth. I can feel how tense she is, but there's nothing she can do. She's not a fighter, I reckon, and neither a killer like Adrian. Her defense is basic if all she can do is move futilely with nonverbal tantrums.