Tempted (erotic) (#4, 101 Nights)

Chapter One: Alisha

I hate his touch, the way he roughs me up then fucks me until he’s tired and laughs while I try hard to stay numb. It’s not in my nature to sit back and take it, but I kind of don’t have a choice.

This is my penance. I’ve messed up bad a couple of times in the past few months and hacked two people I shouldn’t have: Tony and George. Too much is catching up with me, all at once. If not for the protection of Tony, the man who likes to hit before he fucks, I’d be in jail for the rest of my life.

Or worse.

Pulling on my jeans and shirt, I shudder as I look over his body. He’s lying naked on his bed, overweight and pale, his limp dick resting between his thighs. He’s snoring, content after tonight’s round.

I need a shower. Or maybe, sandpaper to rub all over my body until every last skin cell of his is gone. Now is usually when the tears come. I don’t feel them yet.

Tonight, I feel angry. It’s not a good emotion, not where he’s involved. I learned quickly it was better to lie there and let him do whatever his sick mind tells him than to fight back, because he gets off on me struggling.

And it takes a long time to heal, if something down there gets torn. I spent the first month in constant pain. At his beck and call, I’d hoped he’d keep his rough hands off me except for a night every week or two. It seemed like a small price to pay.

But it quickly escalated from one night a week to three or four, to this week, five. I don’t know why the sudden change, and I can’t help thinking it’s a really, really bad sign. Like a kid eating all the cookies he can cram in his mouth before brushing his teeth for the night.

I need to disappear for a while.

I hate him. My body is bruised, my pussy filled with his filthy, disgusting cum. I hate me.

There come the tears. Brushing them back, I finish dressing mechanically and walk to the laptop seated on a chair near the bed. He records every one of our sessions, backing them up on a server I haven’t been able to hack yet. His reasoning is good: if I kill him, it’s recorded. If I steal or walk out with something, it’s recorded. He has it set up to where, if he doesn’t enter a password by six in the morning, the recordings and every piece of evidence he has about me goes to every law enforcement official looking for me and every person I’ve ever hacked.

Jail would no longer matter. I’d be dead by noon, if not from those I crossed then because he promised to spill my client list, too, and a lot of people who hire hackers are not exactly walking the straight and narrow.

I click stop on the recording and close the laptop. My gaze strays to him again. The sense that something is up nags at me. I don’t have the nerve to take his laptop, but maybe there’s something else here that will help me hack into his fortress so I can free myself from his clutches. Something more than his increased appetite this week makes more willing to take a chance: my best friend, Natalie, who’s asked me to help her escape her larger than life circumstances. I’d do anything for her, even run away with her like we’ve planned, and the knowledge I probably won’t be around the next time Tony calls makes me braver tonight.

Sitting quietly at the modern, glass desk, I open a drawer then a second, seeking anything that might give me a key as to how to access files he doesn’t want anyone in. He’s got an entire bottom drawer filled with tiny storage devices - thumb drives and the like - and I gaze into it. I can’t carry them all, and I doubt he’d leave something important tossed in there.

I swipe at my nose and continue searching, not even sure what I’m looking for. Leverage. Something to blackmail him the way he is blackmailing me into having sex with him. Anything I can take with me when I leave town for a while with Natalie and use against him from a distance.