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The itch to move on from this God damn cabin is almost overwhelming. More than just being stuck in one place with my thoughts, I’m struggling with being stuck here with a woman.
The last time I was stuck in one place with a woman…
No. I cannotthink about that right now.
That’s it, that’s the end of it. I’m done with my thoughts.
I glug back the rest of my coffee and head back inside to Emma. Our eyes lock for a moment, before she gives me the finger.
Lovely.
So fucking childish.
But then she is only twenty five years old. A couple of decades younger than me. Childish behavior should be expected from someone like that.
So why do I want to punish her?
Not punish her like the electrical shocks and the monitor on her ankle, butpunishher.
How would she take that? If I threw her over my knee and spanked her, would she fight back? I know I shouldn’t let my mind wander like this, but I can’t seem to help myself. I can’t seem to stop the temptation from overcoming me.
It would be alotof fun to punish her.
“I’m making some food,” I say instead. “You want some?”
She shrugs, which I now know means yes. Communication is starting to improve.
I need to get in the kitchen, to focus on something else so I don’t succumb to temptation. So I don’t grab this young woman and throw her across my lap. Because the more I think about that idea—of her writhing desperately underneath me as I smack my hand against her plump round ass—the harder it is to handle.
When Emma turns her back on me, I grab my cell phone to see if I’ve had any communication from the outside world yet. Well, mainly just from one person.
Samantha.
My New York contact who divvies out the freelancing jobs to guys like me must know what’s going on here. Even if she doesn’t work with Hudson personally, she must have some idea what is happening. That woman knows everything. Nothing happens in this city without her being aware of it. That’s why I need to speak to her more than ever.
I want her to tell mewhyLucchese wants Emma. Something I didn’t think to ask when I took on the job, because why would I care? But now Ihaveto know.
I know she’s the daughter of the Irish Mob Boss, but I don’t think this is strictly because of that. Vinnie might have ties to Ireland, but I can’t imagine they’re this strong.
What does Emma have that he needs?
What has Emma done or seen?
I don’t think she’s about to tell me a damn thing, so I haven’t even bothered asking.
Samantha hasn’t messaged me yet and I don’t want to harass her even more than I already have, so I’m going to have to find some patience somewhere.
With a deep sigh, I carry on cooking, trying my hardest to focus on the task at hand. Not the easiest thing to do when I have everything swirling through my brain all at once.
Even less so when Emma pushes passed me, pointedly so, and she reaches up to one of the top cupboards for… well, I don’t know what, and I don’t give a shit. All I can see is her blouse riding high, exposing way too much of her skin.
She grunts because she’s unable to grab hold of the bottled water I can now see her trying to curl her fingers around.
“Here, let me help… oof.”
She slams her elbow into my stomach, knocking me back.
“I don’t need your help,” she spits out through gritted teeth. “You’ve done enough.”
