Dark Intentions

|12. The bliss of destruction|

Escape this deliciously attractive kidnapper who makes you feel all warm and weird when you make eye contact with him

Get back to New York and inform the police of what the fuck has just happened over the last 24 hours

Go back to work and pretend this nightmare never even occured in the first place.

"What are you thinking about?" His voice was like a lasso that wrapped around my thoughts and pulled me back to reality. His tiredness showed through his voice which sounded deeper, more husky and rough.

Instantly I turn to him, though Mortes eyes haven't strayed from the road.

"Huh?" Is my intelligent reply.

"I'm concerned about your lack of persistent pestering. No funny business." He pushes and now that my mind had cleared the fog of sleep and I was feeling more alert I could feel the instant effect of his gruff voice on my body. It felt like someone was running their nails across my skin, sparking all my nerves. That spark had spread to the untouched space between my thighs and was not spreading to a full-on forest fire.

Fuuckkkk!!

I gulped hard, my fingers fisting into the leather car seats.

Was I.... Was I horny?

No. No . No- this cannot be happening. Not with him!

"Uh, I-I was just thinking about what excuse I will tell my work when I get back." I stutter out eventually after a pained second of complete silence.

I squirmed in my seat, trying hard to ignore how hot I was suddenly feeling.

My movement didn't go unnoticed and Morte glanced over with a raised eyebrow. His eyes were piercing as they met mine, a small indentation appearing between his brows as he scowled.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He growls and that noise honestly makes me have to squeeze my thighs together-tight, and bite my tongue to stop myself from moaning. This is not fucking happening!

My face blazes bright red and I thank all the gods for the fact Morte most likely couldn't see my flushed cheeks in the dark.

"I need to go to the bathroom." I finally mumble when his eyes leave mine momentarily so he can focus on the road.

"You are going to have to hold it in." He fires back and I grip my thighs through my joggers. The problem was quickly going from bad to worse. Now that I had mentioned needing the toilet, my bladder had realized quickly that I hadn't relieved it the whole day and was now wanting to correct that immediately.

"Morte, please..." I moan weakly, suddenly on the brink of wetting myself all over his nice black leather seats.

Ironically this wasn't the 'wet' my naughty thoughts were hinting at moments ago.

Was it me or did his hands just get tighter on the steering wheel? I watched in a strange awe as his jaw clenched hard and his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.

"How desperate are you?" He growls.

I didn't have the time to contemplate the potential double meaning.

"Five seconds and blood won't be the only bodily fluid you will have to clean up." I practically squeal trying my hardest to squeeze my bladder.

Without warning the car screeches to a halt and my body lurches forward, the seatbelt graciously preventing me from splattering across the dash.

He doesn't even get a chance to make his predictable threats before I dash out of the car and run to the bushes on the side of the road. Once again I am thankful for the cover of the night as I pull down my joggers and hide behind a relatively large bush to complete my business. I should be embarrassed as the only sound in the other wise pitch silence was my stream of pee but at this point I don't think there is any space in our dysfunctional relationship for embarrassment.

I stay crouched for a few seconds when I realized that I would have to air dry as I didn't have anything to wipe with.

I hear Morte shuffling a few steps away. He mumbles something and even though it's just us two and the wind I can't quite catch what he said.

"What was that?!" I call out, still crouched on the ground. I hear footsteps getting closer.

"I said, are you finished?" He grumbles and I roll my eyes as I can almost picture his scowling face.

"You don't have any tissue I could have?" I called out again, though from how clear I could hear the rustle of his clothes he was closer than I first expected.

"For fucks sake." He snarls. "You are really driving me to the edge, you know."

I grit my teeth. Seriously?

"I'm driving you to the edge? Are you for real? Do you somehow suffer from short term memory loss. Do you or do you not remember exactly why the fuck we are in this situation- together? Because as appealing as being in your relaxing presence is, I for sure didn't have any choice in the matter." If we were going to argue about who exactly was in the wrong I sure wasn't taking the blame for it.

"These rope burns on my hands can testify for that." I add snarkily when I notice the dark chafed skin on my wrists.

Remembering who I was dealing with and recognising that it would be more likely for pigs to fly than for Morte to turn up with some Kleenex, I shuffle to my feet, ignoring the cramps from crouching and pull my trousers. I kick some dust over where I had done my business and walk back around the bush.

Morte was standing a few feet away, arms crossed over with his familiar grouchy staring me down.

"And if I did suffer from any memory loss whose fault would that be exactly?" He bites back, his biceps flexing under his jacket sleeves.

"Oooh!" I point a finger in his direction, "Don't you dare." I practically snarl back, a new flame burning in my chest. "You hit me back too."

"It was barely a tap." Is his excuse and I could see him roll his eyes under the glow of a nearby streetlight.

"A TAP?!" I don't even realize I am unconsciously moving closer to the irritating brute. My fury has no bounds and with my clenched fists I hold my ground, digging my heels into the dirt a step away from him.

"What are you? Six foot five- six? 220lbs?" I spit, sizing his ridiculous structure with fire in my eyes. I had to crane my neck to meet his eyes due to the height difference. "A tap from you is like being on the receiving end of an atomic bomb! Absolute destruction."

In all honesty for a man of his build, Monte moves surprisingly fast and while I was still baring my teeth like a little kitten, his humongous hand darts out and wraps around my chin, tugging me up and closer to him. I was barely balancing on my tip toes when he leans down so that his lips were a hairbreadth from my ears.

"Sweetheart," he whispers, hot air blowing past my ears. "Not all destruction has to be painful. I can make it sweet too."

He steps back just enough to allow me to breathe again but his fingers around my chin only tighten. I had actually stopped breathing for a second. Like my lungs had actually given up.

"In fact," he continues and I had to battle through the sound of blood rushing through my ears to be able to hear what he was saying. My throat so dry it hurts to swallow. Eyes wide and alert I'm sure I appeared like a deer in headlights.

"I can make it so sweet that you will be begging me on your fucking knees to destroy you."

Fuck me.