My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 8 Questions by Marita A. Hansen Page B

his cock partly out of me, slamming
back inside, burying himself balls deep into my unwilling body. I
cried out, the pain causing horrible shivers to run up through my
stomach. Desperate to get free, I started struggling harder,
slashing out at him with my hands. His grip tightened around my
throat, cutting off my air supply. I tried to fight back, but I
felt dizzy, unable to breathe. My eyelids drifted down, my body and
mind giving up. I just wanted it all to end, even if it meant I
would die.
    A female voice shouted at me and
grabbed my arms, trying to jerk them away. My eyes shot open. I was
gripping onto my throat, trying to strangle myself. I let go and
sucked in air, greedily breathing in as much as I could.
    “ Are you alright, Jagger?” the
female asked, letting go of my arms. One side of her dark hair was
short with patterns decorating it, while the other side was long. I
didn’t know who she was, nor did I want to, because all I cared
about was finding where Alberto was. I looked around the room,
searching for him. Some abstract paintings lined the walls while a
desk sat under the window. I turned back to the girl—or woman, I
couldn’t tell, because she was so small, although her breasts were
large, the rip down the front of her tight black T-shirt
accentuating them.
    “ Where’s Alberto?” I
asked.
    “ Who?”
    “ My cousin. Where is
he?!”
    “ No one’s here but you and me,”
she said, looking concerned. “You were having a nightmare.”
    Feeling groggy, I pushed
up, then
scrunched up my nose as a strong musky smell hit me.
    “ Yeah, you do smell,” she said,
making me realize it was me who stunk.
    My eyes went to my body. I was
naked, apart from the sheen of sweat covering me.
    “ Do you need help?” the
woman asked.
    Anger bubbled up, what she’d
done to me
last night resurfacing. But I pushed it down, because I needed to
know who the hell she was before I made her pay. I refocused on her
face, trying to remember if I’d ever seen her before, even for a
moment in time, but nothing came. Though, her blue eyes made me
think of the Donatelli. Apprehension crawled across my skin, making
goose-bumps rise.
    “ Who are you?” I said.
    “ Teodora
Spinelli.”
    I narrowed my eyes, trying to assess
whether she was lying. She dropped her gaze, looking
embarrassed.
    “ Where am I?” I
asked.
    “ My home.”
    “ Why am I
here?”
    She looked back up. “You passed out in
town so I brought you home.”
    “ You have a habit of bringing
strangers home?”
    Her pretty face flushed
red. “It
wasn’t like that. I know you. We went to the same
school.”
    “ Well, I don’t know
you.”
    She breathed out, looking nervous. “I was
two grades under you, and I looked different back then.”
    “ I don’t know a Spinelli famiglia ,” I said, wondering whether she was lying. Though, she
appeared to be telling the truth.
    “ We’re not famous like
your famiglia .”
    “ My famiglia isn’t famous.”
    “ They are, especially you.
You’re like a celebrity around here.” She pulled a face, looking as
though she’d said something she hadn’t meant to.
    I frowned, not appreciating her words.
I’d had a number of stalkers, more than I could count on both
hands. They were annoying as hell, constantly pestering me as
though I was a fucking rock star. But I wasn’t, and I most
definitely wasn’t famous—nor did I want to be. I’d had enough
stalkers and creepers to last me a lifetime; I didn’t want to
encourage even more.
    Her blush
deepened .
“Do you need help to get up,” she said, taking a hold of my
arm.
    I wrenched it free. “You are not to touch
me again.”
    She jumped back, looking shocked. “No need
to overreact, I just wanted to help you.”
    “ Like you helped yourself to me
last night? I heard everything you said and did to me.”
    She clapped a hand over her mouth, her
eyes horrified. “I thought you were unconscious,” she said, her
voice muffled by her palm.
    “ So, you