I’m shivering, so I do as he asks, and his monstrous hands wrap the jacket around me as though I’m as delicate as a rose, then I settle back in the seat, wondering what the hell I’m going to do now.

  I reach up and wince as my fingers touch the throbbing knot just above my temple where my head hit the street.

  “Thanks,” I mumble, running my hands up and down my arms under the jacket. “I’m fine now. I’ll call an Uber. Or just drop me off somewhere I can go inside. I’ll find my way home.”

  “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  “No,” I half shout, then try to control my tone. “I’m fine. It’s a little bump, no hospital.” I shake my head, and it makes me dizzy.

  He clears his throat as he puts the oddly quiet SUV into gear and begins to drive forward. His masculine scent is mixed with the unmistakable new-car smell as he turns up the heat, and the warm air blows around my feet.

  “You hit your head. You need an X-ray at the very least.”

  “Just, I can’t—”

  “Can’t what?”

  “I’m fine,” I try again, but I can see he’s having none of it, so I decide to try the truth. “I don’t have insurance. I can’t afford a hospital, and I’m really fine.” The pain in my head begs to differ, but having gone through all the bills from my father, I know what one simple emergency room visit is going to cost.

  “Don’t worry about that. I hit you. You aren’t responsible for paying. I insist you go, and I’ll take care of any costs.” His tone darkens, and it makes me nervous, but in a way that feels exciting.

  I chew on my bottom lip, trying to get a grip on this energy I feel between this stranger and me. For all I know, and with the day I’m having, he’s probably a serial killer.

  But somehow, and maybe it’s the bump on my head, I can’t fight this odd attraction I feel toward my soon-to-be murderer.

  We drive toward the hospital in silence, then after barely a minute, his hand comes over to take mine from my lap and my heart leaps. He looks over, and I see kindness in his dark eyes and feel warmth in his touch.

  “You’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

  I nod, unsure what else to say or do, and my thoughts drift back to why I was running around in the rain in the first place.

  After delivering the coffee to everyone yesterday morning at work, there was a bright spot when one of the paralegals came around my desk and asked me what was wrong. Her name is Nadine, she’s been decent with me since I started, and she's easy to talk to. She’s the sort of person that tells you how pretty you are just to brighten your day like she’s not three steps higher up the ladder than me. So, feeling ready to snap and running on little sleep, I gave her the Reader’s Digest condensed version of what's going on with my parents.

  She listened quietly, then peeled a Post-it note from the pad on my desk and wrote down a name and number.

  She said it was a friend of a friend, someone who might be able to give me some evening work; not a lot of hours and for good money. He might even be able to give me an advance.

  My heart soared at the prospect of being able to do something to help my parents and keep my internship. Nadine told me all she knew was he had connections with clubs and high-end restaurants, and I’d be a hostess or something like that.

  I called as soon as she walked away. He asked who sent me, and when I told him, he said to come to his office at 9 p.m. the next day, Saturday, and gave me the address. Said I came with a good reference, so he was sure he could help me out.

  Nadine told me to dress like I was going to a five-star restaurant, so I spent the better part of today looking through clearance racks with my friend Karen until I finally found this red silk Calvin Klein dress that had been marked down three times. It accommodated my curves in a way even I thought looked pretty darn good.

  Unfortunately, as it turns out, it wasn’t exactly the work I thought it would be.

  When I met Mr. Salvatore tonight—no last name—he said I was exactly what he was looking for. He proceeded to give me a rundown of the potential monetary arrangements, all of which had my hopes up, and the hours I’d be expected to work. He then started describing the duties of the job, none of which sounded like hostess work to me. By this point, I was already starting to panic and look for the nearest exit, and then...he took his cock out and told me it was time to audition.

  Fast forward to me running out into the rain without calling my Uber for a ride.

  And now, here I am.

  Soaking wet, in more ways than one. Holding the hand of this monster-sized man, whom I know nothing about—including his name—only that he hit me with his car. But there’s a feeling I'm getting from him that he’s responsible for me in some way, and as much as my rational mind tells me it’s insane, I have to say that I like it.

  As he holds my hand, we pull up to the hospital. He looks over, and I see his face a little better in the bright lights from the front of the building.

  He licks his bottom lip, then his front teeth, and I notice one is chipped, but it only makes him sexier to me.

  “Sit tight. I’ll get a wheelchair.” He squeezes my fingers one last time then lets them go.

  “I don’t need a wheel—” He brings two fingers to my lips and presses, narrowing his eyes in a way that tells me there won’t be any negotiation.

  As I watch him move out of the car and through the sliding doors into the emergency room, I realize I've decided he’s probably not a serial killer.

  But as my heart flutters in my chest and my palms sweat, I think...he might just be the death of me.

  3

  Vito

  BY THE TIME WE PULL up to her apartment after the hospital, it’s 3 a.m., and Esme is resting her head against the passenger window with her eyes closed. The bright red lipstick has faded, showing me the cherry pink of her natural lips.

  Her dress has long since dried, but while it was wet and clinging to her, I drank in every delicious inch of her voluptuous body. She’s from another age. The Venus of paintings that hang in museums have nothing on her, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, my cock is awake from its seemingly perpetual slumber.

  During our time at the hospital, I sat with her and held her hand while they took blood because she looked like a lamb going to slaughter. When it was over, I didn’t let go, and she didn’t pull away. The way her eyes looked to me for comfort lit up something inside of me I’ve never felt until now.

  We were quiet most of the time, even though I wanted to know all about her. But it wasn’t the time. It was too sterile an environment, and there was too much going on for me to give her the attention she needs when she tells me all the things I’ll need to know.

  Because I will need to know.

  At least I now know her name. Esme.

  Just the shape of that name in my mind is making me hard. I also know she’s first-year pre-law at U of M. Sweet, beautiful, smart. Trifecta.

  I did ask if there was anyone else she wanted to call, but she said no, and while I wanted to press her for more, I held back. She’s only just met me and doesn’t know yet what’s going to happen between us.

  She did get a text from a friend while we were waiting and told me she let her know where she was. I’m not sure how much of that was to make sure I knew she wasn’t alone. She said the friend works nights, but after hearing where Esme was, she said she’ll be checking in to see how Esme is doing in a few hours when she gets off work.

  She kept saying how she wasn’t really hurt anyway and didn’t want to be more of a bother than she already was.

  Wow. She has no idea how much she is not bothering me.

  When I asked her again what she had been doing running out into the street at that time of night, she gave me some whitewashed story about meeting someone a few blocks away for a drink and that it didn’t go well, then her Uber didn’t show.

  I immediately wanted to grill her about who it was and exactly where they were. I was ready to find the fucker and pound his ass into the ground. But just as I started to ask her more questions, a nurse came in, and I decided to drop it. At least for the moment.

  A few hours later, they finally gave her the all-clear, but with any bump on the head it’s best to be cautious. And while I barely know her, I already know I’d lay waste to armies to protect this girl.

  I shut off the Suburban and watch her sleep for a moment. I’ll admit my fantasies about her are more than indecent. Bordering on depraved, and it shocks me.

  Not just because I probably have twenty years on her, or that she’s a beauty the likes of which I've never seen, but because I don’t remember ever having this particular range of emotions before.

  It’s been many years since my interest was last piqued by a female. More than I can count. I’m no monk, but with the empty feeling I had about most of the women who were drawn to me in the past, I guess I just decided I’d go without.

  My sister, Maria, keeps telling me I need to feel that spark. That’s how I’ll know.

  Well, Esme is setting off a shit ton of sparks.

  I watch her sleep for another few minutes, and as much as I know I could watch her for hours, I decide she needs to get inside and into bed. I reach over and brush her blonde hair off her shoulder then run my fingers down the flesh of her arm, and my already half-hard cock thickens at the contact.

  “Hey.” I move my hand back upward and trace my thumb on her neck, and she sniffles then looks over at me with glazed eyes.

  “God. Sorry.” She pushes her hair back behind her ears, brushing mine as she looks at me with those seductive, turquoise eyes, and I’m lost again in the feeling that I’m falling. “I fell asleep.”

  “It’s okay. You’ve had a big day.” My cock twitches as I look into her sleepy face, wanting to see her like that in the morning. In my bed. After fucking her into unconsciousness.

  “Thank God tomorrow is Sunday and I can sleep in.” Her lips curve into a soft smile. “I mean today, I guess.”

  “Let’s get you inside.”

  “Really, I’m fine, you’ve done more than enough...”

  “Sorry, I’m not leaving you. Doctor said someone should be with you for twenty-four hours.”

  “I know, my friend is coming when she gets off work at six. I can handle it for a few hours.”

  “Nope.” I step out and move around to her side of the car, opening her door and wrapping her in my arms. “You’re my responsibility at the moment.”

  What I want to say, what I’m feeling...is she is my responsibility. Period.

  From now on.

  And I don’t care how crazy that sounds.

  “You’re stubborn.” She smiles, and it lights up my heart.

  “I can be.”

  We walk up the two flights of stairs to her door. It’s an old Victorian house converted into apartments. Not a total dump, but not where she deserves to live, either. And in the back of my mind, I make a note to change her living situation—soon.

  Inside, she flips on a light, and I look around. Her place is neat but small. The living room is open to an efficiency kitchen where I see a single plate and glass resting on a floral dishtowel next to the sink.

  There’s a bowl of oranges on a two-person café-style table with an older laptop and a stack of textbooks on one of the chairs. The soft floral scent in the room is almost like her own but not nearly as sweet.

  For a simple apartment, the décor is warm and original. Pops of orange and yellow draw my eye around the room, and the furniture—although simple and looking like it has a decade or more under its belt—has been paired with colorful quilts and modern pillows that give the entire space a creative sophistication I could see spread in a magazine.

  She sets her purse down, and her keys clatter on the faded Formica counter next to it. “I’ve never had a man in my apartment before.” She grins, twisting her lips to the side. “And I...” she stalls, squinting an eye at me, then pushes her blonde hair back behind her ears again as her tongue touches her top lip.

  “What?” I shove my hands down in my pockets, trying to control my hard-on. When she said no man has been here before, the embers that were already hot inside of me burst into a flame, and there’s someone else coming alive I’m not sure I can control.

  She laughs, shaking her head. “I don’t even know your name. That doesn’t seem very wise, does it?”

  “My name’s Vito. I’m not here to hurt you. If I wanted to hurt you, I’ve had plenty of opportunities already, yes?”

  She nods, her cheeks turning bright pink as her hands drop to hug her waist with the amazing side effect of pushing her incredible tits higher, so they nearly spill out of the V neck of her dress.

  “True.” She lifts one hand and rubs her eyes. “I’m sorry, I should offer you something...coffee...but I don’t have a coffee maker. Or coffee. I have milk, tea or water.” She licks her lips, and there’s discomfort in her eyes.

  “I’m fine. You need to rest. I’ll sit right here on the couch.”

  I already know I’m never going to want to leave, but telling her that right now wouldn’t serve to ease her discomfort. One way or another, though, this will not be the last time we are together.

  “Okay, I’m sorry.” She pushes her hair behind her ears again. “I’m so tired.” Her eyelids flutter, and her hands come to rest at the base of her neck, and I wonder if her heart is beating as hard as mine.

  “Go.” I nod toward the door I’m assuming is her bedroom. “But once you're asleep, I’m going to come in and check on you, so don’t lock your door.”

  Her eyes widen, looking like a doe unsure which way to turn.

  “I won’t hurt you,” I repeat, and the truth of my words hits me down low.

  Not only will I never hurt her, but I pity anyone that does. Because this thing she’s lit inside of me has me already half-crazed with a sense of protectiveness I’ve never experienced—not even with my own family.

  Without another word, she turns on a heel and goes into the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind her, and I release the long sigh that’s filled my chest as I let my chin drop and wonder how I’m ever going to let her out of my sight again.

  I decide to give her thirty minutes before I go in and check on her, and it feels like an eternity. I poke around in her kitchen and open the refrigerator to see half a loaf of wheat bread, a package of sliced cheese, a half-gallon of milk, a pitcher of what looks like iced tea and a few bottles of condiments and salad dressing.

  From there, I open and shut every cupboard door. Most everything looks sad and tired, but inside one upper cabinet I see something that makes me smile.

  There’s a large plastic container with “Top Secret Waffle Mix” written on the side in red marker. On the shelf below is what looks like an antique waffle maker, but its shape is unusual. I reach in and open the top to see the irons are heart-shaped, and I envision her dancing around in the kitchen making me waffles. To my shock, it makes my balls tighten, and I feel wet drops of cum seep out of my cock.

  I’ve got a waffle fetish. Who knew?

  I step out of the kitchen and check out the books on the little table and see they are beyond my level of schooling. I’m not stupid, but my education came mostly from my father and experience.

  My mother wanted me to go to college. Instead, I followed in the footsteps of a few generations of the men in our family, leaving the academics to my sister, Maria, who fulfilled Mom’s dreams of having at least one of her children graduate from college.

  I pick up each book and see one for calculus, one for English lit, and finally one for basic accounting.

  After I find out as much as I can from looking around, I can’t stand it anymore and decide I’ve waited long enough to check in on her. I ease the door to her bedroom open and hold my breath as it squeaks, then I slip inside. This isn’t my first time walking into someone’s bedroom without waking them, but in the past it was under less pleasant circumstances.

  Her room is sparsely decorated with a twin bed, a nightstand made from a couple of stacked milk crates and a desk held together with duct tape, although somehow she has made it look trendy and fun. Still, this is no way for her to live.

  There’s a nightlight casting a glow across her face, and my obsession surges when I see the innocence on her sleeping face. One bare leg is on top of a threadbare pink blanket, and I step closer to her, unable to keep the distance between us any longer. Her silky blonde hair is spread across an embroidered lavender pillowcase, and her plump lips are slightly open, making it hard as hell not to lean down and kiss her.

  I rest my fingers at her ankle and hear the blood rushing through my ears. I can’t stop. I run my hand up her calf, and the silky texture of her skin has my cock jumping and my heart pounding. I dare to push the fabric covering her a few inches upward until I can touch the inside of her thigh, knowing where it would lead if I kept going.

  My mouth waters, imagining how all her sweet pink parts would taste, like heaven and magic. Obsession burns through me, and I wonder if anyone has touched her before. Kissed her. Fucked her.

  Jesus.

  If anyone has fucked her, I’ll find them and kill them.

  Whatever this is, it’s insanity, but I don’t care. I’ve been overtaken by a madman, but I don’t ever want to go back to who I was before I met her.

  The warmth of her skin under my fingers is making hot blood surge through my veins and thickening my already painful hard-on. I shouldn’t touch her like this in her sleep, but I can’t bring myself to stop.

  She sighs and shifts onto her back, mumbling something unintelligible, but I pretend it’s my name and she’s dreaming about me. I hold my hand still, but I don’t withdraw. I can’t. In my warped mind, she is mine already. She is my property. I want to protect her and use her and comfort her and give her everything...and take what’s mine when I like, how I like, for as long as I like.

  I’m possessed by her already, and I never want to be exorcised of whatever demon has overtaken me.

  I feel more alive now than at any other time in my life, and I want more. If I’m this crazed already, I can’t imagine what will happen once I taste her.