I need to stop thinking about Lance and start worrying about what I'm going to do. Maybe this run will clear my head. Maybe it'll-
I don't know what happens but all of a sudden I'm falling and hitting the ground. Before I can even register what's going on I'm being picked up by a pair of strong hands.
"Shut up, or your dead, bitch," a gruff voice tells me.
Now, as the Mayor's wife, I'm entitled to NYPD security when I go out. But more out of practicality I've never used the protection service. I'm a born and raised New Yorker, I can handle anything.
I open my mouth and raise my hands, and get ready to scream.
Without realizing what happens the side of my face all of a sudden starts to sting and I realize I've been slapped.
"No screaming, or you're dead!" the voice tells me with urgency. "You're too pretty to kill before I get a chance to fuck you!"
I look around me, desperately trying to figure out what's happening.
A man in a black hoodie, with his face covered is holding onto me. His skin is dark, but I can't tell what nationality. He's got loose sweatpants on and I can smell liquor on his breath.
With one strong grip, he's holding my hand. The other one he reaches over and places on my ass, giving it a squeeze.
I feel like throwing up as a shudder of disgust goes through me.
The man doesn't waste any time. There's no joggers running by me to call out for help, and he starts dragging me toward the bushes.
"Like I said, don't fucking scream, or this will end even worse than its going to, understand?" he asks.
I can't move. I realize I should yell. I should kick him, but he's too strong. And he's dragging me at an insane angle.
I can't believe this is happening to me.
But just because I don't have a good vantage point now, don't think I'm beaten, hun.
When a man tries to take advantage of a woman, remember what we've always been taught. Just bide your time, be patient, and when ready, kick them in the balls extra hard.
I just need to find my opening.
96
Lance
I don't fucking know what came over me, but the moment I heard Jocelyn walking up the stairs I was already lacing my sneakers and putting on a shirt. I've already ran fives miles on the fucking treadmill before moving on to the weights, but I can't fight against this fucking urge to go after her.
When my eyes found her, tight yoga pants and all … One fucking look, and that was all it took for me to become fucking hard. Fuck, could she be any more fucking irresistible? I almost dropped my fucking jaw to the floor when I saw her.
But she's my fucking stepmom. I can't do it.
Welcome to my fucking head the last few days. Looking at her tight fucking ass as she bends over and getting fucking hard. Then realizing who she is and hitting myself. Watching her tits jiggle. Then realizing she's married to my Dad and I don't want to fuck with that shit.
It sounded like a fucking good idea: get to the basement, work myself to fucking exhaustion, and hopefully I'd have a clearer head afterward. Yeah, not a fucking chance in hell. By now my mind is already busy weaving the most fucking indecent kind of thoughts it can; I can already picture my fingers tracing her perfect curves, my hands on her ass as I fucking pull her into me … Fucking hell, I'd give an eye and a fucking arm to have her on her knees, my cock halfway in her mouth as she looks up at me. Now that'd be a fucking sight. Of course, if that happened … That'd only be the fucking start of it all. What, do you think I'd be able to fucking stop once she had her lips wrapped tight around my shaft?
Out of control as I am right now, I know I should stay fucking put, but I just need to see her again. I'm not thinking straight, but to be honest, I couldn't give any less of a fuck about that.
I hurry up the stairs, but she's nowhere to be seen. She has a fucking head start, but I figure I can catch up with her easily. There's a breeze as I step outside, and my skin prickles as I feel the fucking cold air of New York's morning. Rubbing my hands together, I start jogging down the fucking street, heading straight to the Park.
There, a few morning souls are already running around the lake; I ease my pace, looking around for Jocelyn, but she seems to have fucking vanished. Fuck, I hope she didn't decide to go somewhere else. Maybe she thought I'd follow after, and if that was the case, she fucking nailed it, and decided against coming this way.
I'm almost ready to turn the fuck around and head back home when I catch a glimpse of a woman running in the fucking distance, following a trail that sneaks its way among rows of imposing field maples. I squint my eyes, taking in the distant shape of the runner; it's her, no fucking doubt about that. Even though I'm too far away to see her face, I'd recognize that sweet ass anywhere. Fuck, just one look at her and my cock is already fucking twitching.
I pick up the fucking pace, running after her with a spring in my step. I don't even know what I'll fucking say to her once I catch up, but hey, what's the harm in jogging with my stepmother? That's not a fucking crime, last time I fucking checked. We'll just bond as stepson and stepmother. Oh, fuck, who am I trying to fucking fool? I didn't leave the house because I wanted to "bond," whatever that fucking means. I did it because … Fuck, I have no idea why. After seeing her this morning, yoga pants hugging her slender legs, her sweet lips almost begging me to rest my cock between them... I just knew I had to come after her.
I'm already within shouting distance but I keep quiet, deciding to surprise her. And that's when I fucking see him-a fucking guy in a black hoodie, a kerchief covering his face, fucking jumps out from behind the trunk of a maple tree and pushes Jocelyn to the fucking floor. She loses her balance and goes down fast; her knees hitting the ground as the man takes one wide stride toward her. He grabs her by the hair and pulls her into a hedgerow, making me lose them out of sight. Fuck, fuck!
My heart starts to fucking race, and for a moment, all I see is fucking red. There's murder in my fucking veins right now. Whoever that fucking bastard is, he has no idea about the world of fucking pain he has just stepped into; he has just signed his fucking death sentence.
Running like a fucking train, I chase after the two of them. My feet hitting the floor at an anxious frantic pace, I cover the distance between me and the fucking hedgerow in just a few seconds. I stop, and looking around, notice movement between two fucking bushes. Moving like a fucking bullet-and as fucking murderous as one-I jump into the bushes, my hands turning into fists.
The fucking bastard has her pinned down on the ground, struggling to part her legs and rest his body on top of hers. The motherfucker is trying to fucking rape her! I feel rage coursing through my veins, my muscles tensing as I hurry toward the two of them.
Jocelyn is putting up a fucking fight, though. She has the flat palm of her hand on his face, trying to claw his fucking eyeballs out, but the man simply pushes her arms to the side. Then, he reaches behind his back, pulling a fucking knife out from his back pocket. Motherfucker.
"Hey, let her fucking go!" I shout as the man presses the blade against her neck. I lock eyes with Jocelyn, fear making her eyes wide as the man turns to look at me. His eyes bore into me like nails, suddenly realizing that he has a fucking problem on his hands. He has no idea how big of a fucking problem.
Right now, he has one fucking choice to make, and I can see the gears turning inside his head as he considers his options; he either lets her go and bolts, or tries to get rid of both of me and Jocelyn, eliminating all witnesses. As he gets up and turns to me, his fingers curled tight around the knife's handle, the choice he made becomes clear as fucking crystal to me.
"You're fucking dead, boy," he hisses, lunging at me and trying to fucking slice me across the chest. Boy? Jesus fucking Christ, he's already trying to fucking stab me, did he really have to call me boy? That just makes me want to fucking knock his lights out even more.
I take one step back, getting out of his reach, but he comes after me, the fucking sun reflecting on the blade as he moves it above his head and brings it down. Fuck, I can't dodge him forever; if I simply keep getting out of reach, my luck is going to fucking run out and I'll end up with that knife buried five fucking inches deep in my chest.
"Fuck," I curse under my breath as my back hits the trunk of a large fucking tree. Death in his fucking eyes, the guy in the hoodie closes the distance between me and him and changes his grip on the knife, grabbing it underhandedly. He raises his arm and then brings it down again, aiming for my fucking heart. This is it; I can't dodge him anymore.
Moving fast, I take one step toward him and raise my arm up in the air, trying to block him. His forearm hits mine as he presses down, the tip of the blade hanging two inches above my head.
"Who did you call a ‘boy'?" I ask him with a grin, gallons of fucking adrenaline raging through me. He wasn't expecting me to be so fucking bold, so I take his moment's confusion to ram my closed fist into his fucking face. There's a nauseating crunching sound as my hand crashes against his nose, and the man tumbles back, letting go of the knife and bringing both hands to his ruined face. His kerchief is turning fucking red, soaking the blood from his broken nose.