บททั้งหมดของ The Bad Gentleman : บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

Hannah "Good girl." The first time I heard those words was in school, and my homeroom teacher, who had said it, did so innocently. It was a mere praise for a job well done that made me feel as good as any seven-year-old would feel then. I also heard it a few times from my lecturers at college, but it didn't stir any emotion in me until this green-eyed stranger, whose dick I have in my mouth, said it just now. More like moaned it. At twenty-five years old, it is odd for a person to even say such words to me, considering many would regard me a lady. Yet, I feel my body come alive as my insides melt with an instant wetness between my legs, accompanied by the urge to touch myself, or more preferably, have Mr. Green-eyes touch me with his long, thick and large fingers and veiny arms. "Good fucking girl," his voice breaks with huskiness again, his hands gripping the handles of the chair he is sitting on…hard. "You're taking every inch so beautifully," his rusty voice vibrates thro

Hannah Most people hate hospitals because they usually represent sickness and death. Some hate hospitals because of the strong smell of antiseptics, but strangely enough, that’s one reason I love them; the smell of antiseptics, not sickness and death. Growing up with a nurse as a foster mother meant spending most of my teenage days in a hospital, being loved and cared for by nurses, doctors, cleaners, and other employees. I fell in love with the work that doctors and nurses do in the hospital so much that when I was old enough to decide, I knew I was going to work in a hospital, as a nurse. I walk through the clean, white halls of St. Marie Memorial Hospital, with a little swagger in my step and a little chip on my shoulder at securing a job at one of the most sought-after hospitals in the city, extremely thankful that I didn’t fall for Connor's lies and reject the job, simply because he couldn’t grasp the concept of me being better than him at anything, or being more successful

Hannah The seductive scent of pine and whiskey fill my lungs, accompanied by dreadful footsteps I know are coming in my direction, but I fold my lips, lowering my head, just in case I'm not the object of focus. But just like I feel it in my guts, I'm not surprised when I feel his presence right in front of me. I am, however, shocked to my toenails when he peels the blindfold from my eyes and it seems I'm staring at the devil himself. My heart stops, and my limbs and arms are too weak to respond to me, but my mouth isn't. "It's you!" I blurt out, which I realize is the worst thing I could've done in such a situation. My body seems to understand the situation now and suddenly my arms move, slapping my bloodied, bound hands across my lips in shock and embarrassment at my own actions. Mr. Green-eyes, I confirm now, isn't someone who should be trifled with, and if his dark eyes and smile doesn't tell you that, then the way he's dressed; in a pair of black pants and a matching bla

Christian "Put out your hands." I'm not usually a patient person, but during torture, I found out patience is my forte. I believe it stems from the fact that the criminal is under my mercy, and no matter how much time they waste, no matter how much they fight, their next breath is solely dependent on me.I peer down at the two fools, C and Marco, who almost cost me Giorgio tonight, with disgust, wondering when I started having sloppy dickheads around me."I don't have all day and I won't repeat myself. Put. Out. Your. Fucking. Hands."The torture room echoes with my voice and my irritation peaks.We've already been here for half an hour, and though the streaks of blood pouring from the side of their faces are proof I've been at this for a while, I'm barely satisfied. My bloodlust is hardly impressed by streaks from a head bash.C put his shaky hands out first, on the wooden slab right in front of both of them, taking a deep breath because he'd seen this scene too many times to know

Hannah I’m out of breath. I’m out of breath because I’m sprinting down the hallway, following behind Mr. Green-eyes but his long legs create more distance between us, and he doesn’t care that I’m running behind him, or that I’m out of breath.I don’t stop, and neither does he. After turns and stairs, then an elevator down, we finally arrive at the emergency ward. Panting, I bend over, one had one the wall, one hand on my waist, trying to catch my breath. Then I raise my head, giving the room a quick glance. The steady beeping of the machines attached to Giorgio signifies he must’ve had a good night, which makes my stomach dance. Another quick glance and I see my tote bag on the counter top, just above the cabinet I found those drugs last night. I clear my throat and stand straight, bringing my attention to Mr. Green eyes, who strangely enough is already watching me.A rush of awareness run from my nape down to the length of my spine. This man saw me naked. Regardless of whatever he