Isabela Part 3

I don't show sadness or fear. The only mask I wear on my face is that of anger. I smile crazily at him, struggling to breathe as his face contorts and looks bizarre, all painted up.
“Give me back my damn cat, you piece of trash!” I order, my chest rising and falling like a roller coaster when he finally loosens his grip on my neck. My voice sounds shaky, muffled, and desperate.
“You bitch, listen up,” he growls, releasing the pressure on my throat just to shove a hand full of paint into my cheeks, squeezing them hard enough to hurt. “I’ll only give back Pretinha when you’re ready to disappear from my life.”
“Then I’ll call the police. Do you know what I’ll say when I call?” I ask, my tone dripping with mockery and something darker. “That there’s a guy with a criminal record stalking me, who stole my cat, broke into my room, and has been harassing me…”
His light eyes do the opposite of what I expected. They don’t flare with anger or widen in fear. Instead, they seem to enjoy it. Nate smiles, then bites his stained lips and stares at my breasts with desire.
I don’t even know why I’m shocked to see him pulling paint out of his hair with his hands, only to smear it all over my black top. He calmly spreads the damn red liquid across my chest, running his fingers along the contour of my neckline as he does, making me burn with a shiver coursing through my body. His cursed skin makes my rage fade, replaced by desire. He lifts his hands, bringing the substance up to my neck. I try to turn my head so he doesn’t stain my face, but Nate doesn’t hold back, roughly yanking my hair, keeping me still so he can dirty my lips. His rough fingers trace my mouth, and I can taste the horrible paint spreading across my tongue.
“Seriously? You’re dumb enough to think the police can fix any of this?” he scoffs, leaning his large body closer, forcing my ankles apart and stepping between my legs.
“Fuck you! At least I’ll make you look stupid.” I shrug, trying to use my wrists to wipe my mouth, but he keeps me from doing that with his controlling hands.
“Nothing makes me feel more embarrassed than your pathetic presence, Isabela.”
His words dig a hole in my insides. They hit me like a shard of his malice, piercing through, causing pain. I force myself to keep a defiant glare on his perfect face, refusing to disarm in the face of the harshness in his gaze.
“The cat is fine. And she loves me. I set up a screen so she can’t leave my room. Pretinha was very happy with me; she didn’t want to leave my lap…”
I know the calm tone he uses is trying to provide some comfort, making me understand she’ll be okay while he keeps her hostage. And she’s probably developed Stockholm syndrome because there’s no way she could like this idiot.
“Her name is Belladonna, you jerk! And I bet she hates you!” I snarl before spitting in his face.
His face flushes, and I swear it turns even redder than the paint. I regret doing it the moment I remember I’m trapped between his legs, rubbing against my underwear, almost completely immobilized.
His jaw clenches, his eyes an intense, furious sea in front of me. He seems to be considering what to do as he raises the back of his hand and wipes the spit off his cheek. I hope he retaliates, that he’ll spit back at me too. But he just stands there, dominating me, staring. Maybe he’s enjoying seeing me at his mercy, realizing how easily he can leave me paralyzed before him.
When I confront Bianca, expecting to see mockery on her face, I notice she’s standing there, staring at us with a look of horror, horrified:
“Enough, Nate! Leave her alone!” she pleads, making me see that the only thing that’s changed about her is her voice. It’s more mature, less nasal and annoying.
“Don’t get involved, damn it!” Nate snarls back, sounding like a hungry animal, staring at me as if I were the perfect piece of meat for him to devour. “Ian, grab a can of red paint!”
My heart races, almost making me reach the brink of total collapse as I try to break free, starting to thrash under him. Silly me! Nothing I do diminishes the power he exerts over me, keeping my body at his mercy, splayed out on the table.
“No!” I scream, trying to kick him with all my might, but it’s in vain. “I hate you!” I whimper, the desperation escalating with each passing moment as Nate takes a cylindrical can of wall paint, which Ian handed to him, but not before giving me a victorious smile. Some desperate tears escape as he pours the paint over my chest. “Asshole!”
His laughter crushes me as he throws the can away. I try to seize the distraction to run from his grasp, but he locks me down once more, shoving me by the shoulders and pinning me to the table. Nate uses his hands to grope me all over, leaving marks on my breasts, splaying my butt, and stroking my thighs while spreading the paint, avoiding only my hair. I feel my entire body smeared and sticky.
We’re pathetic, painted in red, staring at each other in a way that promises only the most fucked-up chaos.

“Red is our color, Isabela. And it’s no use; I’m not giving the cat back. Call the police, hit me, scream—nothing will change my mind,” he threatens, then moves his body so close to mine that his frighteningly powerful erection rubs against the fabric covering my pussy. It's bizarre to feel my body heat up with both rage and desire as he breathes his heated breath into my ear. His scent of paint, cigarettes, and cologne creates a whirlwind of confusion within me. “And don’t even think about entering my room to get her, because if I catch you there, I’ll take it as an invitation to fuck you completely!”
Just like that, his storm transforms into an eruption, and all the lava he produces burns me as he pulls away, leaving me slumped against the table, breathless and feeling utterly lost.
How am I going to get my cat back?