'One drink,' she repeats.
He doesn't answer. His confidence daunts her. He pulls her along. But she cannot stop, cause a scene. No identity in her purse. But a knife with a sharpened blade.
His room looks as if he had moved in five minutes ago.
Nothing to mark his presence but an unopened suitcase on a luggage rack.
He locks and chains the door behind them. He takes her coat and bag, throws them onto a chair.
'You want to see more tricks?' he says. 'How about this?'
He unzips his fly, digs, pulls out his penis. It is long, dark, slender. Uncircumcised. He strokes it.
'Nice?' he says, his sardonic smile unwavering. 'You like this trick?'
'I'm going,' she says, reaching for her coat and bag.
He moves quickly between her and the door.
'What are you going to do?' he says. 'Scream? Go ahead- scream.'
She fumbles in her bag. He is there, and plucks it from her hands. She cannot believe anyone can move that swiftly. He is a blur.
He takes out her wallet, flips through it.
'No ID,' he says. 'That's smart.'
He picks out the closed knife, dangles it by the steel loop.
'What's this for?' he asks. 'Cleaning your toenails?'
He laughs, drops the knife back into the bag. He tosses it aside.
'You know the old saying,' he says roguishly. 'When rape is inevitable, relax and enjoy it.'
'Why me?' she cries desperately.
He shrugs. 'Just to pass the time. Something to do. You want to get undressed like a lady or do you want your pretty dress ripped?'
'Please,' she says, 'what about a drink? You promised me a drink.'
'I lied,' he says, grinning. 'I'm always doing that.'
He begins undressing. He stays between her and the door. He takes off his jacket, unknots his tie, unbuttons his shirt. He drops all his clothes onto the floor.
'Come on,' he says. 'Come on.'
She takes off her clothes slowly, fingers trembling. She looks about for a weapon. A heavy ashtray. A table lamp. Anything.
'No way,' he says softly, watching her. 'No way.'
She takes off shoes, dress, pantyhose. She drapes them over the back of a chair. When she looks up, he is naked. His penis is beginning to stiffen. He touches it delicately.
'Try it,' he says. 'You'll like it.'
He takes one quick stride to her. He clamps his hands on her shoulders. His strength frightens her. She cannot fight that power.
He pulls the strapless bra to her waist. He pinches her nipples. He strips her panties down, lifts her away from them.
'Bony,' he says, 'but okay. The nearer the bone, the sweeter the meat.'
He presses her down. His hands on her shoulders are a weight she cannot resist. Her knees buckle. She flops onto the rug.
'I don't want to mess the bed,' he says. 'The floor is best. Harder. More resistance. Know what I mean?'
It is a whirl, beyond her control. Things flicker. She is swept away, protests stifled. Her puny blows on his head, arms, chest, mean nothing. He laughs throatily.
She squirms, moving by inches toward her discarded shoulder bag. But he pins her with his weight, a hard knee prying between her clamped thighs. He makes thick, huffing sounds.
She continues to writhe, and he strikes her. The open-palmed slap stings, flings her head aside. Her eyes water, ears roar. His teeth are on her throat. His body twists, pressing, pressing…
'What the hell is this?' he says, finding her tampon. He makes a noise of disgust. He yanks it out roughly, tosses it aside.
Then she does what she has to do, telling herself it is the only way she might survive.
Her body stills. Her punches stop. Untaloned, she begins to stroke his shoulders, his back. She moans.
'Yeah,' he breathes. 'Oh yeah…'
Her thighs ache. She thinks he will split her apart, rip her, leave steaming guts on the carpet. She feels hot tears, tastes bile.
He ramps and plunges, crying out in a language she does not recognize. His hands beneath her, gripping cruelly, pull her body up in a strained arch.
Eyes shut tightly, she sees pinwheels, whirling discs, melting blood. She wraps herself about him, feeling cold, cold. She endures the pain; within she is untouched and plotting.
His final thrusts pound her, bruise. Her moans rise in volume to match his cries. When he collapses, shuddering, sobbing, she shakes her body in a paroxysm. She flings her arms wide-and her fingertips just touch the leather of her discarded shoulder bag.
She opens her eyes to slits. He props himself up, stares down at her, panting.
'More!' she pleads. 'More!'
'Wait'll I turn you over,' he says, glee in his voice. 'It's even better.
He pulls away from her savagely; she feels she is being torn inside out. He rolls onto his back, lies supine, chest heaving.
She turns onto her side, onto hip and shoulder, pulling herself a few inches closer to her purse. Digs toes and feet into the rug, moving herself with cautious little pushes.
'Oh, that was so wonderful,' she tells him. 'So marvelous. What a lover you are. I've never had a man like you before.'
He closes his eyes with satisfaction. He reaches blindly, finds her vulva, squeezes and twists roughly.
'Good, huh?' he says. 'The greatest, huh?'
Moving slowly, watching his closed eyes carefully, her right hand snakes into the shoulder bag, comes out with the knife.
'Ohh… I feel so good,' she murmurs quietly.
Stretches up her left arm. Above her head, she opens the big, sharpened blade. She eases it into position so it will not click when it locks. She brings her arms gradually down to her sides. Her right hand, gripping the knife, is concealed behind her.
She sits up, pulling herself closer to him. She puts her left hand on his hairless chest, toys with his nipples.
'When can we do it again?' she whispers. 'I want more, Nick.'
'Soon,' he says. 'Soon. Just give me a chance to-'
His closed eyelids flutter. Immediately she raises the knife high, drives the blade to the hilt into his abdomen, a few inches below the squinched navel.
She twists the knife, yanks it free, raises it for another blow.
But he reacts almost instantly. He rolls over completely, away from her. He springs to his feet. He stands swaying, hands clasped to his belly.
He looks down at the blood welling from between his fingers. He raises his head slowly. He stares at her.
'You stuck me,' he says wonderingly. 'You stuck me.'
He lurches toward her, claws reaching. She scrambles out of his way. She stumbles to her feet. A floor lamp goes over with a crash. One of his grasping hands comes close. She slashes it open with a backhanded swipe.
Roaring with rage and frustration, he blunders toward her unsteadily. Blood pours down his groin, his legs, drips from his flaccid penis. His slit hand, flinging, sends drops of blood flying.
An endtable is upset. An armchair is knocked over. Someone bangs on the adjoining wall. 'Stop that!' a woman shouts. Still he comes on, mouth open and twisted. No sounds now but harsh, bubbling breaths. And in his eyes, terror and fury.
She trips over his discarded clothing. Before she can recover, he is on her, grappling close. His blood-slick hand finds her wrist, presses down, turns.
