“Third. Book me on Boca Raton. No other passengers. I want it to myself.”
One of these days I really should invest in my own jet. Boca Raton was a premier charter service, though, used to dealing with fat cats like me, and I quite appreciated their don't-ask-don't-tell policy. Damn nice planes, too. Flight attendants with the tightest asses, the biggest tits, serving the best brandy. Paradise at ten thousand feet.
“Departure time?”
“Noon. Today.” I tugged at my slacks.
“Destination?”
“Nassau.” I pulled the fabric away from my groin. There should be some sort of slacks out there that would… conform to the special needs of a man. Especially this man.
“Would you want me to make hotel reservations, sir?”
“You know what? No. I want to be spontaneous.” I also didn't want there to be any kind of paper trail.
“Very good, Mister Petersen. I'll call you with the confirmation. Will that be all?”
“For now,” I told her.
I disconnected, and leaned back in my chair and spun it around to face the window. I put my hand against my erection, and started rubbing.
Chapter Six
MADDOX
Rohypnol. Also known as liquid ecstasy. Commonly referred to as a roofie, the date rape drug of choice.
I never needed to use the stuff before, and the bottle hidden in the far end of the desk drawer was never opened. I don't even remember where I got it, or who may have given it to me. The important thing was, I'd held on to it. Just in case.
She'd be tired of sink water. Hungry for more than a granola bar.
I bought a papaya smoothie from the commissary, an extra large double french roast espresso, a bagel, and a package of chocolate donuts – those terrible little things you get at a gas station – and wolfed down half of them just as the elevator reached the penthouse.
“You still here, Sofia? 'Cuz I got you something,” I said to the empty suite, humming as I stepped to the bar, took the Rohypnol from my pocket and dropped one into the smoothie.
No answer from the bathroom, of course. She was a prime pouter, this one. Most likely a little loopy, too, thanks to low blood sugar and high stress levels.
There were a lot of things working in my favor, already, but didn't they always? I smiled to myself, causing a shot of hot pain to rip across my cheek.
I gritted my teeth, and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the bar. The cut wasn't huge, maybe an inch long and not very deep. It stung like a bitch, though. And the swelling…the swelling was what bothered me the most. A light haze of purple beneath my eye had begun to form. I narrowed my gaze. Crazy Sofia had left her mark upon me.
No woman leaves their mark on me.
I glanced at my wall clock – an imported Rhythm masterpiece. I'd picked it up somewhere in Italy, I think, and was so very intrigued with the way it displayed its gears and inner workings, how at the top of the hour, numbers rotated away from themselves to reveal rearing horses and spirals. It was a fantastic piece of engineering. It was also a little after ten o'clock.
Sophia's special medicine would take about thirty minutes to kick in. Its effects would peak at two hours, and hang around for at least eight. I'd heard this stuff makes the recipient feel as if they're paralyzed.
How awesome is that.
Prescription meds and me have a long, sordid history, but in this one case, I was going to make an exception.
Crazy Sophia was a Latina hellfire. If I had to call on chemicals to help corral her, then so be it. I wasn't so proud that I couldn't admit I needed a little assistance here.
I threw down the rest of my espresso, wiped my lips, and took Sofia's special smoothie and the bagel to the bathroom. She'd be begging me for this stuff by now. I may let her beg a little longer than I had planned. After all, my fucking face hurt and there was no one to blame for that, but her.
For some odd ass reason, rather than pushing my way into the bathroom, I knocked on the door.
“Hey, honey. You decent?”
Again and of course, she didn’t answer.
I opened the door, and almost dropped the smoothie.
She was sitting on the toilet lid, naked. Really, really naked. No panties. Just my tie, still secured around her wrists.
Her hair was wet, dark and cascading past her breasts. Her body was glistening, goosebumps on her flesh, her nipples hard as lovely, pink stones. The shower tiles were beaded with moisture. I was so damn proud of myself, making sure I'd removed all the towels last night.
My cock knocked against my zipper, begging me so hard to give it something to slide into.
“Helped yourself to a shower, I see,” I said with cucumber coolness.
Once we got to Nassau, she'd be showering for me a lot. I'd be showering her, as well. Nothing better than lathering up a sweet pair of tits. Soaping her between her thighs, caressing her hips, her ass.
What time did our plane leave?
Noon. Noon, noon, noon.
This may be the best vacation I'd ever taken.
“Are you hungry, sweetheart? Thirsty?” I held out the bagel, and the smoothie.
She didn't move an inch. Her eyes flashed, though. A quick little glance to the bagel, another to the cup. It was sweating now, cold and refreshing drops of condensation trailing down to my hand.
I held it out a little further. “C'mon. It's papaya. Mexicans like papayas, right?”
Now the little flash in her eyes glowed with some serious hate. I wanted to grin, but the side of my face that held issue with that reminded me otherwise.
I held my indifferent countenance, smiling on the inside, still priding myself on
