“You drink it,” she said.
“Pardone me?”
“You think I'm going to drink anything you bring me? You think I'm stupid like that, Petersen? You drink it. You drink it, then I'll drink it.”
I chuckled, pulled the wrapper from the straw, and took a nice, tasty sip. A little sip, which was fine. I was a big man, no way would a teaspoon's worth do me any damage to me. I swallowed, smacked my lips together. It was pretty good, actually.
“Es muy buena,” I said, and took a step closer to her, smoothie extended in trust and friendship. Wasn’t I just Mister Nice Guy?
“It's bueno, stupid. Drinks have no gender. Therefore, the masculine is used.” She shifted on the toilet seat, trying to get comfortable, crossing one leg over the other. Giving me a brief, but wildly satisfying look at her gender. “And if it's so bueno, why don't you drink more.”
She wasn't asking. She didn't need to. She knew what I was trying to do, and I was taking her stupidity for granted.
“Nah, I'm good.” I said, and stood beside her, taking some of her wonderful, wet locks in my hand. I brushed them over her shoulder so that I could better see her breast. God, you couldn’t buy breasts like these. “Do you remember what we were talking about last night? About the policia?”
She looked up at me, but didn't correct my Spanish this time around.
“What's fun is, no matter what funny little game you've got going through your lovely little head, I'm holding all the cards. I think you know this.” I straddled her, curled my fist in her hair, and pulled her head back. “You'll drink what I tell you to drink, señorita. You know why?” I paused a little for effect. I had none on her. “Because you have no choice,” I added.
I turned the cup so that the straw pointed to her lips. Her lips, which were mere inches from my crotch.
“Suck it,” I said.
Not surprisingly, she didn't open her mouth. Not surprising, either, the muscles in her arms tensing, ready to clobber my genitals with her clasped hands.
I was one step ahead, I wasn't stupid, either, and sat on her arms before she could carry out her intention.
She groaned, expelling a rush of air as my weight pressed against her. I was heavy. Not an ounce of body fat, mind you. Muscle weighs significantly more than fat. My physique was two hundred and ten pounds of toned perfection.
“It's such an ugly picture, isn't this? You, sitting on a toilet. Me, sitting on you. With a papaya smoothie in my hands. It's almost funny. But I’m not exactly laughing.” I held the tip of the straw toward her. “Are you going to play nice now?”
She was struggling for breath. But I'd fallen for her shit before. Fool me once, etcetera etcetera.
“There's a story about a boy who cried wolf. You ever hear that story?” I asked, not relinquishing my position. Wishing I was naked, too. My skin, her skin, all the wrongs that could happen with nothing separating the two. “He thinks it's cool and funny to fake out the townsfolk by saying there's a wolf coming to eat everybody.” Her breath was hitched. Her breasts bounced as she struggled to breathe. Maybe there is something to say for erotic asphyxiation. “Anyway, when the wolf actually does show up, nobody believes him when he starts shouting about it. Just in case you’re wondering…in this story, you’re the boy who cried wolf. I’m the townspeople. Do you think I should believe you, right now?”
Another gasp, and her lips parted. She turned her head toward the straw. I placed it in her mouth, and held it for her as she sucked the liquid down.
From the suite, my Rhythm clock chimed the half hour. Ten thirty. Perfect.
“How's the papaya? Good, right?”
Her eyes were death daggers spearing their way through my head.
I didn't care about the pain in my cheek anymore. I smiled at her, nodding my approval as the smoothie disappeared, bit by bit by bit.
Chapter Seven
MADDOX
It only took ten minutes for the Rohypnol to work its magic.
I sat on the side of the tub, eating the bagel, watching her try to keep her eyes open. Lucky for her, I caught her before she went head first into the tile. Not that she deserved such niceties. After all, look at what she did to my cheek. Oh, and let’s not forget the fact that’s he came here with the intention of killing me.
As I scooped her body in my arms, it was as if we were on our honeymoon, and I was carrying her over the threshold. She seemed to know what was going on at first, but drugged to the gills as she was, kept her in a glorious state of cognitive brown out.
I laid her on the bed, and untied her. There was nothing she could do, anyway, and whether or not I wanted to, I would have to get her dressed. Eventually.
Her nipples were just as delicious as before, and I rolled them around in my fingers. Her flesh was soft, and silky. I drew the back of my hand down her torso, toward her sex, and played with her pubic hair which she'd kept nice and trimmed. What a gal.
I know you’re all thinking that I’m a nasty son-of-a-bitch. Some over-entitled rich guy who thinks he can do these kinds of things and get away with them. And poor, poor, Sofia, right? What you’re forgetting, though, is that she. tried. to. kill. me. That if she had succeeded, people like you would watch her ass go to prison and hope that the inmates did all kinds of nasty things to her. Consider me dead and then consider me the inmate. I’m just exacting revenge.
Regardless, there was no real response from Sofia. She was out of
