Her constant flirtation made it so much easier to get her where I wanted. She had always liked playing games; she had no idea this would be her last. The champagne was flowing as we chatted. The real deal too, no cheap supermarket version for her. It was also obvious that each time she ‘popped to the loo’ she was snorting a line of coke as her eyes became glossier and her behaviour even more wild and errant.
She agreed to write the note. She was like an excitable child compiling a Christmas list. It took her a while in her intoxicated state. She knelt at the coffee table, carefully printing each word out, her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on forming the rounded letters. It was painful to watch, and I swear if I’d had a crayon, I would have asked her to use that. I even had to help her out with the bloody spelling.
As she scribbled away, I steeled myself to respond warmly to her flirtatious touches and even managed to spew a few suggestive comments her way. When she offered me a tour of the place, I was left in no doubt that the pièce-de-résistance would be her bedroom. I also knew it could provide me with an opportunity too good to miss and I was right.
She led me from room to palatial room, the castanet clicks of her Louboutin heels on the expensive tiled floor grated on my nerves. The kitchen made me laugh the most. It boasted a top-of-the-range Aga, huge American-style fridge and a large kitchen island, as well as a host of expensive-looking pots and pans.
My eyes briefly lingered on the knife block which stood alluringly on the kitchen worktop. I made a mental note that they were there. Just in case. It was typical of her to have such an extravagant kitchen. It was all for show. I had no doubt that the only time she came in here was to reach for another bottle of champagne. And as for cooking? No chance. I doubt she could even boil a kettle.
I followed her on the tour across the hallway and up the sweeping staircase. The first-floor landing boasted several en suite guest bedrooms, each as gaudily decorated as the next. There was also a room which she announced was the study. Ironic really, seeing as she was semi-literate. I assumed the computer and DVD equipment in there was where she stored her ‘work’. She didn’t linger in there. She pretty much dragged me in and then shoved me back out as an afterthought. Maybe common sense had penetrated through the alcohol and drugs, and her natural instinct not to reveal too much had given her a nudge.
She maximised the charm then as she excitedly grabbed me by the hand and dragged me up a smaller, but no less luxurious stairway.
‘The penthouse suite,’ she had declared with a flourish of the hand, revealing a porn star’s paradise.
The huge open-plan room consisted of a circular king-sized bed positioned below a mirrored ceiling. The closet doors were also mirrored so every angle of the body could be captured. There was even more animal print, and the walls were painted a sickening, deep-cerise colour.
‘There’s an en suite through there,’ she had said throatily, pointing towards one of the mirrored doors. She had attempted the coquettish look again as she meandered backwards toward another door which she pulled open with glee. ‘And this,’ she had purred, ‘is my Pandora’s box.’
I had to swallow down the bile that rose in my throat as she revealed a walk-in wardrobe which housed countless sex toys. There were dildos of every size, shape and colour, butt plugs, whips, paddles, handcuffs, nipple clamps, and God knows what else. All carefully and proudly arranged.
She had raised an over-plucked eyebrow in my direction. The Botox did its job and no other part of her face followed. ‘See anything you’d like to play with?’ she had asked teasingly.
I’d forced a smile as I leant towards her, running my hand gently down her frozen face.
‘Just you,’ I had said, as I stared suggestively into her eyes, before turning and nodding towards the double patio doors. ‘What’s out there?’ I asked and she practically skipped toward them, flinging them open to reveal a rooftop terrace.
We stepped outside and I glanced admiringly at the hot tub and patio furniture. She was leaning against the wall, watching me like a hawk as I sauntered towards her. The view stretched out for miles, from her long, private driveway to the fields and hills of the countryside that surrounded her home. The heavy air smelt so fresh and sweet, a mixture of grass, warm wood and sunshine.
She was smirking as I stood in front of her, so close our hips were touching. Her lower back nestled into the brickwork as she arched forward so she could grind her groin against mine. The bright sunlight accentuated her flaws even more and I was disgusted to see a crusting of white powder in the corner of one of her nostrils. It was as if every detail of her face had been magnified, from her large pores to her overstretched, unnaturally taut skin.
She had wrapped her arms around my neck and began to work her lips over my face and throat. It was all I could do not to retch. I turned her around, so I didn’t have to look at that face. Her hips were pressed against the wall, her scrawny arse burrowing into me. I ran my hands along the front of her body, hearing her moan as I skimmed her stomach and breasts. I knew she was aroused at the thought of gaining the one sexual conquest she thought she would never have.
There was a thick piece of trunking which ran along the wall, concealing the wiring for the lights and hot tub. She had giggled
