"Oh – oh – oh god!OH GOD!"
She alternated between screams and whimpers, no doubt unable to accept the dichotomy of thoughts and sensations. She found herself squirming and moaning beneath me, if not riding and buckling above me.
Her breasts were firm and nipples were stone. She attempted her best to cover her mouth and prevent her traitorous whines. My hands would come down, ever so often, smacking against sensitive flesh, leaving a red imprint on her cheeks as I watched her bite pillows to hide her shameful mewling.
I gripped at her thighs and pinned her against the mattress, bucking my hips with a frantic roar as I listened to the woman's voice that was contorted in pleasure.
"Moan harder!" I ordered. "I want to hear you! I want the world to hear you!"
She complied. Her sounds, her voice, her scent, the feeling of true and utter victory –
Our sweaty bodies departed. I rolled her on her back on the bed, and I finished my deed. She seemed to lack the strength to complain, or perhaps she realized that I would not give her the chance to do so.
I wiped myself clean against her stomach and the sheets. My mission complete, I basked in her sweaty panting form for ten seconds. Satisfied, I reached for my shirt and pants.
"Y-you – you're leaving?" she panted.
"Yes."
"B-but –"
"Did you think I would stay the night and cuddle?" I mused.
My shoes were on. My shirt, my tie, my jacket, complete. I knew that the smell of sex would be rank on my form, and I wore it, proudly, the aroma of victory. I reached for the door.
"W-wait," she called out. "T-that's it? After all sweet-talk and buttering me up at the bar you just put on your clothes and leave once we're done?"
"I'm afraid social conventions dictate that hugging and kissing strangers is more awkward than sleeping with them."
She laughs. "Jesus." She sits up. "Maybe I should have expected it since you brought me to a hotel instead of your place…" Her breasts hung in the air as her eyes seemed to lose the haze of lust and desire. "…but you really are once callous bastard."
The words gave me pause. Looking over the woman, I noticed a significant resemblance she bore to Miss Rosevelt I met earlier in the day. No, I could even say that the reason I chose her for this night was because she looked similar to Miss Rosevelt. Coincidences of this nature did not simply happen.
"I assume you are an acquaintance of Miss Rosevelt?"
"Rosevelt?" the woman frowns. "I don't – oh. That must be the name she used."
"How fascinating. One sister attempts to get me to sleep with her under the guise of an interview, and the other just happens to be at the bar I occasionally frequent. Fate seems to have pulled out all the stops tonight."
"I don't believe in fate."
"Nor do I." I bow, as gentlemen should. "I can't help but notice that you did not deny being sisters, nor do you seem confused by what exactly I'm talking about." I leisurely adjusted my tie. "If it is money you are after, I would sadly inform you that as the fourth son, I am not entitled to my father's fortune."
"This isn't about money!"
"It's always about money." I said. "If you wish to beat around the bush, do go on. Tell me. What is this really about?"
"Tom Kingsley."
"The old man?" I remembered him. "A former employee; a terrible one. Tardy, always distracted, vanished at odd hours and left before official closing time. He was highly inefficient." There was one rather pressing detail. "I heard he committed suicide after he lost his job."
"Don't you mean after you fired him?"
"No. He lost his job." It was merely fact. "What part of 'tardy', 'inefficient' and 'distracted' is associated with corporate success? Do I need to draw a Venn diagram?"
"But you knew why." She argued. "You knew why – and you didn't care."
"His sick son, yes." I shook my head. "Personal reasons are not an acceptable excuse for poor performance."
"His son had cancer." She said, her words thick and laced with venom. "He worked, hard and diligent! He – he was doing different jobs and as many as he could just to get enough money to pay for treatments! Every day he'd come home past midnight, and then wake up at six am to go to work again, day after day. He was trying – trying his hardest."
"I'm touched, however, it does not matter how hard one tries. His hardest was not good enough, for if it were, he would still be employed at my company, and he certainly would still be alive."
She grit her teeth. I could see the manner in which they grinded against each other behind her cheeks. "Did you even care about his circumstances?"
"This is business. I am not paid to care about circumstances." I said. "Admittedly, I was not aware of the severity of his son's illness. If I were, I could have contributed to his cause and provided financial aid, and not-so-subtly spread details of my deed throughout the office. A boss that appears to look out for his employees is more respected than one that doesn't."
I frowned. "My apologies for your loss. This was a failing on my part. I missed an opportunity for better PR."
"Better PR?" she shouted. "My father is dead and you're thinking about fucking PR?!"
"I'm thinking about why you and your sister went to such excessive lengths to try and sleep with me, the man you hold liable." I paused. "I assume you did this because you have a reason? Or is this some new sexual fetish that I am unaware of?"
She hesitated. Her glare was still on me, but her gaze flickered away for a moment. It flickered to her bag, innocuously kept on the ground, and I gained a suspicion that I should not let her grab it.
I was too slow.
She picked up the bag, and a gun trailed itself in the direction of my forehead. I rose my hands up as non-threateningly as I could.
"A Sig Sauer P238? Interesting gun choice. I'm particular to the M1911 myself –"
"Shut up!" she snarled. "Do you ever listen to yourself talk?"
"It's one of the downsides of having ears I'm afraid."
"I said shut up!" she yelled again. Her finger rested softly on the trigger, and I took a step back. She reached into her bag with her left hand, while the right hand held the gun to my face, and she brought out a small packet of white pills.
She slid the pills across the ground until they landed beside my feet. "Pick it up. Slowly."
I did. I was not ashamed to say that I recognized the pills.
"Swallow it."
"Usually the date-rape drug is used before you have sex with someone –"
"Shut up and swallow it!"
I took a pill. One pill, and with years of pretending to swallow drugs, I let it slip down my sleeves while making an exaggerated show of swallowing.
"Your hands."
I showed her my empty hands.
"Your mouth. Raise your tongue."
I showed her my empty mouth. "Take off your clothes, and give me your wallet."
"So it does come back around to money doesn't it?" I began to slowly unbutton my shirt. "I assume you have a camera in your bag. Is this your plan? Drug me and make it look like I raped you and then blackmail me for millions? Or, are you going to handcuff me to the bed, surrounded by large packets of cocaine and then give an anonymous tip to the police? No – you wouldn't need to sleep with me otherwise."
"Do you ever shut up?"
I opened my lips to respond just as three sharp knocks landed against the door.
"Room service!" a voice called from the other side of the door.
She sharply turned to me. "When did you order room service?"
"I didn't."
"What do you mean you didn't?"
"It means at no point in the past did I commit to the action of ordering room service."
"Well neither did I."
Three more knocks landed against the door. They were sharper than before. Sharp and impatient. She opened her mouth to tell them off and I rapidly shook my head at her.
"Don't." I whispered.
"What?" she turned the gun back at me, holding it with both hands.
"That's not room service." I kept my voice low.
"You called someone?"
"No." I whispered. "We were followed."
"Why would anyone follow us?"
"Coming from the woman holding me at gunpoint? What do you think?"
Four sharper knocks, almost reaching the sound frequency of angry banging. The door rattled from the force.
"Listen, you have a gun, and they most likely have a gun." I said quickly, putting my hands down. "You have surprise on your side, so that's good. Open the door, and shoot them before they shoot us."
"I – no – I can't."
"You can, because they are most certainly going to –"
"You don't understand – I can't shoot them."
She rose her gun, her expression going from uncertain to worried in seconds. It hit me.
"Your gun isn't loaded."
She looked away, biting down on her lower lip.
"Wonderful." I cursed. "Simply wonderful."
"I didn't come here intending to kill anyone!"
"No, simply to drug them." I let the pill slip out from my sleeve and held it in front of her. "Which, might I add, you failed to do successfully."
Five angry thuds slammed against the door and she grimaced. There was no time for this discussion.
"Get dressed. Quickly. We're leaving."
"Leaving?"
I pointed to the balcony. I always picked a room with a verandah or balcony.
"No." she shook her head. "This is the thirty-third floor."
"I wasn't asking." I said. "Get. Dressed."
The knocks on the door became full bangs, and the knob was moving furiously, followed by the sound of a body slamming against it. I dashed for the balcony, pushing aside the large doors and standing out in the open night breeze.
Searching for someplace to hide or something to use brought my attention to a familiar object off to the side. It was a lift. A lift used by the window cleaners. I was familiar with it. When I was sixteen my father forced me to clean the windows of my brothers offices every day throughout the summer as my punishment for getting suspended.
"Hurry!"