She’s like a marionette with cut strings. Utterly helpless without her handler.
Good.
She glances up at me, sated, her hair a mess from my fingers, her lips swollen from my kiss. “What about you? You didn’t… I mean,” she flushes a deep shade of pink, “I need to make you come too.”
I disregard the way my cock strains against my pants. “Later. Tonight is about you.”
Her dreamy exhale tightens my chest. “I can’t believe this is happening for me.”
Not to me.For me.As if I just granted her some kind of gift.
The words pour ice water down my spine, reminding me of our vast differences.
In her world, even this—my calculated attempt to dominate her, to reduce her to nothing but physical responses—becomes a “glass half full” situation.
Her incomprehensible capacity to find light in the darkness bewilders me.
A spotlight that shows me the filth on my own hands. Hands I just washed in her pussy, my fingers still slick from her orgasm.
With a bit more time and attention to detail, I could’ve completely unraveled her.The thought is unbidden and unwelcome.
Absolutely not. I willnotbreak.
The self-directed rage transforms into cold, clarifying purpose. I wipe my fingers on my pants, erasing the evidence of her release. The mission reasserts itself, filling the cracks her touch created in my resolve.
Find the diamonds.
Complete the job.
Nothing else matters.
The vial’s still in my pocket. “How about that tea? Or maybe a beer?” I survey the kitchen, searching for where she stores her alcohol. “Do you even have beer?”
She tilts her head, confused by the sudden shift in topic. Her neck is flushed pink down to her collarbone, a physical map of her post-orgasm bliss.
She waves a limp hand. “There’s Guinness. And wine.”
Guinness. Stronger flavor to mask the bitter taste.
After silencing the kettle, I pull a can from the fridge and pop the tab.
She’s putting her pajama bottoms back on, oblivious to what I’m doing.
Perfect. I’ve already extracted the vial from my pocket, slipping it into my palm while grabbing the beer. With a quick tip of my wrist, I drop the clear dose of GHB into the open can, the fluid motion invisible to anyone not specifically watching for it. I’ve done this before. Many times.
I offer her the Guinness, our fingers brushing in the exchange. The contact sends an unwelcome jolt through my system that I refuse to acknowledge.
She accepts the beer. “Don’t you want one?” Her voice is breathless as she continues to recover from what I just did to her.
For her.
Ridiculous.
“Sure.” I grab another beer and sit at the small kitchen table in the chair beside hers. Shouldn’t be long. Then I can get to work.
The drug is no longer only for the mission. It’s also a punishment. For her being a complication and for me almost succumbing. I’m putting danger back in its cage where it belongs.
She takes a few sips, the foam clinging to her upper lip for a moment before her tongue darts out to swipe it away. “You know, I’m going to the craft store tomorrow. Hobby Hut. They have this new shipment of construction paper that’s made from recycled materials. The kids will love it. Might pick up more glitter glue too.” Her words slur a bit at the edges.
