Ten minutes later, we pull into his garage. We take the elevator to his penthouse.
The second we reach the penthouse, he pushes me into a glass wall.
“Suck me,” he says.
“No,” I say as I remove myself underneath him.
“What do you think you are here for?” he asks me, and I laugh.
“You really must work on your auditory comprehension,” I say, and take out a pen from my purse and write a number on the white wall. “My account number. If you want my attention, make yourself memorable while I refresh myself in the bathroom.”
He looks at me with lust pouring from his eyes. He is intrigued. Enchanted by the way I don’t play by his rules. Those powerful men are all the same.
“Second on the right,” he says.
I walk down a corridor, slowly, to take in the situation. There are cameras everywhere.
Well, that’ll be a challenge.
I enter the bathroom, check for cameras with a tool from my purse, then sit on the toilet with the lid closed and take out my phone to map the signals in the penthouse. There is a lot of transmitting happening. Too bad I couldn’t take my laptop with me.
A $250,000 wire transfer comes in.
I scoff. The sum is predictably low.
Gods. Men are so pathetic.
I want nothing more than to murder him right now. The kill I waited and trained for all these years.
But I can’t. Not today. Because I need access to his system first.
I get out of the bathroom, and he’s waiting in front of the door. Leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. I expected as much.
“Now,” he says, “Suck me.”
“You know,” I say as my hand brushes over his chest. “I’d really like a little kicker before.” I tilt my head and look him knowingly in the eyes. “I suck so much better with the kick.”
He removes a hand from his pocket and throws something on the floor in the bathroom behind me. It’s a little pouch of white powder.
“Go fetch,” he says with a malicious smirk.
Oh, how I’d like to murder him right now.
I sink to my knees and crawl to it.
Come on, follow me.
And he does. He stands so close, holding out a black Amex and a rolled-up Benjamin. I take it, get up in a luscious way with my hand gliding over his leg, before I open the plastic bag and prepare several lines on the marble vanity top.
While I do, he presses himself and his hard cock into me. I hate men. I hate penises. And most of all, I hate penises near me.
“Here,” I say, turn and hand him the rolled Benjamin.
“Ladies first,” he says.
I never do drugs. And I won’t this time.
I position my body so he can’t see what I am doing, and I sniff, then wipe the powder into one of the other lines. I get up, pretending to feel the kick.
