A Wanted Woman Part 38

Another long moment pa.s.sed before I removed my dark Agent Provocateur thong, took off my short leather jacket, my black tee, and my dark Agent Provocateur bra. Gun in hand, I stood undressed, folded all of my clothing, placed everything neatly on a different chair, a chair that would not be far from me if I needed my clothes in a hurry. I studied him a moment, pushed many thoughts and fears out of my mind, let go of as much of the mental baggage I carried as I could, and pulled at my natural hair.

In a shaky voice I said, "I'll be with you shortly."

He nodded.

I held my gun and went to the shower, cleansed myself, ran my fingers over my ancient scars again, rubbed those spots where I had been stabbed and shot, touched each spot and remembered.

Warm water. I stood underneath warm water and moaned like I was dying. I also felt the heaviness from my circadian clock being all but destroyed. I could have fallen asleep right there, underneath the spray of warm water, in the humidity of the bathroom.

I took in a mouthful of the shower water, Bajan water having come across limestone and having a unique taste. I gave myself ten minutes, eight minutes longer than the showers I had taken over the last forty-plus days. Had lost count. Could've stayed in the shower forever. I rinsed, soaped, rinsed, soaped, rinsed, then stood there humming, moaning. I didn't want to get out. When I turned the water off, losing that feeling ached. Gun in hand, I returned to my escort with water dripping from my body.

Condoms were on the table, next to a tray of fruit. But I didn't use those. I had brought my own. I took out several brands that I had bought at the supermarket in Emerald City, looked to see which style or size would fit his stiffness, went with a King condom, then ripped it open, stroked him a while, stroked him as I had stroked King Killer, as I had stroked Johnny Parker, as I had stroked many men.

"You're really good at that."

"Stop talking."

He moaned like he was amazed, became hard, and I rolled the prophylactic on him. He licked his lips and a guttural groan rumbled in his throat. I leaned into him and rubbed my b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his chest.

His skin felt so good against my skin. I bit my lip and inhaled.

He stirred in his armless chair, his strong hands tied to the chair's legs. He had the arms of a boxer. He had the biceps of a weight lifter. His body was f.u.c.king ridiculous.

I put the gun down, made sure it stayed within reach.

I stroked him until his stiffness pulled a torrent of blood from his brain.

He pulled at his restraints when it was too much, but he could do nothing to stop me. That was my rendition. That was my act of torture. His muscles flexed and he pushed into my hand. He was ready. I mounted him. I was anxious and wet from the shower, but dry at my s.e.x.

That dryness embarra.s.sed me.

I worked him until my lips parted, made myself open, cringed and did a slow and sensual booty roll, rolled against his gyrating groin, felt what was stiff become stiffer, sat down on him too hard, too abruptly, and clenched my teeth. My left leg began to quiver. That embarra.s.sed me. Then I took a breath, a deep breath, a ragged breath, counted to ten, and again I was back in control.

He moved. I moved.

It felt good. It felt incredible. I bit my hand to keep from letting him know how good it felt. I rolled on him, shuddered as I moved up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Heard a noise. Stopped moving. Looked at the door. Was ready to disconnect and leap for my weapon.

People pa.s.sed by.

I sat still, but he kept moving, kept wining, kept making circles, kept stirring my insides.

I bit my hand, made sure no one was breaking in the door.

Then I went back to rolling with him. While I had paused, he hadn't stopped moving his hips, hadn't detected that I had been distracted. He moaned like he enjoyed me. s.h.i.t. I moaned. He made me moan. Couldn't stop moaning and moving up and down, couldn't stop ma.s.saging that tension.

His moans were in my ear, my moans in his.

I began to spin in blackness and fire.

I became fierce, danced on him, embarra.s.sed for being so primitive with a stranger, but unable to control myself, unable to stop. I choked him. He strained his neck and I choked him harder. I choked him as I rose and slammed down into him. I made so much noise. He cursed. I drooled. He made me drool. I could not stop. Muscle tension. Quaking. Shuddering. Confused. Vibrations that would not end. So turned on. So excited. I could not control myself. The sensation that came in waves, and built and crashed like tsunami after tsunami after tsunami. I died one thousand times.

I slipped away from him, fell to the floor, almost took him and the chair down with me.

Eyes closed tight, I trembled and snapped, "What did you do to me?"

"What do you mean?"

"s.h.i.t. You drugged me."

"What are you talking about?"

"What the h.e.l.l just happened? Legs won't stop shaking. I can barely breathe."

"I can't see, but it sounds like an o.r.g.a.s.m."

Legs squeezed together, I let out a long, deep moan.

He wasn't inside of me, but I jerked, trembled, and the shaking happened again.

I whispered, "I had an o.r.g.a.s.m. So that's an o.r.g.a.s.m."

"You've never had an o.r.g.a.s.m?"

A few seconds went by with me on the floor, eyes opened wide.

"The trembling won't stop. I'm not on you and it's still happening."

"Are you okay?"

I said nothing. Couldn't talk.

He asked, "You okay?"

I rolled over to my side, then sat up on the carpet, not quite there.

He asked, "You've never come before?"

I hurried to the shower again. Two minutes of warm water to clear my head, then a minute of cold water to try to calm me down. I dried off. Picked up my folded clothing. Dressed in record time.

Then I went to him and freed one hand.

I said, "Don't remove your blindfold. Count down from one hundred. Untie your other hand. Count up to one hundred, untie one leg. Count down from one hundred, untie the next leg. Count up to one hundred and count down again, then shower and go on with your night."

He said, "You're done?"

I whispered, "Start counting when you hear the door close. Understand?"

I clicked off the light, left him in the dark, condom on his waning stiffness, windows open, a zephyr making the curtains dance, tree frogs singing as the waves crashed into the sh.o.r.es. I felt guilt. On the way down I started to input a text message: I really miss you. Didn't think I would this much FOR THIS LONG. MONTHS HAVE Pa.s.sED AND I STILL f.u.c.kIN LOVE YOU. Jennifer.

Again I began to tingle and I leaned against a wall. It rolled. I felt pins and needles. Painful. Felt woozy. Heady buzz. Knees became weak. The closer I came to losing control, the better I felt. Bit my hand. Went over the edge. Pulsated. Felt like his stiffness was still inside of me. s.h.i.t. I was coming again. Moaned. Bit my hand harder. Another o.r.g.a.s.m rolled through my body. Felt madness in my brain. Legs trembled again.

I trembled and whispered, "f.u.c.k. Another o.r.g.a.s.m. Stop it. Just stop it."

It hurt so good. Like I was bursting. For another minute it hurt so good. Body was contracting all over. When I calmed, when it died down, while I floated, I wanted more right away.

For a moment I looked at my cellular, deleted the message, typed a new one.

f.u.c.k YOU JOHNNY, f.u.c.kIN f.u.c.k YOU AND THAT CRAZY b.i.t.c.h. YOU NEVER f.u.c.kIN MADE ME COME YOU f.u.c.kIN LOSER. SOMEBODY ELSE DID IN FIVE MINUTES WHAT YOU NEVER DID IN FIVE MONTHS. WEAK d.i.c.k b.a.s.t.a.r.d, YOU AND THAT b.i.t.c.h DESERVE EACH OTHER. I'M THE STUPID ONE. NOW I'M THE ONE PING PING PINGING YOU LIKE I'M d.a.m.n PSYCHO. NOW I'M ACTING LIKE THAT CRAZY b.i.t.c.h AND THAT AIN'T f.u.c.kIN COOL. MOTHERf.u.c.kER I'M DONE. THIS IS THE LAST f.u.c.kIN PING FROM ME.

Barbarians were tracking my phone. I didn't press SEND. I deleted the message, backs.p.a.ced over my temporary insanity and destroyed that SIM card. Remorse remained, had me distracted, had me off my game.

Angry, but still tingling, still sensitive. Years of not having o.r.g.a.s.ms had caught up with me. s.e.x had felt good, penetration had always felt good, but it had always ended with a comma, never with a bold, underscored exclamation point in a super-size font. Was tempted to run back to the man I had rented. Having an o.r.g.a.s.m with him, losing control, I had embarra.s.sed myself. I had embarra.s.sed myself and left, happy that he had no f.u.c.king idea who I was. This had me distracted, and that distraction was p.i.s.sing me the f.u.c.k off. o.r.g.a.s.m had taken my mind away from what was important. I saw why it had been so easy to take out targets after I had made them come, after they had become relaxed, unfocused, and dreamy-eyed. After they had died a thousand little deaths, giving the big one was easy.

o.r.g.a.s.m made a strong man defenseless, took him off his game.

o.r.g.a.s.m did the same for women. Had just done the same for me.

When I made it to where my bike was hidden, an a.s.sa.s.sin was waiting on my arrival.

FORTY-THREE.

She waited, her face illuminated by the BlackBerry in her hand. Old Man Reaper's Bahamian daughter was in the shadows. She was leaning against a well-polished BMW K 1300, dressed in all black, a tight bodysuit that made her look like a Kryptonian warrior.

I pulled my backpack on and asked, "What are you doing?"

"s.e.xting my husband."

"When did you last see him?"

"Two hours ago."

"When did you have s.e.x with him last?"

"Three hours ago."

"Grow up. I need you to be focused. Not out here sending s.e.x messages."

She put her cellular away and said, "Well? How did it go?"

"It was okay."

"Just okay?"

"Just okay."

The weight from Black Jack and Hacker being dead came back. The thought of Black Jack and Hacker was a claw that had left me scarred and bleeding without a tourniquet.

They had been slaughtered. I had gone to visit an escort to ease my angst.

I doubted if they would've stopped living if I had become the headless a.s.sa.s.sin.

She said, "Didn't expect you for another thirty minutes, maybe an hour."

"How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing, I told you."

"How much did it cost?"

"Cost you nothing. My way of apologizing for being late down at Six Roads."

"I don't like handouts."

"That was a d.i.c.k-in, not a handout."

"Cute. Rude, but cute." I paused. "Let me do something for you."

"Buy me six cupcakes at the Cupcake Corner at Quayside and we're even."

I nodded. "Who tied him up?"

"You know he couldn't do that himself."

"Anything you want to confess?"

"No, I didn't do anything with him."

My head still felt light. The tingles wouldn't die down.

She asked, "You okay?"

I paused. "Black Jack. He was killed. Decapitated."

"That was your guy from the Hilton? The thing on the front page at Ridgeview Estates?"

"f.u.c.k. He hacked into the LKs' system, tracked the LKs for me. A day later, he's dead."

"Him and the eighteen-year-old from UWI?"

Now she was alert, standing tall, no longer a wife but an a.s.sa.s.sin. "Are they still here?"