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Brooke shows off to the Pizza Boy.
Linda's arm slipped through mine, and we stole out into the city.
The brisk night air sobered me somewhat, and by the time we reached her hotel a few blocks away, my gait was steadier. My head spun a bit as the lift went into motion, and her arm gripped mine knowingly, tightening her noose round me -- I'd never meant to get into the lift! Was I walking her to her room then? I was. And I would bid her good-night at the door, and go use Catherine like a whore. Right. I would --
Her deep brown eyes glinted merrily with amusement as she swung the door open and noted my resistance. "Come," she commanded, and the word again worked its magic, goddamn her. Her smile broadened as I growled again in defence, but there I was, standing in her posh hotel room like an utter prat as she slipped off her coat and hung it in the closet. "Sit."
"Linda, I am not a dog!" I snapped indignantly in a pathetic attempt to escape her spell.
My flash of temper didn't even phase her. She was pouring two drinks from a bottle on a writing desk, her back to me, her voice maddeningly unconcerned. "Don't be silly. You're all dogs, it's only a matter of degree. You're growling like one. Followed me up to my room like a puppy. If you didn't want to be here, you wouldn't be." She turned to hand me a drink. "Now sit on my bed, drink up, and try to resist raping me."
I was gobsmacked by the accusations. Feeling nothing less than a scolded child, I numbly took the drink and obeyed, eyes never leaving her as she sat in a chair opposite me, kicking off her shoes, crossing her legs like a perfectly refined lady. I nursed my drink, scratching at the stubble on my jaw, and muttered, "Can't stay... my fianc__e --"
Her abrupt, haughty laugh stopped me cold. "Oh darling, I won't keep you long! You couldn't be safer. I'll be gone tomorrow, won't tell a soul, I'm clean, can't get pregnant. You're clean, aren't you?"
"Well, y-yes!" I stammered before realising what had dropped out my mouth, as though I'd actually considered her bold proposition. But my manhood began to recover with my rising temper, and I blurted, "But I didn't keep this way by shoving my cock into every whore who wanted it!"
She uncrossed her legs and leant forward, anger flashing behind her dark eyes. Her voice was low, dangerous. "Did you just call me a whore?"
I should have apologised and legged it, but I felt a need to vanquish her before I self-righteously stalked out to return to my beloved. I sneered back, "Bloody right I did. You just propositioned me knowing full well that --" My words had scarce left my lips before she had crossed the space between us and slapped my face hard enough to turn my cheek.
I was positively stunned. There was something intensely humiliating about being slapped in the face, and I didn't like it at all! My lips drew back from my teeth in anger as I slammed down my glass onto the nightstand and shot to my feet, fuming. She didn't budge a jot.
"Apologise," she demanded coldly.
"I will not!" I sniped back, earning a backhand this time. Fuck's sake, did this woman have a death wish? Did I?! Why was I continuing to stand here and take this abuse? When my eyes again turned back to blaze their defiance, she lifted her hand once more, and this time I couldn't stop myself. The first hint of fear passed behind her dark eyes in the split second it took for my palm to connect with her cheek.
A perverse pleasure washed over me, but dear God, I'd just hit a woman. Her face spun away from me, but she remained on her feet, swaying for a long moment before she pressed a hand to her cheek. Then her eyes once again met mine, and she squared her shoulders. A slow smile crept cross those incredible lips. Her chest was beginning to heave. I was paralysed, enraptured by her odd reaction.
Without warning, her hand shot between my legs and grasped a handful of scrotum.