by Aven Jayce
“We both have the power,” she whispers. “We’re one.”
I collapse onto the floor and she falls on top of me, both of us consumed by deep breathing and aching legs.
“Shit, that was good,” I wheeze, in a daze.
“Everything was.”
“I can’t believe I just came and I still want you.”
She laughs. “That’s telling.”
“I guess so... I’m dizzy... hell... let’s fuck like that again sometime, like tomorrow.” I grin. “By the way, is your ass healed?”
“It’s much better, thanks for asking.” She takes a napkin from the table and wipes my dick.
“Oh, don’t do that. Someone’s going to wipe his mouth on it.”
“Yeah, after it’s washed.” She shakes her head. “And since when do you care?”
“Trust me, I care about cleanliness. My hotel sheets are laundered after every guest, not every third guest like most hotels.”
“Hotels do that?”
I nod and look at my watch. “Oh crap.” I sit up. “We need to get dressed before we’re putting on a show for some resort worker. We’ve got about five minutes left. Time flies when you’re fucking in the air.”
She places her cut underwear in her purse and reaches for her dress. “Do you think people saw us?”
“No. We were too high and the lift is dark.”
“So are you about to explode from all of this?” She motions around the space. “You’ve been so kind, but this must be shrinking your balls to the size of a pea.”
“I can’t answer that because my balls have been missing for weeks.” I smile, buttoning my shirt. “Come closer.” I pull her by my side, fixing her wandering strands of hair. “You happy?”
“I’m happy, Mark.”
“For how long?”
She laughs, even though it was a serious question. I let it go for now while I fix my hair and straighten my tie.
She’s dressed and tucking her Berti into the box it was gifted in. I’m sort of jealous that I don’t own such an attractive knife.
“There’s no reason to touch my weapons now that you have your own.”
She nods. “Can I ask you something and get a truthful answer?”
“No,” I say, tying my shoes. “It depends on the question. What?”
“Are you the one who killed Roland?”
I stand and sigh, hovering over her, unsure why she needs to hear me say it. “You already know.”
She looks down as if she’s thinking and then asks quietly, “Would you kill for me again?”
“When necessary, yes. For the right reason.”
“What if Roland never hurt me? Would you have killed him anyway, if I had asked?”
“What?”
“Just answer the question.”
The lift stops and the door opens. We’re no longer alone.
“I just want to know how far you’d be willing to go. Did you ‘get rid of’ people based on their ‘actions?’ What they did? Or did you do it because of the way it made you feel? Which is it? Was it about you, or them?”
“Shh,” I hush her. We’ve got company. The guy could think we’re talking about firing my employees, but still.
“It was probably both,” she whispers, stepping into the bitter night. “And I don’t blame you.”
She walks joyfully ahead while swinging her gift, delighted by the way the date turned out. Her silhouette fades into the darkness as I slip into my jacket, noticing the cut on my chest has stained my shirt—a red bullseye over my heart.
She got her target, dead center.
UNSETTLED
JULES DECIDED TO SLEEP in her own room, separate from me, which pissed me off considering the three grand I spent on the fucking Berti. She said it’d be better if we ended the evening on a high-note and not to push it.
“It was perfect, Mark. Let’s leave it at that,” she said.
“Whatever,” I sigh, while lying in my dark bedroom. “I’m not even going to try to decipher what’s going on in her head. I’ll assume she’s tired, nothing more.”
That was three hours ago and once again I’m in my usual bothered state—staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep, thinking about my family, and listening to a shitload of people hanging out poolside in a drunken stupor. I’m glad they’re happy, but they’re keeping me awake, and if I’m awake, guests are too. I’m surprised I haven’t heard from the front desk about any noise complaints.
While I enjoy the fresh air and nearly always prop open my bedroom door when I sleep, tonight may be one of those times I have to lock myself away from the outside world.
“Loud, obnoxious, fucks,” I mutter.
I should get up and kill Mera to pass the time, or... I check my watch... past midnight... still early when you own a wine bar. Maybe my brother-in-law can keep me company for a while. I bring up Cove’s office number at The Dark Scarlett then decide it’s a bad idea, considering I just saw him yesterday. He needs a day of peace. Damn, one of these days I’m going to figure out a way to get him to fall in love with me. I’ve tried everything I can think of, but he refuses to appreciate my company.
I decide to send him a text instead, but keep it short, after all, I don’t want to ‘push it,’ like Jules so eloquently said.
We make a great team. Can’t wait to work with you again. Hope Dax is well. Come back soon, dickhead.
I sigh. Hell, I have to get out of bed and do something besides sending loving texts into cyberspace. If I don’t, I’ll go completely insane.
A text sounds as I’m tying my robe. That was fast. I didn’t expect him to respond... ever.
Swim with me, Mark Jameson.
No shit.
I check the number, seeing it’s from a Vegas area code. Damn her. That bitch Mera Calloway better not be in my pool.
I reply while heading to my deck. She must’ve picked up my number from Daxton the other night.
You wanna hang out in my suite? I’ll show you a good time.
I’m too far away to see if she’s really here. It could be a prank.
Neutral ground, in the pool, no weapons. She responds.
Fuck, I wish I could see her. Come on, get out of the pool and show your face.
Fog hovers over the warm water, causing the guests’ heads to disappear. There’re a lot less people than I thought, considering the amount of noise. Around ten total, some of them holding drinks from my bar, and luckily, they’re dressed. Every once in a while I get a group of skinny dippers after a night of drinking. Glad these people know how to behave.
But I don’t see any women, only men.
I’m up for this. I’ll head down and have a little fun, if that’s what she wants. I haven’t been in my pool in ages and I should take more time to use the hotel facilities, especially since I own the fucking place.
Wearing my swim trunks under my Jameson Hotel robe, my black loafers, and my towel in hand, I make my way to Jules’ suite, hoping she’ll join me for a moonlight dip.
No answer.
Wait, a moan. She’s stirring. I knock again. “Jules, it’s me.”
A muffled “huh” sounds.
“Open the door, princess.”
A moment later my groggy-eyed woman opens her door in an unbuttoned pink pajama top with her tits hanging out and her tan flesh begging to be caressed.
“Nice.”
“I was sleeping,” she whispers.
“You wanna join me for a swim?”
“Now? No, Mark.”
“Why not? It’s a clear night. The moon and stars are out, and who knows, the pool may be full of surprises.”
“Are you talking about your dick again?” she sighs.
“You should come down and find out.”
“I already told you...”
I block her body as a guest walks by, bringing her closer to my chest. “I know, I know. Suit yourself,” I whisper. “Sweet dreams. And if
you change your mind, bring JAB along. Get used to carrying that weapon.” I assert, tossing the towel over my shoulder and walking away. Her door closes as I head down the corridor, alone. Once she’s out of her drowsy state she might decide to show her face, but for now, I’m on my own—just Fantasia Cocker and me. God, that’s such a fucking ridiculously horrible fake name. Amateurish.
I take a detour and stop at my front desk, inspecting the guest list to see if she’s checked in or just being a parasite on my property. There’s no Mera, Fantasia, or any other name that looks familiar, so my guess is right—she’s being a freeloader, taking advantage of my backyard oasis like it’s some urine-filled public pool.
My second stop is the bar. I’m gonna take my time and get a beer, two beers. One for me and one for me, because real men swim with a beer in each hand.
Last, I walk out the side door, checking the parking lot for her truck. Sure enough, the orange rusted beast is parked next to a classic red Corvette.
“Like apples and oranges,” I mumble, turning back inside and entering the hallway toward the pool. Whistling and thinking about trolls, I drink from one bottle then whistle and drink from the other. I didn’t invite this bitch into my ‘home.’
I’m a troll, fol-de-rol.
She’s rushing this, just like Dayne, and dealing with a novice can irk the fuck out of me. She’s trying to act tough, but doesn’t have a clue what she’s getting into; it’s obvious with the text. Some people need a septic hose jammed down their throats to get the, ‘my shit don’t stink,’ sucked out of their systems so they learn the world doesn’t revolve around them.
“I’m going to eat you for supper, Mera,” I whisper, exiting the door that leads outside, ignoring the no alcoholic beverages in the pool area sign.
I place my robe over a chair, slip out of my loafers, take both beers in hand, and stand on the stairs leading into the water. It’s fucking colder than a witch’s titty tonight and my cock is a shriveled nub, but the water feels like it’s ninety degrees, making it easy to slip in quickly.
My pool is a decent size and the heads that appear next to me dissolve into the fog a moment later, moving from the shallow end to the deep end then back again... in and out. Everyone standing poolside, above the fog, is within view; it’s the swimmers at the surface that are in a haze. I lean against the wall in the shallow area, spreading my arms wide, holding each beer, and waiting for my friend.
“Marco,” I call out to announce my arrival.
“Polo,” some drunken dude yells, hanging out poolside about six feet away. I raise my bottle and nod, getting a cheer from him and his friends as they start chanting Marco, Polo.
Fucking assholes.
I walk further in, my beers above the water, taking a swig every couple of feet, then stopping at the five foot mark.
“Mera,” I say, directing my voice toward the deep end.
“Polo,” the dumbass behind me shouts.
I look around, only catching glimpses of people here and there... a head bobbing, splashing, feet kicking, then... a woman swimming underwater. Black bikini, long dark hair flowing behind her body, six feet, four feet, two, a touch... hands sliding up my legs, over my abs and to my neck... a head surfacing a few inches from my face... her arms and legs wrapping around my body. I’m encased.
“Hello, Mark Jameson,” she says in a sexy voice holding on to me like we’re lovers. Her hair’s slicked back and mascara is smeared under her bright blue eyes. “How’s it hanging?” She grabs my dick and I almost vomit in her face.
“Looking good Mera Calloway.” I smirk, taking a chug of beer, hoping to get drunk so I can handle her touch.
“I didn’t realize you were so small.”
I look down at her fondling fingers. “The chilly fall air will do that to a man.”
“Ha.” She taps my cheek, rubbing her slimy snatch across my leg. “I’ve heard that lie one too many times from men. Nice try, little Marky.” Her hands slide over my hips and around my ass, patting me down like she’s a cop. “No weapons... unless you’re hiding something up your butthole, which wouldn’t surprise me, being Paul’s son and all.”
“No weapons.” I place the second bottle to my mouth and drink.
“One of those for me?”
“Fuck no. I was hoping to pick up a good-looking woman tonight, gift her a beer then take her back to my room and fuck... trust me, you’re not her. I’ll keep drinking both beers until my dream woman shows up.”
She digs her nails into my back and I jerk forward, smashing into her chest. Our eyes are inches apart and her face smells like chlorine. I’m freed for a moment as she massages her tits, putting on a ridiculous show that does nothing but make me ill.
“Those are fake.”
“You like ‘em?” She unties the bikini strap from around her neck and lowers her top. Her tits are disgusting as far as I’m concerned, but they’re a foot away and I can’t help but look.
“What a woman,” I whisper. “Now put them away, this isn’t some fucking porn video. I’ve got kids staying in my hotel.”
I watch her retie the top while I drink from one bottle then place the second to my mouth. She licks her lips as my tongue circles the rim before swallowing a mouthful.
“Hot,” she says with a second tug at my cock. “Give me a drink.”
“Tell me what you want and I might.”
She moves in for the kill, running her tongue up my neck and to my ear. Fuck, I hate it. I swallow the vomit that gets caught in my throat, but next time it comes up, I’ll kiss her and expel it into her mouth.
When her cold tongue reaches my ear, she whispers, “Where did you bury my husband?”
“How and why did you get mixed up with Dayne?” I give her a repulsed look while taking another drink. “That piece-of-shit was twenty-five years older than you. Your marriage wasn’t real. Tell me what you were using him for?”
My nuts get clutched. “You’re wrong. Dead wrong.”
“Shit.” I wince.
“Dead. Fucking. Wrong.”
I take a deep breath to control the pain.
“Dayne loved me. He wrote to me almost every day over the past year and we had wild master and slut fucking conjugal visits. We made truffle butter together and would beast fuck until the morning sun came up. He treated me with respect too, unlike most men, including washed up porn stars like yourself, Marcus Wild.”
I’m released from the bitch’s wicked grip and seriously consider choking her, right here and now. Her head would be held underwater if we were the only two in this pool.
“It’d be insulting to every woman on this earth if I ever said that you were one. You’re trash and nothing more. Too bad you ruined your life starting when you became one of my father’s whores.”
A hardy echoing blast of laughter exits her mouth and ricochets into the woods.
“You too, kiddo,” she says, using one of my dad’s favorite expressions.
I stare at her incoming crow’s feet and the start of a double chin. She looks fifty, not thirty-something, and her flabby arms double in size when distorted in the water. After two more slugs of beer, I hold the second bottle above us, ready to pour it over the water. She sticks out her tongue, waiting for a drop to fall.
“Don’t be so stingy,” she says, as I bring it back to my mouth, stopping before the liquid touches my lips. She waits, watching me chug half of it down.
“You’re not very upset about your husband,” I say. Dayne may have loved her, but it’s obvious she didn’t feel the same way about him. Especially since she’s more focused on the fucking alcohol than showing any emotion toward the guy. She reaches for the bottle and I finally hand it over, watching her take two big swallows.
“I can tell by the marks on your face that he didn’t go down without a fight.” I turn my head, repelling her attempt to touch my skin.
“Let me guess,” I say, amazed to see Jules swimming a few feet
away. She looks over, but I ignore her and luckily she does the same. She gets it. Good girl. I’m glad she woke up and decided to join me.
“What?” Mera asks. “Guess what?”
My hand touches her waist and I pull her closer. We both drink, looking into each other’s eyes. She places the bottle on the concrete and links her hands behind my neck. “You’re lonely,” I whisper, inches from her face, “approaching middle-age, no longer in the porn industry, probably broke...” I look at her arms, not seeing any track marks. “I’m sure you’re addicted to something. Maybe the Special K you drugged Dax with. I know your type. You’ll latch on to anyone because you have no one.” I look at her arms again and grin. She lowers them and backs away. “What the fuck are you doing here? Do you think I’m letting this incident with Dax go? You haven’t got a clue how fucking enraged I am about that.” I shake my head. “Don’t count on getting out of here. You should’ve just packed up and left town.”
She laughs and treads closer, her legs around my waist and mouth next to my ear. In a faint voice she says, “I didn’t love Dayne, but I knew he’d scare the shit out of Cove and Sophia enough to get a hefty chunk of money from those two. Money we could’ve had fun with for a few years, then I would’ve moved on to someone else. That’s the way my world works. Men will always take care of me, like your father did. He paid for my college tuition, apartments, and then gave me whatever the fuck I wanted when I was his house whore. There have been plenty like him and plenty more to come. Dax was punishment for ruining my plans.”
“You’re a fucking bitch, Mera, and getting too old for anyone to care. You know it and it scares the shit out of you. You’re no longer noticed because your body and face are sagging. You try to stand out and return to your youth by getting new tits, but they don’t do jack shit. If the things you said were true then you wouldn’t be employed at some Italian restaurant in Vegas.”
“I’m not anymore.”
“Because of Dayne. He was your way out for a while. A dirty old man just out of prison is the best you could do.” She slaps my face and I laugh, noticing my gorgeous blonde resurfacing a few feet away.
