There he was; her assignment. He leaned with both elbows on the bar sipping at his drink, in a world of his own. He was in a dark suit, his tie loose and the top button unbuttoned. His suit jacket was draped across the bar, his shirt sleeves rolled up. He appeared to be a tired executive stopping in for a drink before he trudged home to his loud wife and obnoxious children.
Ruggedly handsome and nothing like her usual marks. Normally, these assignments were routine; boring men who cheated on their equally boring wives. She assessed him before making contact. At least, it would be a pleasure to interact with him, and a shame they had to go down this path.
With a toss of her head, raven hair swung away from fine cheekbones and a delicate neck; she started into the semi-crowded bar. Catching a glimpse of herself in one of the bar's mirrored columns, she nodded imperceptibly. She was suited for this work even if it would only be temporary until she made a dent in her nest egg. She had no false modesty. She knew she was pretty. She had a heart-shaped face, large breasts with a tapered waist and an ass most women would kill to have. At 5'6” in heels, she was on the short side for modeling, which she considered briefly, but that didn't hurt her in this line of work.
A black, cocktail dress accentuated her shapely legs and thighs. One shoulder of the dress left her skin exposed while the front dipped down in a scooped neckline that emphasized the inner slopes of her breasts. It was a decent amount of cleavage on display without being slutty. She turned a lot of heads as she strode to the bar situated in the middle of the room. Simone only had eyes for the mark. She didn't blow her cover by angling straight for him. She slipped onto a stool two seats away paying no attention to him.
The bartender noticed her right away and rushed over with a broad grin, ignoring the customers who tried to stop him on the way. Using the excuse of the music being too loud, he leaned over the bar top and breathed close to her ear, “What can I get for you?”
His eyes flickered to her cleavage.
Simone shifted in her seat. The silky material gaped slightly to give the bartender a peek, and she flashed him a saucy grin, "I'll have a vodka martini."
The man two stools away picked up his head, turned to look at her at the same moment she happened to glance his way. Their eyes met in a jolt she felt like an electric current all the way to her toes. She flinched, turned away quickly.
A blush rose to her cheeks; her breath hitched in her throat. She dismissed her instant reaction. It was probably because the eye contact was unexpected catching her off guard. She hadn't decided how to initiate contact yet, and now he had noticed her, there was no need for an elaborate ploy.
She forced her breathing to settle, turned back to find him staring at her. His file didn't do him justice. Neither did her distant glance as she entered the bar. He was the stuff of romance novels. She frowned as the thought flashed through her mind. She chastised herself for letting her imagination run wild. He was handsome. That was it. Her mind proceeded to argue with her. Look at him! His eyes were the essence of bedroom eyes with a lazy, seductive quality. His mouth. She could imagine that mouth on intimate parts of her body as he stared up the length of her nakedness.
She realized she had been staring and gave him a small, polite smile before turning to the drink the bartender slid in front of her. The mark's image lingered. His hair was dark brown, almost black in the shadowy bar, and a touch too long. He exuded a dangerous aura. There was a hint of something in his eyes she couldn't pinpoint. She resisted the urge to look back at him. She could feel his eyes on her, and it was disconcerting.
After taking a sip of her drink, she steeled herself. She certainly couldn't ignore him forever. This was her job. He was her assignment and him staring at her was perfect, actually. It meant half her job was done for her. The first part of any assignment was to get the mark to notice her. She called them marks because she wouldn't call them victim. It was the wives who were the victims. These were the perpetrators, the cheaters. Simone was the bait.
Her job involved 'luring' these men to cheat. It was easier than it should have been. It clouds and colors her perception of all men. How could it not? There had been so many cheaters over the years she'd lost count. They were all the same really. Admittedly, not all were as good looking as this one, but like the rest, he would more than likely take the bait. Simone didn't have sex with these men. She enticed them with a pretty face and some flirtation to see if they would cheat.
She pretended to be new to the city, staying in the hotel upstairs while searching for an apartment. After a few drinks, some laughter and flirting, they were only too willing to take the room key she slid discreetly across the bar. She always rode up in the elevator first, asking them to wait for her to get ready. They would follow a few minutes later. Except, when they got to the room, it was not her they found but her bodyguard.
The bodyguard would do the unpleasant confrontation. He would explain they had been caught; the wife would be contacted and told about the cheating husband's exploits. Meanwhile, Simone was in another room in the same hotel writing up her report, changing into conservative clothing before leaving the hotel to head home.
Simone turned to him. His name was Matthew. She didn't remember his last name off the top of her head. Who cares? It was in the file upstairs. She would look it up later when she wrote the details of this encounter in her report. For now, she could call him Cheater, and it wouldn't matter.
He stared at her, and what she didn't recognize earlier in his eyes she did now. It was predatory awareness. Oh, yes. This one was already mentally written for that report.
She smiled and leaned towards him a little, “My favorite drink. The bartender makes it just right. Not many can do that.”
He stared at her until it was almost uncomfortable. Finally, he smiled, nodded to the stool between them and jumped up, “Do you mind?” Without waiting for a response, he swung into the seat. “I don't often see other people ordering that drink. It's my favorite as well.”
She knows because it was in his file. It was a calculated move on her part to get a conversation started between them. Who ordered vodka martinis anymore except in James Bond movies? She had definitely been doing this long enough to know what hooked them in. It wasn't all about sex appeal and revealing clothing. That was a large part, but psychology played a huge role, too. Get into their minds and make a connection. Find some common ground. After making that connection, let her body seal the deal. It was all about calculated moves. Simone likened it to playing chess. Evaluate your opponent, assess weaknesses, and think five moves ahead.
She let her fingers linger on a chain strategically dangling in the valley between her breasts, her fingertips brushed lightly across her skin as she chatted. Laughing and leaning into him, part of her coldly watched his reactions weighing and measuring his readiness for the next phase. They exchanged social chit chat; neither revealed much about themselves. He definitely didn't mention a wife at home.
He was almost ready. He stared at her breasts. His gaze created a reaction within her which was strange. Her nipples strained against the front of her dress, and her face was flushed. Maybe the drink was stronger than she had anticipated when she'd hatched this little plan. No matter. She was a professional. She could close this case.
Licking her lips, she leaned closer to him, her hand idly playing against the skin on his arm. Acting like the drink had more of an effect on her than it actually had, she whispered close to his ear, “Would you like to continue this conversation up in my room?” She looked up in time to see something dark pass like a shadow across his face, then it was gone, and he smiled. She dismissed the momentary shadow with a mental shrug.
His voice matched hers as he leaned in and whispered back, “I'd love that.”
Simone dug in her purse for a moment, fumbling when, in fact, the key was all she had in there. The key to her real room was in there, too, but that was in another zippered area of her purse. She was exaggerating her movements to make it seem as if the drink had had an effect on her. She slipped the decoy key onto the bar before sliding off the stool. “Meet me up in my room in ten minutes.”
As she got up from the stool, she pretended to stumble, righted herself and nodded at her bodyguard. He'd been stationed at a table near the door for most of the night. The bodyguard left.
Simone turned back to the mark as he started to get up. “Just give me a few minutes to get ready for you.” She gave him a sexy smile and moved somewhat unsteadily toward the exit. She wanted to give the bodyguard enough time to get to Room 415. That's the key she had given to Matthew. Her real room was 512, and as she got into the elevator, she pushed the button for the 5th floor.
The doors started to slide close, and mentally, Simone was already in her room writing up her report, wondering if she had food at home for dinner or if she would have to run to the store. She was startled when a hand shot into the space between the closing doors causing them to bounce back open. She blinked as she saw the mark standing before her. He boarded the elevator. He stared her up and down with contempt, turned to the panel of buttons, looked at the key in his hand, and frowned. The frown was a bit exaggerated as if he already knew something was wrong before he'd stepped into the elevator.
He crowded her, slid a hand into her hair and clenched it tight, but not painfully so. He loomed over her as he steadily pulled her head back to stare into her eyes. Very slowly he asked, “Now, where were you sending me exactly? It looks as if you're going to the 5th floor.” As he waited for her answer, he pressed her against the back of the elevator with his body. Simone's surprise made her mute, her head spun slightly as adrenaline punched through her.
Finally finding her voice, she whispered, “I-I must have pushed the wrong button...” She winced since it didn't sound convincing to her own ears. He didn't look like he believed her. He snatched her purse and dug around inside. He brandished the second key.
“Staying in two rooms, are you?”
His voice was incredulous, and her mind was completely blank. She had been in worse scrapes than this before. This line of work had some danger to it. Men who'd been caught got upset and made threats, but the bodyguard handled all of the belligerent men. Simone had never had to deal with the mark after he was confronted. She'd never had a mark follow her and find out she was headed to another room. As she stared at him, she trembled at the intensity in his cold, blue eyes. How angry and volatile he looked.
She realized he still had her backed against the elevator; their bodies pressed tight together. His hand was still in her hair. He was so close it was making breathing difficult. She laid both her palms on his chest and shoved. He didn't move, but the smile that crept over his face caused icy tendrils of fear to race through her. Finally finding her voice, she cleared her throat but she was still shaky. What was supposed to come out as a command was weak and shaky. “Back up right now, or I'll be forced to call hotel security.”
He tilted his head, gave her a smile filled with evil amusement, “With what phone, exactly?”
His free hand wiggled her purse out of her reach. As the elevator dinged their arrival, he looked up quickly to see it was the 5th floor. He leaned close, pressed her painfully against the elevator wall and whispered against her ear, “This is our floor, baby.”
He yanked hard dragging her from the elevator by her hair as she started to scream. He quickly looked at the room number on the key again, headed for the corresponding door as he clamped his hand over her mouth to stifle her screams. He quickly yanked her into the hotel room and slapped her across the face. Her scream was cut off. Her hand flew to her cheek as she stared at him. This was getting way out of hand. It might be time to come clean, and maybe a dose of reality would make him realize whatever he was thinking would be a bad idea.
“Look, Matthew, you don't want to do this. I'm working for a company hired by your wife. She suspects you of cheating, and I am supposed to confirm the fact you have no problem cheating...” Her voice trailed off.
He'd been shaking his head slowly but with an increasing smile since she started speaking. He closed the gap between them, buried his hand in her hair, yanked it hard and pulled her face close to his. His growl was low as he whispered, “Who said my name was Matthew?”
The sentence was like a bomb of confusion raining over her. She shook her head but stopped with a wince of pain, “Matthew is the name on your file. I have a picture.”
She stopped talking and gasped. She had walked into the crowded bar thinking he didn't really look like his picture when she had approached him. As he saw the realization dawn on her, he whispered with a bit of menace, “Didn't confirm my name when you sat down, did you? Well, aren't you the professional? I didn't even give you my name before you handed over your room key. A fake room key, but, who am I to argue, and since we have a room right here...” He gave her a shove towards the bed. “Why don't we use it?”
She stumbled in her high heels, her yelp was involuntary but she didn't waste any time on screaming for help. She ran around the outside of the bed to get some distance between them, but was brought up short when he caught her by the very ends of her hair as it streamed behind her. He gave a hard yank and she stumbled backwards into him. He covered her mouth as he held her captive against his body. She was pressed tight along the length of him as he whispered in her ear, “Let's see what you catch all those men with.”
He grabbed the top of her dress at the plunging neckline, ripped it away from her body. It didn't rip completely but stretched and drooped. The silky material sagged below her breasts. He breathed heavily in her ear as she closed her eyes. Small, panicked noises swelled within her and escaped in little pants as she struggled in his arms.
He groped both her breasts hard, fingers kneaded the flesh painfully leaving small, red finger marks in her previously-smooth, creamy breasts. She felt his excitement pressed against her backside. With his index finger and thumb, he imprisoned a nipple and pinched. She screeched as he pulled it out and away from her body causing her to arch toward his hand. It did nothing to lessen the pain. Finally, he bit her earlobe hard.
A low squeal of pain almost drowned out his whisper, “Yes, I could see how those middle-aged men would find you attractive enough to cheat on their wives.”
Her pleadings and whimpers were exciting him more. She shuddered. She could only hope the bodyguard would search for her soon. Once “Matthew” didn't show up in the decoy hotel room, the bodyguard would wonder what happened. Unfortunately, it might be an hour or so before he realized something was wrong. More time would elapse while he tried to coax her room number out of the hotel staff. A lot could happen to her in that amount of time.
Without another word, he snagged a hand into her hair, pulled her backwards, and caused her to lurch in her high heels. Her legs tangled, dragged as she tried to keep up with him. At the connecting door, he pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked it much to her surprise.
At her disbelieving look, he said in a matter-of-fact tone,”Well, you didn't expect us to stay here where anyone could interrupt, did you?”
After pulling her through to the next room, he re-locked the door behind him. The room scared her more than anything since this whole incident started. It was scarier than when he boarded the elevator, and scarier than when he ripped her dress exposing her breasts.
The four-poster bed was elegantly covered with a cool, blue-silk comforter accented with gold brocade. The deluxe suite's furniture was a rich, cherry lacquer. If she had been staying her on vacation, she would have adored this room. Right now, she had never hated anything more than those prissy side-tables and pretentious coverings.
The additions he'd added to the room's elegant decor was jarring. The beautifully-appointed bed had nylon restraints and cuffs attached to each post. Marring the delicate tufted bench at the foot of the bed sat a ball-gag, whip, blindfold and a large dildo. She didn't recognize any of the other items laying in a tangled heap on the bench, or perhaps her mind shied away from recognition.
Before she could fill her lungs with air to scream, he pulled out a pocket knife. As it snicked open, he whispered, “Don't. I'm tired of your screaming when I haven't even done anything to you... yet. You'll have time for screaming later.”
Her heart beat like crazy, and her eyes darted everywhere trying to find a way to escape. Who was this guy? She tried to still her racing thoughts to figure out what was going on. It might help her escape. He had a key to the door; this room was prepared. Why did the hotel give him a key to the connecting door when she rented the other room? The hotel staff hadn't said a word.
He wrapped his arm around her neck in a choke hold cutting off her air, pulled her head to the side slightly and held the knife in front of her face. All thought left her as she watched the wicked-looking blade. The light angled off the edge reinforcing the threat, displaying its sharpness. She struggled in his arms as the urge to breath started to overwhelm her. Her vision darkened around the edges. He loosened his hold enough for her to breath, and she did in a huge, whooping gasp. However, the hold wasn't loose enough for her to talk or she would have tried to persuade him to release her.
His lips brushed across the shell of her ear as he whispered intimately, his hot breath against her ear and with an arousal he doesn't try to mask, “I want to see the body that entices all those men. Don't you ever wonder if the work you do makes you a prostitute? Don't whores use their body for money? That makes you no different.”
He brought the knife in close to her firm breasts and trailed the tip lightly over her skin with agonizing slowness from one pink nipple to the other. As they tightened, he took the flat of the blade, pressed down on a nipple, and watched it spring back up. She watched as well, unable to look away from the knife.
He guided her over to the mirror across the room. This was worse. She had mentally detached herself when gazing at one part of her body, imagining it might be happening to someone else. With the evidence of her face, and his, gazing from the mirror, she couldn't pretend this wasn't happening to her.
She closed her eyes. Almost immediately, he whispered sternly, “Open your eyes, whore. You will be very aware of everything I do to you. Keep your eyes open or this situation could get a lot worse for you.”
He cut her clothing away, the knife slicing quickly and cleanly through her silk dress. As the dress fluttered softly to the floor, they both stared at her body in the mirror. A quick flick of his wrist, neatly cut the sides of her panties. With the threat still ringing in her ears, she kept her eyes open staring at her naked body. Her nipples were tight; the aureolas pebbled from the cold steel that had recently skimmed them. His eyes caught hers. The contact was as startling as the knife had been. Her whole body trembled.