Wrong Room

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bluefox07
bluefox07
472 Followers

"Carried away?" Mandy asked hesitantly as Perry held up a flimsy, lacy blue teddy and thong panties.

"Mr. Bannon is into rather violent expressions of sexuality," Perry explained carefully as he handed her the lingerie, "If all goes to plan, you'll only be entertaining him for a maximum of ten minutes."

"Why ten minutes?"

"Because he has to be comfortable and calm," the hitman said, "He needs to be relaxed enough to let his guard down. If he gets even a little uncomfortable, he'll hit the button on his cell phone and things will get ugly. He has got to be pacified and preoccupied."

"And that's where I come in," Mandy held the racy outfit up to her body and looked at it appraisingly. She tried hard to swallow that sick sense of fear and panic, focusing on the money in the bag and the strange sense of trust she had in her new acquaintance.

"Right," Perry nodded, "Exactly."

"Seriously," Mandy said and looked at him doubtfully, "I'm a romance novelist. I'm not a sexy hooker, Perry. I've never worn anything more scandalous than a nightgown I bought from Fredrick's of Hollywood when I was twenty-three to impress Billy Gessepe."

"You're beautiful," Perry said, his piercing blue eyes locked on her for a moment, "And you'll do fine."

"I can't do this," she said.

"Listen," the hitman stopped her, "If I may be so bold, I have a feeling you've been in a bad relationship. Odds are you probably get put down a lot and you have low self-esteem. But take it from an impartial judge, Mandy. If you have one fault, it's that you're too classy and far too beautiful. You just don't know it."

Mandy listened, not knowing how to respond to his flattery.

"So," Perry added, "Just try to play it down."

"Okay," she said quietly, and realized a smile had crossed her face. It hadn't been forced or rueful, instead born of simple gratitude. She blinked herself back to reality and shook her head, looking down at the outfit. The fabric felt good against her fingers as she traced the lacy shoulder straps and rubbed the almost non-existent material together.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" he looked at her.

Mandy nodded, "Sure."

"Those bruises," Perry rummaged through the duffle bag, "How did you get them?"

Mandy took a deep breath. "My husband wasn't very happy with me."

"And he decided to take it out on you?"

"Yes," she said, her eyes unable to look up at him again.

"Sounds like your husband isn't a very nice man."

"No," she agreed, "He's not."

"My client isn't a very nice man," Perry looked down at the floor, "In fact, my client is a very devious man."

"Sounds like your boss isn't to be trusted," Mandy commented.

"He isn't," Perry agreed, "But he also paid me in advance."

"You're just that good?" she asked, though her mind was playing with subjects as far from killing-for-hire as the North Pole is from the center of Antarctica. Her eyes glanced down at his crotch against her will, lingering there for a minute.

"I am," he said honestly, never betraying a hint of arrogance or self-importance.

Mandy said, "You seem just a little too nice to be a killer."

"We all have an image to maintain," he smiled, pulling the two dildos out of the bag. Mandy looked at them and blushed, the rubbery latex sex toys wiggling in Perry's hand. He sat the flesh colored faux phalluses down on the floral bedspread and shrugged, "Mr. Bannon also enjoys multiple entries, if you know what I mean."

"He wants to use one of those on me?" she blinked, her eyes resting on one of the fourteen-inch long dildos, "Are you kidding me?"

"Actually," he corrected her, "He'll expect you to use it on him."

Mandy didn't know whether to laugh or puke, "Oh wow."

Perry laughed, "To each their own."

"I guess," she said doubtfully, her fears easing away despite herself.

"Well," Perry looked at her again, "We all have our own strange fetishes."

The idea of knowing what Perry's fetishes were intrigued her, even tempted her. Mandy fought off the conflicting emotions inside her, reminding herself that this man had a gun and had remarked very calmly that he hoped he wouldn't have to kill her. No matter how nice he seemed, there was still the chance he would shoot her dead before the night was done. And yet, she found herself being drawn to him after only a short time in his strange company.

"When he arrives," Perry said, "You'll be dressed in one of these outfits and waiting on the bed for him. Be submissive at first. He may kiss you and touch you in delicate places, but don't worry. You have to be convincing, Mandy. Let him touch your breasts, let him lick and suck on your nipples."

"God," she sighed.

"He won't hurt you," Perry reassured her, "Just remember the payday at the end of this. You get to live and walk away with twenty grand."

"How can you afford that?"

"The twenty grand was for the real prostitute," Perry said, "I'd rather you get Mr. Bannon's money than anyone else."

Mandy looked down at the dildo again and shivered.

"Oh, and Mandy?"

She looked up.

"Your husband deserves to have his hands broken," he let his eyes rest on her chest, as though he could see through the fabric of her t-shirt to the large bruise beneath, "I'm sorry that happened to you."

Perry's sudden display of tenderness caught her off guard. She said, "Thank you."

She wanted to say more, but could not find the words.

"We have fifteen minutes," Perry told her, "You need to get changed and put your make-up on."

Mandy fought the impulse to run again. The door seemed to be beckoning her as she held the lingerie in her hand, her heart pounding furiously in her chest. There was mortal terror to be sure. But the cause of her stress was also due in no small part to the strange sexual arousal she felt inside. Something about this forced façade, this dangerous game made her feel vital and renewed.

Maybe it was the reminiscent threads of the situation that called back to her novels and the primal lustful rush of danger and sex being thrown together. She thought it might be a silent strike back at Carl, a powerful declaration of her deeply wrought loathing of him. As she looked at Perry again, she realized it was also possible that she was very attracted to the hitman.

It was the ultimate expression of the "bad boy" complex. That complex seemed to be as genetically engrained in women as irrational love of tits was programmed into men. Perry was very attractive, his wide powerful frame so strong and masculine. She was surprised to find herself wondering about his naked body, what his cock might look like and, dare she even think such a naughty thought at a time like this, how that hard flesh might feel naked in her hand. His face was dark and mysterious, but it was the sea-blue eyes that made her feel lightheaded. They both frightened her to death and made her inner sex feel hot and needful.

"Okay," she said and forced herself to look in his eyes.

Once in the bathroom, she put her hand on the knob and went to shut the door completely. Mandy hesitated, her fingers touching the brass grip as she considered leaving it cracked open. Did she want him to see her take her clothes off? An electric rush of excitement cracked through her body as she thought of him watching her. Mandy licked her lips, a blush burning furiously on her face as her hand fell away to her side.

Through the sliver of open doorway, she could see into the narrow hallway of the bedroom. On the wall just beyond the door was a generic painting that looked as though a Thomas Kincaid-knockoff had painted his masterpiece and sold it to the conglomerate chain of hotels she now stayed in. In the transparent reflection of glass she could see Perry standing alone in the bedroom. He was looking out the window into the parking lot.

"Be sure to cover those bruises as best you can," he called.

Mandy nodded, unsettled by the fact that he seemed to know she was looking at him.

"How long have you been doing this, Perry?" she asked as she hauled off her t-shirt and placed it on the counter, "Contract killing, I mean."

"Oh," he replied, his voice far off and distant, "Long enough to know I'm not much good at anything else."

Mandy looked out of the corner of her eye and saw Perry in the glass of the painting. He was watching her reflection undress. Her heart skipped a little as she unhooked her bra and slid it off. She said, "It must be lonely."

"It is," he said, "But more often than not I'm happy with it that way."

Mandy was ready to faint as she revealed her breasts in the mirror. Perry was watching her strip down and she couldn't have been more turned on by it. She wanted to chastise herself for being so insatiable, so blatantly horny in the face of this crisis. Her nipples were hardened and tingling as she slipped her jeans off and pulled her panties down.

"You like it that way? Being alone all the time?" she asked. She glanced back at the glass of the painting and saw that Perry was now in the doorway, blocking the hall completely. Their eyes met and there was a long silence between them. Sexual energy snapped and crackled in the open space between them, two complete strangers under extreme circumstances.

He gave her that half smile again, "Most of the time, Mandy."

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice not her own anymore.

Perry could feel the tension between them, and it showed in his tight expression of reserved control and the thick bulge in his slacks. He looked down at her naked body, drinking her in and memorizing every curve, every slender line of her anatomy. He raised his brows and said, "A man who is beneath you."

She frowned, "I don't understand."

"Believe me," he said, "Trust me when I say that you're better than I'll ever be, Amanda."

The use of her full name, coupled with that oddly sad undertone in his voice struck a chord in her subconscious. In that moment, she felt the desire to give into the sudden and powerful urges to grab Perry and strip his clothes off. Mandy was surprised by the urgent wetness between her thighs and the excitement tingling her buds. The man was a killer, and yet she wanted nothing more than to fuck him until she couldn't move anymore.

Perry gave her one last look, appreciative and distant, before returning to the bedroom. Mandy stood there alone for a few minutes, naked and torn between her fear and lust. She slipped the blue lingerie on and then set to work on her face as best she could, applying just enough cherry red lipstick and complimentary eye shadow to make an impression. She swept her hair back from her face in a last minute coiffure that harkened to some French idealism. She powdered the bruises on her thighs and chest, concealing them.

It was all so surreal, the entire situation beyond anything she had ever imagined. Only the characters in her novels had undertaken such strange and dangerous journeys. As she looked at herself in the mirror, she realized that while she shared little in common with her female protagonists, there was one common factor between them. Mandy knew that she not only looked sexy, but she felt sexy too.

The revealing lingerie did little to hide her breasts, save for the conveniently placed lace patterns of a bra that only accented her erected nipples. The thong panties barely covered her sex, the lacy strings hugging her hips and creating a line for the lustful eye to follow. The racy outfit was topped off with a thin, transparent long-sleeved shirt that laced up the front. In that moment, as her eyes rested on her cleavage, concentrating her efforts to hide the bruise on her chest with makeup, she realized that she had crossed some invisible line.

She was no longer the woman who had fled here to hide. She was no longer the scared, frightened wife who had boarded the plane in New York and then thrown up somewhere over Colorado. She was a woman in control of her own life again, what's more in control against deadly odds.

Her attraction to Perry only reinforced her new sense of separation from Carl. Her determination to do what she had to do steeled her soul for the unpleasantness that was sure to follow. She hated the idea of Mr. Bannon touching her. She didn't even know the man, but Perry's description of him had been enough to make her stomach cringe.

But if Perry wanted to touch her?

Mandy had been seeking a turning point in her life for a long time, and now she had found one. She could either succumb to her fear and try to run again, or she could face her fear and walk away richer in both courage and in security. Twenty grand would allow her to leave Carl easily and start over again. She was successful at her work, but not rich by any means. Carl's' excessive debts made sure of that cap on their prosperity. But twenty grand would allow her to do a lot of things she couldn't do before. The possibilities seemed limitless, and yet somehow shallow next to the true reward of having gained her self-respect back.

It was a shitty deal, but she could only play the cards dealt to her.

"Okay then," she reassured her reflection.

While she hated the idea of Mr. Bannon looking her over, she was excited over the prospect of Perry eying her. So many different conflictions in emotion and motive surged through her as she tried to find a single adjective to truly classify her feelings into. Could it be she was actually enjoying this little game? Mandy wondered if the writer in her, the woman who had been living a Walter Mitty-esque life for years now was trying to emerge from her prison and live.

Mandy stepped out into the bedroom, a strange soothing confidence flowing over her as her bare feet sank into the luxurious carpet. She looked at Perry and turned around for him, giving him a full view of the outfit. She was nervous and deliriously excited, her fear mixing into a bittersweet potion that seemed to cloud her inhibitions.

"You look gorgeous," Perry said quietly, relaxed in the chair by the desk.

"Thank you," she replied.

"Remember," the hitman adjusted his weight in the chair, "Play along until I make my move, and then get out of the way."

"Okay," she nodded, her pulse racing.

"You all right?" he asked and got up, walking over to the mini-bar. On the bar were two shiny shot glasses filled with a tempting amber liquid.

"I'm scared to death, Perry," Mandy confessed and crossed her arms across her breasts.

"Don't be," he held out one of the glasses to her, "Drink this. It'll take the edge off."

"What is it?" she eyed the shot glass suspiciously as she took it from her captor.

"It's some kind of bourbon," Perry motioned to the bar, "I think it's cheap, but it'll relax you."

Mandy held the drink to her lips and then downed the shot. Perry followed suit and they cringed at the bitter, fiery cheapness of the alcohol. Perry coughed into his hand and staggered back to the bar. He held up the bottle in one hand and looked at the label, "I guess this muffin recipe on the back should've been a hint, huh?"

Mandy laughed and handed the shot glass back to him.

"Wow," he croaked, still cringing from the bourbon.

"Perry," she said suddenly, "You'll protect me, right?"

"I said I would."

"I know... it's just that-"

"He won't have a chance to hurt you, Amanda," Perry grasped her shoulders and squeezed, "Just play your part and we can both get the fuck out of here."

Their proximity to each other allowed the magnetism they had been fighting off the last half hour to find fruition. Perry's hands remained on her shoulders, holding her there as her fingers went to his hips and rested. A smoldering stare of pure wanton lust fell between them, despite their individual warnings and knowledge to the contrary.

"Show me how you dance," Perry whispered.

Mandy felt her inhibitions fall away completely, "Show you how convincing I can be, you mean?"

"Yes," Perry nodded, "Please."

Mandy smiled and stood back, feeling both ridiculous and yet incredibly sexy.

"I'm not much of a dancer," she said as Perry went to the duffel bag. He pulled out a small hand held radio, "Just make sure it's got a good beat."

"Something with a beat," he repeated and clicked on the radio. He turned the small control knob quickly, looking for the right station. Quick clips of music, everything from classical to hardcore country hissed and crackled over the radio. Finally, Perry decided on a mix station.

Through the static emerged the clear and decidedly salsa sound of the collaboration between Rob Thomas and Santanna. Their song, "Smooth," clipped along with a sexy Latin beat. Mandy shivered a little as he stepped towards her, putting his arms around her waist and pulling her close.

"I thought you wanted to see me dance?" Mandy asked, not fighting to get away from him. Her heart was now jack hammering in her chest as they crossed yet another line.

"I do," he said, "Among other things."

"Like what?" Mandy heard herself say.

Perry leaned forward and kissed her neck gently.

"I'm not sure we should do this," she managed to breath as her heart jumped a little.

Perry's hands caressed the curve of her ass as she relished the sensations of his lips against her neck. He pulled her close to him with hands that were steady and strong, their bodies coming together with all the event of a silent tidal wave. Mandy surprised herself as she pulled his face down to hers and kissed him. Beyond the need for softness, she attacked his mouth as all the lust and repressed sexuality from her failed marriage was brought forth like magma from a volcano. Her tongue caressed his in the mutual cavern of their mouths, wet and slick. Their lips ground together as Perry growled from deep within his chest. Her fingers snaked behind his head, pulling him down to her, trying to rise up off the floor to be closer.

Perry squeezed her ass, his fingers exploring her flesh as his erection pressed against her stomach through his pants. His mouth was suctioned to her neck again, his tongue flickering and stroking as his teeth nibbled. Mandy slipped her hands up and down his backside, and then into his jacket. She pushed the jacket off his shoulders and then down his arms.

'I can't believe this is happening,' she thought wildly. He then started kissing and nuzzling her ear. Mandy gasped a little as he began sucking on her earlobe, his fingers creating a trail of a feathery tease down her neck and shoulders to her cleavage. Perry paused to admire the journey down to the crevasse of her breasts, enjoying every moment of the exploration. His fingers then slipped partly into the cup of the flimsy bra.

"Wait," she whispered.

Perry looked at her expectantly.

"Sit down," she told him, summoning all her courage.

Perry sat down on the bed, resting against the headboard as the song reached its halfway point. She began dancing for him, with her back turned to him. The first few tentative gyrations were difficult for her as she tried to find some kind of comfort zone. She was torn between feeling sexy and feeling corny, but as the music permeated her mind and soaked into her body, she found the movements were becoming more and more natural. Mandy could feel that heat swelling inside her, an excited jolt of electricity zinging up and down her spine.

She worked her hips in sensual circles to the beat of the music, looking over her shoulder at him for a moment. His eyes were fixated on her and her alone. She quickly released the ties of the flimsy blue "shirt" covering her bra and turned around, spreading it open. Perry was intently watching her, that small sexy half grin etched onto his face.

Her bra barely covered her large breasts. Mandy played with the fabric of the shirt for a few minutes and then shrugged it to the floor. She slid her hand over her right breast, squeezing it against her chest as her hand slid down to her belly. She moved closer to him, now fluidly gyrating her hips. She glanced down at the bulge forming in his dark slacks and felt a hot rush of blood to her face.

bluefox07
bluefox07
472 Followers