Chapter Four
With the alcohol buzzing in my veins, I let a small smile slip at his utterly confused expression, as he stood planted to the dark floor of the suite. Gunshots could be heard from the fictional piece playing on the television screen, as I took another sip from my nearly empty glass, the cold drink lapping at my lips.
Slowly, his expression changed from shock, to one of amusement, as he smoothly carried his posh self towards the bar, grabbing a glass at first, but quickly deciding against any manners he was intending to exhibit, instead just grabbing the bottle of whiskey I had not so subtly stolen from, and walking to the seat towards my right.
Settling himself on his seat, he opened the bottle and took a long drink straight from it, eyes closed and features scrunched to accommodate the bitter drink. Finishing his first drag with a small sign, his eyes shifted towards me, and then the empty glass sat at the table beside my feet.
"Want a refill?" He asked, slightly shaking the bottle in his hand, the contents swooshing around the glass. His voice, deep and raspy, with just a hint of amusement added to the mixture.
Out of my mind and clearly done with life, I used my foot to guide the glass towards him, shifting it towards the corner of the glass table. I observed as his eyes lit up, a small smile appearing on his lips.
He grabbed the glass and filled it to the top, placing it near my foot again, before taking another swig of the whisky. I reached over and grabbed the concoction, taking a hearty sip, feeling the alcohol burn my throat as it made its way down.
I turned my attention back towards the show, observing the lead fight for his life against his arch-nemesis. I got engrossed in the show. Soon the alcohol helping my brain switch on its 'I don't care' attitude, completely ignoring the second presence in the room, who, roughly judging from my peripheral vision, was staring at me.
"Are you the Flemming girl?" Came his voice, enriched with the added essences of whiskey, as he took a smaller sip from his bottle. I turned my head towards him, finding him to be glaring at me.
"Unfortunately." I sighed, grabbing my glass and emptying its contents in one gulp, a small grimace appearing on my face from the strong punch it provided.
He simply reached over for the completely empty glass, the ice having long melted, and filled it up to the brim, before taking a small sip from it himself.
"Your father owes me a lot of money." Another sip, his light blue eyes staring intently at me as he leaned forward on the couch, placing his elbows on his knees.
My vision was slightly blurred by that time, having to blink numerous times to focus again on the still unintroduced man in front of me.
"That's what I've heard." I lazily replied, shifting a little before settling on the plush couch.
"And if he couldn't pay it back, some collateral had to be arranged." Another sip from the glass, gently placing the bottle on the carpeted floor.
'And that just happens to be you." He continued, eyes taking a sudden detour from my face towards my chest.
"Which means ..." Placing the glass on the table, he stood up from the couch, gently placing himself on the seat to my right, eyes still traveling lower.
Heat radiated from his body which I could sense only because he was too close. On a love seat, there was no place else I could move, and even if there was, my self-esteem won't let me move.
He smelled vaguely of cinnamon, with a strong musky scent radiating from him. His lips turned into a teasing smirk, eyes finally completing their mission and coming to rest back to my face.
"..... I can do whatever I want with you."
He slightly shifted forward. I didn't move, drunk or not, I knew where this was heading, and judging by his close proximity, the doors guarded and a floor too high, I couldn't escape him even if I tried. So I didn't.
Whatever that would go down, it will not take down my self-esteem.
"Which means ..." He reached forward for the glass still accommodating whiskey, before settling down a mere few inches from me, his face containing an ever-teasing smirk.
"I can do this." He brought the glass close to my neck, my muscles aware, but not tense, before tipping the glass forward to spill some of the liquid on my skin, some of it rolling down and soaking my shirt.
Slowly, his face ventured forward, pressing in the hollow of my neck. His nose skimmed the side, warm breath washing over the liquid-cooled area, lips teasing the skin. His lips found their destination on the dripping whiskey, before he licked a bold swipe to clear the area of its contents.
I remained still.
I didn't fight back.
I didn't try to escape.
Because I knew I couldn't.
The show still blaring in the background, he bit down on the area where my neck started, harshly enough to make me flinch, before licking on the tortured area. His hands came forward to take hold of my waist, to bring me closer to his body, his face still occupied in the hollow of my throat.
His lips bruised another part of skin, as his fingers firmly gripped my middle, sliding me until I was right against him. His right hand dropped lower, fingers hooking in the edge of the soft material of the shirt, just starting to raise it a little.
I remained still through it all.
But suddenly, he let out a deep sigh, detaching his hands, and then slowly abandoned the spot his face had occupied. Blue eyes downcast, lips red from the sucking, his head hung as he increased distance between us.
His eyes closed momentarily, before he sighed deeply and got up from his position, rushing towards and walking out from the door in the blink of an eye, disappearing.
I sat there still, confused as to if any of this had actually happened, or if the whiskey was playing tricks on me.
And I might even have believed that, if it weren't for my wet shoulder and the still warm skin on the side of my neck, along with the throbbing bruises causing me pain. My skin was left with a slight sizzle wherever he had touched.
So, alone, confused and drunk, I lounged in the same spot until sleep enveloped me into its gentle embrace.