“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t know what Icando.” He yawns again, trying to push at my chest, but it feels like a kitten pawing at me. “Stop touching me like that. We’re in public.”
“There’s a frosted glass door. Not public at all. And it’s late. Most people are done with the gym by now.” I let my hand drop down to his lap and squeeze his cock through the towel.
“Pandora…” He reaches for my wrist again, but his grip is increasingly loose.
I see it when he puts the pieces together, and he goes still beneath me.
“What did you do to me?” he demands, but the words are so slurred now that they don’t sound threatening at all.
“I drugged you,” I say cheerfully. “You were so focused on punching that bag, you didn’t even notice me.” I stroke his cock through the towel a few times. “No more crying about how you don’t want to do this with me.”
I brush my lips against his mouth.
He tries to pull away, but I’m insistent.
He’s going to learn what it’s like to be helpless.
“You made your point,” he says, resting heavily against the wall behind him. Sweat is trickling down his brow even though I’ve dropped the temperature by several degrees. “Get me out of here before I pass out from heat stroke.”
“I’m not going to kill you.” I run my tongue across his lower lip. “Where’s the torture in a quick death?”
Death is so permanent.
A bit of screaming, and then, poof, incinerator.
“For fuck’s sake, Pandora,” he mutters. “You do realize sex with you isn’t exactly torture, right?”
I giggle and pull the towel off his waist to reveal his cock. It’s barely half-hard, but it looks adorable, nestled between his thighs in its nest of pubic hair.
“Oh, I know. This isn’t the torture.” I kiss him again, fingers curling around his cock and starting to coax it into hardness.
He groans. “What’s the torture?”
I smile at him, continuing to stroke his cock. “You’ll see.”
“Because that… that’s not cryptic,” he says, his breath hitching as I bring him to full erection.
Only when he’s panting with need do I release his cock, then reach into my back pocket for my phone.
I hold it up so River can see what I’m doing.
I scroll through my contacts, pastBlaze’s BitchandCry Me A, until I land onFernando Rivera. I click on that name to display the full contact information.
River’s eyes, which had begun to droop closed despite the perfectly acceptable handjob, fly open. “No,” he says, and I can hear the desperation in his voice. “Pandora, don’t. I’m sorry. I really, really am. Don’t get him involved.”
“I already considered that, but…” I ruffle his hair. “This is more fun.”
I click the call button and set it to speaker.
It rings three times before a gruff voice picks up. “Yes?”
“Hi, Mr. Rivera!” I say cheerfully. “How are you tonight?”
“Who’s this?” he asks, suspicion heavy in his voice.
“It’s Pandora Pavone! You know, River’s friend?” I place the phone on River’s stomach, then pinch River’s nose. “Well, former friend. You know how things go. Went.”
Fernando is instantly on alert. “Is he bothering you again?” he growls. “I told that boy to leave you alone. I’m sorry, Ms. Pavone.”
