Page 28 of Taking Turns

When I finally get my eyes to open and can properly see her, she’s holding a gun on me.

I laugh.

“What’s so funny? You’re a fucking pervert. And you’re gonna get slapped with a sex offender charge for this. Do you have any idea who my father is?”

I laugh again.

“Stop it!” She yells it. Loud. “And get out of my fucking house. Right now!”

“I can’t,” I say, looking down at the dried-up mess on my bare stomach. “You locked me in last night.”

“Locked you—” She stops to laugh. But it’s one of those how-dare-you laughs. Incredulous.

My dick is hard from morning wood and she does not miss this once I start playing with it.

“You’re sick,” she says, backing away. The gun is still generally pointing at me, but only half-heartedly.

“I have a question for you, Marcella.” I look her in the eyes as I say this, but my hands are busy tucking my still-erect cock back into my pants.

“Get out!”

“I will, just calm down. But I can’t get out until I’m put back together. And you need to let me out. I don’t know your alarm code. I didn’t expect you to arm it when you got home.”

“Oh, my God. You were waiting in here for me. That’s why you put me in that car alone, wasn’t it?”

I think about this for a second. “Did you want me to get in the car with you?” I laugh again. Jesus Christ.

“I’m calling the police if you’re not out of my house in thirty seconds. I’ll let you out from the bedroom control panel, just get up and get the fuck out of my house.”

“You said you already called them. Let me give you some pointers about lying, Marcella—”

“Get. The fuck! Out!”

“My question is,” I say, ignoring her theatrics. I stand up so I can tuck in my shirt and put on my tie. “Why did you refuse Matisse?”

“What?” She blinks a few times, like I’m an idiot and she can’t believe I even know how to dress myself. “He’s my fucking client, Smith. Why the hell did you assume I’d be up for something like that?”

“You let Quin fuck you. Why wouldn’t I assume you’re a whore?”

She slaps me. I don’t even know how she got that close, that fast. But my left cheek is stinging like fuck. I touch it with the palm of my hand and smile. “Bric is gonna really dig you, honey. I can’t wait.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

I grab my suit coat and walk towards her. She backs away, holding the gun up. It presses into my chest as I grab her arm. Her face is one of total shock. Her mouth is open, eyes wide, face flushed red.

I lean into her neck and whisper in her ear. “It was just a test, sweetheart. Congratulations, you passed.”

And then I skip down the stairs, two at a time, as I adjust my collar and my suit coat. By the time I get to the front door, the alarm has been turned off.

So I just unlock it and leave.

Chapter Eight - Bric

“God, I hate Mondays,” Quin says. We’re sitting in the White Room having breakfast and he looks like shit.

“It’s Tuesday, you asshole.”

“Whatever.”