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He takes time to appraise me. Apparently satisfied, he then runs his fingers along my cheek. “I’ve never seen you so scared. God… you’re really scared. Even more scared than losing Raffi?”
“Put it on, Don.”
“I know you’ve never been with another man, so you’re clean. Are you afraid of me giving you an STD?” he jeers.
I can’t beat him physically, but I’ve got to try something.
“I’ve never said no. I’ve kept my promise. Please let me have my way just for this one. Put it on.”
“So this is how you beg?”
“Don, if you want to keep me as your whore, put it on.” Those words corrode my tongue, but if they’ll keep my dignity, so be it.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” he grumbles like a boar.
“When you fuck a whore, you always keep your condom on. Did you know that, Don? Whore—condom.”
He sniggers, but that gets him thinking. Slowly he rises, his hand reaching into the bedside drawer. He rips open a new packet and then bustles to roll the rubber up his cock. I don’t know how many ED pills he took. He’s still disgustingly hard.
But this time, the end is in sight. He comes on his next thrust as he mumblesfucknutrepeatedly.
When he’s off me, I put on my nightgown. I won’t sleep tonight. I can feel it in my crotch already. Worse still, while I anticipate him to fall asleep after such a marathon effort, he has another idea.
“Grind these!” He gives me a couple of white tablets. “Then mix it with water.”
Under his scrutiny, I do as he says.
“Now drink it.”
“Don… what’s this?”
“Drink it!”
I’m about to throw it at him, but he reads me. He clutches the crystal glass in my hand while choking me once more. He forces the liquid into my throat. I gag, I try to spew it out, but at least half of it has already gone into my system.
Don releases me.
My lips quiver and my throat convulses, but I’m unable to get rid of what I’ve consumed.
“Good night, sleeping beauty.”
He turns off the light, but my vision is messed up—it feels like a hundred flashlights are attacking my sight.
Eventually I pass out. When I rouse, whether intentionally or not, I feel myself thudding against the floor. I crawl, and to my surprise, I manage to reach the door without anyone stopping me.
6
CLAYTON
Stranger in the dark.
That was what she called me. I don’t know what to make of it, but coming out of her mouth, it sounded temptingly mysterious—a call that describes our encounter affectionately. Far from other calls that had come my way, like the meaningless ‘handsome,’ ‘prince charming,’ or ‘Captain Hot Butt.’
How on earth could Donovan Fletcher woo a woman like her? She’s got class way above that stray cat’s league.
I know she’s his type—blonde, tall, slim—yet she’s not his typical girlfriend. I’m contradicting myself. I might be clouded by jealousy, but what Mrs. Mac saw in the couple’s interaction is real. They don’t belong together.
‘Mettle’ is attached to my name, but dismally, I had also been called ‘Clay the Player’ in my younger days. I never cheated on my women, and despite the inglorious nickname, I never played with them, either. I simply had entertained and dated too many. It taught me a lesson, nonetheless—a lesson to see through people, particularly women.
