Poor Little Bitch Girl (32 page)

Hmm . . . George Henderson. Should I call Felix and tell him that I’ve identified the man with Gemma? Or should I wait until I’ve spoken to Carolyn and found out exactly what’s going on?

I decided to wait. I didn’t want to start something without checking with her.

In the meantime, Mario was expecting me at
Ago
. I could certainly do with a decent meal, followed by some Mario-style sex.

Wow! Am I turning into a sex maniac?!

No. Simply releasing the tension.

Seeing Josh ensconced in his new life with Miss Skinny Stylist was not my favorite way of spending an afternoon. On the plus side, Mario made Josh look like an out-of-shape slacker.

I hurried home, fed Amy, took a quick shower, touched up my make-up, slid into a low-cut top and silk pants
sans
underwear, then I jumped in my car and headed for
Ago
.

Mario was waiting. Well, not exactly waiting – more like sitting at what I presumed was our table, engaged in an intimate conversation with a Hollywood Blonde. I call them Hollywood Blondes because there is a group of women who look exactly alike. They all have long, thick, glossy blonde hair (extensions help the style to stay just so). Smooth, faintly tanned, unlined faces (a mixture of Botox, self-tan cream, and weekly facials). Long, lean bodies (Pilates, yoga, spinning). And exactly the right size fake breasts.

This one, in her tighter than tight True Religion jeans and lacy loose top, with dangling earrings and a dozen Me & Ro bracelets – including the red Kabbalah string – fit the mold perfectly.

Mario spotted me approaching and quickly stood up, but the Hollywood Blonde had no intention of shifting her finely tuned ass. She stayed firmly in her seat, and attempted to ignore me as if
I
was the intruder.

“Hi,” I said. Better to be friendly than bitchy.

Hollywood Blonde threw me a disinterested look, while Mario wrapped his arms around me and greeted me with a warm hug. “Welcome back,” he whispered in my ear. “I missed you.”

“You did?” I said, falling into his extraordinarily addictive dimples.

“You’d better believe it,” he responded.

Hollywood Blonde glared at me, then finally realizing she was a third wheel, she reluctantly stood up. “I guess I should be getting back to my friends,” she ventured, obviously hoping Mario would ask her to stay.

He didn’t. But that didn’t stop her from grabbing his hand, leaning into him and whispering something into
his
ear.

To his credit Mario immediately backed off. “Great running into you, Lisa,” he said. “See you around.”

“Call me,” she purred, once again ignoring my existence – which was basically Mario’s fault, because shouldn’t he have at least introduced us?

Finally she was gone and I quickly sat down. The seat was still warm from Lisa’s True Religion-clad ass.

Mario also sat down, a sheepish grin spread across his face.

I determined not to ask any questions – playing jealous girlfriend was not my M.O. After all, we’d only had one date, it wasn’t as if I possessed any proprietary rights.

“Lisa’s an old friend,” he volunteered.

“Not so old,” I retorted, unable to help myself.

Leaning across the table, he took my hand in his. “Jealous?” he asked, still with the sheepish grin.

I might be. But I just had sex with a very attractive stranger in New York. So – jealous? I hardly think so.

“Maybe,” I countered, deciding there was nothing wrong with fluffing his ego.

“You don’t have to be,” he assured me. “Lisa an’ I are ancient news.”

Too much information. I did not wish to imagine Mario in the sack with Lisa whoever she was. It wasn’t conducive to a night of unbridled lust, and I was anticipating a
very
lustful night.

“Thanks for the info,” I said crisply. “I’ll store it away for future reference.”

Flashing his whiter than white teeth, he said, “That’s what I like about you.”

“Do tell.”

“You’re acerbic.”

“I am?”

“Makes a refreshing change. A lot of beautiful women don’t have much to say.”

Was he calling me beautiful?

Yes, he was.

Mario was definitely going to get major lucky tonight.

* * *

There’s something totally addictive about sex. When you haven’t had it in a while, a girl can definitely live without it. But when you’re back in action – watch out!

And I was back in action big-time.

After dinner at
Ago
– delicious sole for me, pasta primavera for him, and a bottle of red wine between us – we headed back to his place in a hurry. I followed him in my car, anticipating what was to come.

I would’ve invited him back to my apartment, but I figured Amy Winehouse had experienced enough trauma for one day. She didn’t need the added stress of me and Mario making out.

No sooner were we inside his front door than we both went at it like a couple of sex-starved teenagers. Clothes began falling off at an alarming rate. First his, then mine, until we were both standing naked in the small living room of his modest house. He pulled me close so that my breasts were against his chest, and his hard-on was pressing against my thigh.

“Put your legs around my waist,” he ordered, grabbing my ass to assist.

Oh yes, no problem.

But wait a minute – where was the foreplay he’d been so adept at last time? I might be horny (again?!!) but a little attention to turning me on even more might be nice.

And just as I was thinking this, his doorbell rang.

It was past midnight, and straddling him in his living room with no clothes on was suddenly making me feel quite vulnerable.

“Uh, are you expecting anyone?” I asked, unwrapping my legs from around his waist.

“Me? No,” he said, equally startled.

“Should we ignore it?”

“It might be important,” he decided. “Go wait in the bedroom, I’ll deal with it.”

He didn’t need to tell me twice. I hurried into his bedroom and slid between the sheets. Then I realized I’d left my purse in the other room and I wished I hadn’t, because I needed to check my phone to see if Carolyn had tried to reach me. It was imperative that I reveal George Henderson’s identity first thing in the morning, and I
so
needed to speak to Carolyn first.

Suddenly sex with Mario didn’t seem so urgent. Whoever had rung his front doorbell had put a damper on things. I had a sudden strong desire to get dressed and go home. But I couldn’t, on account of the fact that my clothes were strewn all over the floor in his living room.

Mario returned. Still naked. Still with an impressive hard-on.

I decided to stay until we’d finished what we’d started and then take off.

“Who was that?” I asked. “And don’t tell me you answered the door with no clothes on?”

“Protected my modesty with a cushion,” he quipped. “A very large cushion.”

“I thought size didn’t matter,” I said lightly.

“You’re kidding, right?” he said, leaping into bed beside me and starting to lick my nipples.

Ah
. . .
now we get foreplay.

“You’re adventurous, right?” he said, his voice low and husky. “Ready to try anything?”

“Why?” I asked breathlessly, totally turned on again.

“’Cause
I
am. It’s my thing to always embrace the unexpected – it can turn out to be a real trip.”

And with those words he threw off the sheet and began moving his magical tongue down my body, spreading my thighs with his strong hands, licking his way to between my legs.

I gave a deep sigh and threw my arms up, covering my eyes. A man who
really
knows how to give head is a gem indeed. And Mario knew a thing or two about how to please a woman. Suddenly all thoughts of taking off were gone with the wind as I lay back and enjoyed the ministrations of his talented tongue.

He paused for a moment. I urged him not to stop. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s
sooo
good,” I murmured. “I’m almost there . . .”

And his tongue returned to giving me serious pleasure.

I couldn’t hold back any longer, it was just too damn hot. I let myself go, and experienced an all-consuming, everlasting orgasm of mammoth proportions. “Oh . . . my . . . God,” I gasped, my body quivering with delight. “That was . . . orgiastic!!”

“She has such a way with words,” Mario whispered, nibbling on my ear.

Wait a minute – how could he be attending to my ear when his head was still between my legs?

And then it dawned on me. There was a third party in the bedroom.

“U
nder no circumstances contact me,” Gregory had warned Benito. “I will contact you if necessary.”

Benito didn’t care. He’d been given a job to do, and once the job was completed he and the Senator had no reason to ever speak again. Unless he got into trouble and needed help – in which case he’d have no problem asking for the Senator’s assistance. One thing Benito knew for sure was that he would
never
allow himself to be carted off to the big house again.
Never
. Dead and buried was the only sane alternative to jail.

Meanwhile, this job of taking the Senator’s bitch and shaking her up so that she lost her baby was lasting too long. He’d thought it would all be over fast. Grab the
puta
, ride her around in the trunk of his car for a few hours, and bingo – baby gone.

But no – he’d driven around for endless hours outside the city, over the bumpiest roads he could find, until eventually Rosa, sitting next to him in the passenger seat, had started moaning that she was tired and hungry, and that they’d better stop and see if they’d achieved what they’d set out to do.

“I’m openin’ the trunk,” Benito growled, pulling over to a deserted side street. By now it was night-time, and come to think of it he could go for a burger himself. “You go take a look at her,” he commanded.

“Why
I
gotta do it?” Rosa objected, argumentative as usual.

“’Cuz I ain’t lookin’ between her legs,” Benito steamed. “That ain’t no man’s work.”

“It’s
your
shitass deal,” Rosa said belligerently. “You got us into this.”

“Shut your mouth an’
help
,” Benito ordered, grabbing a flashlight and jumping out of the car. Running around to the back, he sprung open the trunk and shone the flashlight on Carolyn. She was lying there, still trussed up, and now she was motionless, which scared the crap out of him. The first thought that went through his head was – what if the
puta
went and died on him? If that happened, it meant he’d be heading back to lock-up, or even worse – the executioner’s chair.

Immediately he’d slammed the trunk shut, and without saying a word, he’d gotten back in the car and driven to his dump of a house, borrowed from a drug-dealer cousin who was doing time. Once there, he’d parked the car amongst the rotting garbage in the alley at the back, and with some reluctant help from a complaining Rosa, he’d half-dragged and half-carried the Senator’s pregnant girlfriend inside before dropping her down on the bed and untying her.

The good news was that she was still breathing. The bad news was that there was no blood in sight, and even he knew that when she lost the baby there had to be blood, Rosa had assured him of that. “’Course,” his sixteen-year-old girlfriend had said, like she was some kind of expert. “We dunno how knocked up she is. If the baby’s big – we’re gonna see it when it come out. My cousin lost her baby, an’ that stupid baby was so huge she couldn’t even flush it down the shitter.”

Benito didn’t care to listen. What did Rosa know? Exactly nothing.

After securing the woman’s right wrist to the bedframe with strong electrical cord, he slunk into the other room, switched on the TV, threw himself into a chair and stared blankly at the screen.

His gut told him this was not a healthy scene.