I release the remainder of my drink and sit back only to look at him. “Then show me a good time,” I challenge him simply.
“Deal,” he grants me and puts a hand out. I take it and just follow – I’m already a lamb waiting for slaughter, I may as well enjoy the journey.
***
The drive to Zane’s place only exacerbated our underlying feelings.
The moment we were at his front door, I was pressed against it, Zane kissing me roughly, the anticipation growing with every passing second. We’re that same fever pitch I always remembered us to be. He unlocked the door with me still against it, and we both flew into his house. I don’t remember much between him kicking the door closed, throwing his t-shirt off, and demanding me to strip, but now I’m pushed against a wall in nothing but my bra and panties in his dining room. I bite my lip as Zane rids of his final items of clothing and stands before me stark naked and rock hard. My heart skips a beat as I look down at his penis and I feel myself moisten at the thought of where tonight will end.
When I look back up, I realize that my heart is thudding so hard that I fear it will explode. He charges toward me, full of dominance, and he doesn’t stop until I’m pinned to the wall, my hands above my head, and my alcoholic kisses mingling with his perfect ones.
He travels down my chest, dotting his lips against my skin as he begins working his way to my breasts, and I fall victim to his will. My body comes alive all over again, the thudding in my heart exacerbates, and I feel electric. But as Zane reaches my bra, readying to remove it, the rush of coldness hits me as he takes a step back in horror. Suddenly I realize my left bra cup feels emptier than it had.
I completely forgot it was there. I never expected mine and Zane’s paths to cross tonight – especially like this – but I took it with me just in case. It was almost an act of comfort, too – if I had this vial, it was one less my father could kill me with later.
“I didn’t want to believe the reports,” he stammers as he stands before me, eying the toxic vial.
“What reports?” I ask, aghast. I watch him roll the vial around in his palm.
“That the only description we have of the Femme Fatale sounded an awful lot like you,” he states and looks up at me. “What are you caught up in, Amelia?”
“Nothing, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I defend myself and I feel my sobriety return in one heavy rush. I feel an inner laughter bubble and burst within. It’s taken me to this point to realize how pathetic I sound, and I cannot allow it to continue. It’s time to do this, time to absolve myself of any and all issues.
Don’t feel, don’t deviate, kill Zane Maverick. My father’s voice strikes up within me and I go and take a seat. I sit and cross my legs, sitting back, allowing my true feelings to go forgotten and try to keep my cool. I cannot be weak. I will not be weak. Who am I fooling? I stand up, advancing for him as if he’ll forget if we just rekindle what we had started.
“It’s not what you think,” I tell him, pouncing with the prowess of a lioness.
I try to make him forget, my hands deliberately trawling all over him. It’s a desperate bid to get him to forget, and I think it’s working as I wrap my fingers around the vial promptly pulling it from him. But Zane is aware and he takes the vial back off me and pushes me away a little too heavy handed. It’s almost like the touch of me disgusts him. I’m a vile monster and I deserve this, but it’s not until I hit the wall and the impact jolts shards of reality back into my soul that I realize it all – this is it, my end. My reign as Femme Fatale ends tonight by the placing of handcuffs around my wrists.
“You’re a definite Femme Fatale,” he growls at me, holding the vial of poison at me. It’s almost like he’s piecing everything together and is looking at me in a brand new light. He now sees what he was always meant to.
I fix him with a pointed look and cross my arms over my chest. “That’s French. Don’t insult me, you ass.”
“You’re the one insulted when I just found a bottle of this in your bra?” he asks me, chuckling mirthlessly. “If I had dug further what else would I find?”
I snicker. “Possibly your balls.” I decide to stand up and approach him in a slow seductive way. He knows, I might as well continue on now. I forget about my nerves, push them as far away as humanly possible. “Now, if you’re going to call me anything, be a little more culturally respectful.” As I get closer, I pluck the glass bottle from him, encase it in my palm, and run my other hand across his chest. “I’m an affascinante assassino. I’m your affascinante assassino. Never forget that.”