When I arrive at the hotel, Fouquet is climbing into his black Audi. A quick detour down an alley yields the employee entrance. I pass by a few who say hello to me, and then quickly disappear into the stairwell.
I wait in the stairwell for a few minutes. Not because I’m worried I’ll get caught. Fouquet has left. Outside her room there is no guard, but I don’t make the mistake of thinking there aren’t eyes on her at all times. I wait because I need to get myself under control. A great stupid portion of me wants to charge down the hall, kick down her door, and drag her into the bedroom. She will, of course, be willing. She claws at my clothes, ripping them off and then falling to her knees. In porn, that’s what the women do. They fall to their knees, jerk out the big cock and swallow it whole, looking at the camera the whole time as if cock is the best fucking meal in the world to them.
Ah, how porn has steered so many men wrong.
No one has ever had their mouth around my cock and no one has looked at me worshipfully. With fear. With anger. With a hell of a lot of pain, but no worship.
It’s a stupid, foolish game I’m playing with myself.
The fuck of it is, I don’t need her to suck my cock. I’d rather be facedown on her *, inhaling her musk and drowning in her juice. So instead of her falling to her knees, I’d push her on the bed and I’d rip her pants off and bury my tongue inside her until she’s crying out for God or Buddha or whatever greater entity she thinks is bringing her glory.
That would be me. Rafe Mendoza. I laugh and the bitter sound bounces off the walls so I can hear the echo of my own mocking. The cement wall is a good place to bang some sense into myself.
A sharp knock to the head brings clarity. I’ve never brought a woman glory, only pain. No doubt it would be the same for Ava. Even if I had a chance, which I don’t because snowballs in the Amazon have a better likelihood of survival than I have of ever laying my tongue on Ava, I wouldn’t allow myself to touch her. My mother told me I was cursed in the womb. I lived to prove her wrong, but each successive year of my life revealed the truth.
I hurt those I touch. I kill those I love.
Deprivation isn’t all that bad, not when the alternative means hurting an innocent woman.
I tuck my chin against my chest and step out into the hallway. A door next to Ava’s room opens and a heavily armed man about six feet tall steps out. He straddles the entrance, watching me carefully. So Fouquet isn’t the only one within arm’s reach of Ava. Out of my periphery, I glance into the bedroom. There’s another man inside, seated with a long gun over his knee. I could take the two of them out, grab Ava, and have her on our way to the island in about thirty minutes.
But if I do that, I’m signing Davidson’s death warrant and he’s too good a man to leave behind. Besides, what would I do with Ava if I had her? Stare her into an orgasm? Stroke her hand until she whimpers with pleasure?
Fool, I curse myself. But I’m still here like a jackass standing with my pitiful offering of food.
I walk on past, gripping the bag, and then stop at the far end of the hall. The room is silent, unlike a couple of the others that had television sounds. I lift my phone to it and open an application. The lock snicks open in seconds. As I open the door, the thug retreats into his room. I wait for a count of ten, walk back down, drop the bag and then hustle to the elevator. I’m just another tourist who forgot something.
When I get back to the base, Bennito gives me an update.
“Fouquet was back. He slapped her a couple of times and I think she told him about you.”
“He hit her?” I growl.
“Yeah, man, across the face this time.”
I’ve got my hand on the doorknob before I come to my senses. Squeezing the metal until the round ball starts bruising the skin, I strive for calm. “Place a call to her room and tell her that there’s a meal for her outside her door.”
“Didn’t feed her? What kind of date are you?” he jokes as he punches in a few keys on his computer.
“A shitty one.”
I force myself to walk back to the monitors, and we watch as she turns away from running her fingers over the lamp to eye the phone with suspicion. She lifts the receiver. Bennito adopts a Peruvian accent even though he is from West Texas. “Senhora, there is a package at your door.”
“Um, okay. Can I ask who brought it?”
“Your white knight.”
I cuff him on the back of his head and he hangs up. “What? You’re the good guy in this situation. I was smoothing the way for you in case you hook up with her later. I see how you watch her.”