Page 18 of Breaking Rosalind
“I’m readjusting my score,” I say.
He walks to the other side of the playroom to a trash can where he deposits the used condom.
My eyes narrow. He was supposed to be insecure and eager to prove himself, but maybe that was only lust. Or I’ve pushed him so far that he’s given up. Either way, I’m losing him. But if he orders me to leave, I can take the scenic route around the grounds and gather information on their defenses.
“Get dressed,” he says, not even bothering to make eye contact. “I’ll drive you to the gates where someone will take you home.”
My stomach drops.
Shit.
If I don’t turn around this situation, then I fucked him for nothing. I rise off the leather bench and walk over to where he stands at a table of supplies and opens a box of latex gloves.
“Why did my pussy only get a nine out of ten?” I ask.
He snaps on the gloves, grabs a pack of disinfectant wipes, pulls one out and strides back to the bench. I spin around, my mouth gaping open as he cleans the leather surface as though getting it ready for the next woman.
“Damn,” I mutter. “At least Leroi gave me aftercare and snacks.”
He straightens, his shoulders squaring. The veins in his neck swell beneath his skin, and I smirk.
Looks like I’ve finally gotten through to this asshole.
When he turns back to meet my gaze, his features are pinched. “You’re still naked.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “You’re not sending me away without at least a snack.”
His eyes shutter, and I raise my brows with defiance, daring him to lash out. There’s a method to my madness. I need Cesare to invite me to stay over or at least fuck me until he falls into an exhausted sleep.
Right now, I can’t afford to inspire his indifference, so I’m aiming for his hatred. Men like him, who like to dominate women, wouldn’t be able to resist pounding me into submission once more with their cocks. It’s just a matter of holding their interest until it’s time to strike.
“Will you shut the fuck up if I give you a drink?” he asks.
I offer him an eager nod.
Cesare turns back to the bench, wipes down the restraints, and then strides out through the door. Some of the tension in my chest eases at the prospect of prolonging my stay.
I rush to my purse, pull out a bottle of OPA, and pop it open before following him into the pool house’s living room. Oxypentanol renders a target unconscious faster than GHB. Its effects last up to thirty-six hours, but can be reversed with an antidote.
Cesare walks past the dining table and sofas, too self-absorbed to notice what I’m doing, and pauses in front of a kitchenette.
By the time I reach him at the counter, he’s opened a cabinet full of bottles. All I need to do is appeal to his nature as an asshole to render him unconscious.
“Give me your strongest vodka,” I say, resting my head on his shoulder.
Shrugging me off, he pours me a generous amount into a tumbler, returns the bottle, and strides back across the room. Any other time, I would balk at his shitty manners, but I take the opportunity to gulp down the liquor and top up the glass with OPA.
“Cesare?” I ask.
He pauses halfway to the playroom without turning back to meet my gaze.
I raise my chin. “If my pussy is a nine, then my other holes are elevens.”
No reaction.
“I’m not just saying that. Leroi once said I was a fifteen when he was silencing me with his cock down my throat.”
He snorts. “Is that right?”