She raised an eyebrow.
"Don’t worry," he responded. "I had a few menu ideas and vendor suggestions to go over. The hotel’s wine selection doesn’t hurt, either, I guess."
Tracy looked across to him. She could tell that he wanted her again, but having her alone was something different entirely. That, she feared, would be crossing the line. If Mr. Hayes found out, she knew that their entire relationship could be thrown into jeopardy, along with everything that she had worked so hard to achieve.
She let her eyes fall down to where his hands were clasped together and nearly screamed when she saw it: a small, half-circle scar just above Gordon’s right, middle finger. Instantly, her thoughts ran right back to her visions. She saw everything again, though it passed in fleeting, quick flashes that made her head spin. That scar. She knew that scar so well. Had she been right the whole time? Was it Gordon that had actually been haunting her all along, in some way that she hadn’t even dreamed of?
There was only one way to find out.
Tracy pushed back in her chair, sitting up straight, and forced the swelling ball of fear back down into her gut.
"Sure," she said, trying to sound normal and barely succeeding. "Why not?"
***
Inside of Gordon’s room on the top of the luxury tower, the fireplace near the plush couch had been lit well before their arrival, warming the room to a toasty temperature that was in stark contrast to the cold that settled over the area. It had moved in swiftly, smothering everything for miles in a blanket of iciness.
Not far from there, a track of dim, hidden accent lights circled near the vaulted ceiling, giving the room an inviting glow. Tracy walked in, her heels clacking on the Italian marble flooring, and tried to take it all in.
"This place is amazing."
Gordon walked in behind her and closed the front door softly. When the handle popped shut, Tracy tried not to flinch. All that she could think about was the gun from her dream.
"Have a seat," he said and walked over to the bar. "I’ll get you something to drink."
Tracy carefully moved over and lowered herself down. Right away, she started to sink in. The softness of it put her sore feet and tired back into focus, making her even more aware of how unprepared she was for a showdown. She could barely even walk, let alone fight.
"So, is wine okay?"
"Yeah. That would be fine."
The soft pop of the cork leaving the bottle sent memories of Jenna Tice and her attempt to poison Mr. Hayes running through Tracy’s mind. The memory was still fresh and, if she tried hard enough, sometimes she could still remember the smug look on the bitch’s face as she handed Mr. Hayes his glass. Neither he nor Tracy ever got any real answers as to why Jenna did what she did, but the entire Tice family had disappeared after the incident, leaving behind only questions.
Gordon appeared behind her and lowered her glass to her hands.
"Thanks," she said quietly.
He sat down next to her, though just barely close enough for the edges of their knees to touch, and raised his glass.
"To success."
Tracy met his cup with hers and pretended to take a sip. It didn’t seem like he was watching her very closely, but she was still very careful to not give herself away. Just across from a long table near their feet, the dancing fire light flickered and popped. Neither one of them spoke for a while.
Gordon broke the silence not with words, but with a gesture. His hand moved over and landed on top of her knee. He then leaned forward and finally spoke, "You know, Tracy, I’ve been thinking about the other night."
She looked down to his hand, where the scar stared back at her as plain as day, even in the room’s darkness. Seeing it resting on her like that made her want to jump up and run but she knew that the answers were so close.
She bit the inside of her cheek and asked, "What about it?"
He moved closer and put both of their glasses onto the table.
"I was thinking about you," he said and squeezed her thigh, "and the way that I felt when I was inside of you."
His hand continued to massage upward, getting dangerously close to her pu**y.
Tracy, to her surprise, was becoming aroused by his touch and the things that he was saying. There was no doubt that the two of them had amazing chemistry, but she knew in her heart that he was up to something. There was no shaking it.
This was her chance and she knew exactly what to do.
She let him pull her legs apart, exposing her black panties under the short dress that she wore. Gordon bit his lip and hooked a finger around the fabric, pulling it aside just as he had done before.
Two of his fingers slipped into her channel and she gasped loudly. He placed one hand on the lower portion of her stomach, pinning her down to the couch under his powerful arms, and pushed his way into her over and over, picking up speed with every thrust.
"Wait, Mr. Baxter," she said and pushed his probing digits away. "Shouldn’t we take this elsewhere?"
"You’re right," he replied and stood up. He leaned over and pulled her to her feet, then jerked her in close, reaching around to fondle her ass with both hands. Tracy let him guide her backwards into his bedroom, where a large bed with four posts awaited.
The couple tumbled down onto the bed. At the very last moment, Tracy spun them around so that when they landed, she was perched on top of him. She sat up straight and swept the wild hairs out of her face, holding them up with both hands. Below, she gently rocked her wet folds against his bulging girth.
"So, you want to f**k me again?"
Gordon tried to reach up and fondle her br**sts, but she pushed his hands away and ground over him a little harder.
"I asked you a question."
He seemed a little surprised and answered, "Yes."
"Good," she replied. "But if you want to feel this again, you’re going to have to do something for me."
He responded with a familiar answer, "Anything."
"Don’t move."
Tracy climbed off of him and walked over to his closet. She flung open the door and knelt down, quickly spotting what she was looking for: shoes. There were almost a dozen pairs, so she picked two pairs of his boots and quickly unlaced them. When she was done, she took her four new ropes and walked back over to the bed with them dangling from each end of a fist.
"And what do you intend to do with those?"
She climbed back on top of him and grabbed one of his wrists.
"Oh come on now, Mr. Baxter," she said and cinched it tight. "I let you tie me up. Now it’s my turn to have my way with you."