She lit her cigar and let out an impatient puff, as she looked out of the french window of her swanky hotel room. The room behind her was a mess. A trail of cigar stubs, spilt coffee, an unfinished bottle of wine, a laptop and a dirty linen. Patience was never her virtue. She'd fidget when she got nervous. The room showed. 'He should have been here', she muttered. Puff, puff, puff... He always inspired the choicest expletives in her. 'Bastard, that fuckin' sonofabitch, always late,' she spat the stub out. She paced the room a couple of times, then sat, stretching her slender legs out on the velvet beige couch, her skirt sliding up lazily. Just then, a faint knock ...
"Come in," she yelled, "not if you're the housekeeping guy." "Actually, don't bother. You're fucking late!" She yelled louder. He pushed the door open.
"Not a bit of that fire lost, eh?" he chuckled, as he sauntered in casually in his tweed jacket and disheveled hair. She glared at him. The truth was, it was this casual style of his she had fallen for. He walked up to the couch and smiled at what he saw. 'Hot as ever,' he thought. She ignored him for a while, acting nonchalant. She knew he knew she was acting, and he continued to flash his disarming smile. All those years hadn't taken away her curves, her slender shoulders. He could imagine her pert breasts from that cleavage.
"Stop letching, mofo," she barked. "We got a job to do," she said, typing away furiously at her laptop. 'Just as hot in her head too,' he thought. "Yeah, yeah, the part I hate most," he mock cringed. "Look, you've milked this horny oldie enough. Just transfer that million to Antwerp."
"Umm...oh, that's done. I caught some really big fish this time," she said. "Come, look." He flopped on the couch beside her, peering at the screen. "Poor fellow," he said with a frown. They exchanged glances, and burst out laughing. It was the Sheikh. "I swiped the horny bugger clean. He must be on his way to Mecca now," she said. "5 million, and you and I will make a good menage a trois," she laughed.
"Shut the fuck up," he mocked, as he leaned over to plant a kiss on those painted lips. She lorded over the men. But she was his. In greed and in lust. "Wine, love?" he asked. He knew she could never refuse wine or him. She nodded and he poured out two glasses. One for him, one for his partner in crime. They had come a long way. From dingy single rooms, to this plush 5-star room. Sinister ambitions had no limit. "Let's toast tonight," he said.
"Yes, let's," she said, stripping. She knew this was his greatest intoxication. He scooped her in his arms and dropped her on the bed. "Take me to bed or lose me forever," he winked. They laughed at his favourite line. "Un instant, ma chérie," she said, and walked to the bathroom, wine glass in hand. When she returned, with her sheer leopard print negligee, his desires throbbed, turning physical. He ran his hands all over her. Exploring, caressing, loving, hurting. She smelt of smoke, alcohol, impatience and money. His favourite smells of vice on his favourite woman. He took a swig, and a lick. Life felt full; perfect.
He had always liked the smaller pleasures in life. But she really was on to bigger things. 'Bigger is always better,' she smiled to herself, as she glanced out of the airplane window. His motionless body lay in the room; the spiked wine by his side. She really had got the 'big fish'. 'Blind love fool', she smirked and ordered some more in-flight red.
(Co-authored with Nikhil Deshmukh @red_devil22)