Chapter 39
Room 301. Rocío Eva Granada
stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror. This was the moment she’d been dreading all day. The German was on the bed waiting
for her. He was the biggest man
she’d ever been with.
Reluctantly, she took an
ice cube from the water bucket
and
rubbed it across
her nipples. They quickly hardened.
This was her gift–to
make men feel wanted. It’s what kept them coming back. She ran her hands across her supple, well-tanned body and hoped it would survive
another four or five more years until she had enough to retire. Señor Roldán took most of her pay, but without him she knew she’d be with the rest of the hookers
picking up drunks in Triana. These men at least had money. They never beat her, and they were easy to
satisfy. She slipped into her lingerie, took a deep breath,
and opened the bathroom door.
As Rocío stepped into the room, the German’s eyes bulged. She was wearing a black
negligee. Her chestnut
skin radiated in the soft light, and her nipples stood at attention beneath the lacy fabric.
“Komm doch
hierher,” he said eagerly, shedding his robe and rolling onto his
back.
Rocío forced a smile and approached the bed. She gazed down at the enormous
German. She chuckled in relief. The organ
between his legs was tiny.
He grabbed at her and impatiently ripped off her negligee.
His fat fingers groped at every inch of her body. She fell on top of him and moaned and writhed in false ecstasy. As he rolled her over and climbed on top of her, she thought she would be crushed.
She gasped and choked against his puttylike neck. She prayed he would be quick.
“Sí! Sí!” she gasped in between thrusts.
She dug her fingernails into his backside to encourage
him.
Random
thoughts cascaded through her mind–faces of the countless men she’d satisfied,
ceilings she’d stared at for
hours in the dark, dreams of having children…
Suddenly,
without warning, the German’s
body arched, stiffened, and almost
immediately collapsed
on top of her. That’s all? she thought, surprised and relieved.
She tried to slide out from under him. “Darling,” she whispered
huskily. “Let me get on top.” But
the man did not move.
She reached up and pushed at his massive
shoulders. “Darling,
I… I can’t breathe!”
She began feeling
faint. She felt her ribs cracking. “¡Despiértate!” Her fingers
instinctively started
pulling at his matted
hair. Wake up!
It was then that she felt the warm sticky liquid.
It was matted in his hair–flowing onto her cheeks, into her mouth. It was salty. She twisted wildly beneath him. Above her, a strange
shaft of light illuminated the German’s
contorted face. The bullet hole in his temple was gushing blood all over her. She tried to scream,
but there was no air left in her lungs. He was crushing her. Delirious, she clawed toward the shaft of light coming from the doorway.
She saw a hand. A gun with a silencer. A flash of light. And
then nothing.
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