Single Lady Spy 01 - The End of Me

face down farther on him.
    He didn’t appreciate it when I shoved him back and shouted that I was a wife, not a deep-throating porn star. Thankfully, it had earned me a hard fuck on my hands and knees instead. I struggled and worked at pretending I didn’t like it.
    I plucked at the dark hairs on his arms, "So what's the job?" I asked.
    He spoke distractedly, "Firstly, you’re going to stop plucking at me like I am a chicken and get me some damned breakfast. Secondly, I am going to fuck you, when I am done sending this email, and then we are going to take a shower. Thirdly, you will then go and kill a man named Derringer and you will do it messy. Fourthly, we will then be taking the jet back to Boston."
    I looked up at him, fully blocking out the demand I kill someone else, and shook my head. "We can't have sex in the morning. We can have it on the jet back to Boston. I don’t do mornings."
    He gave me a look and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes, "My God, you have a lot of rules. Why can’t we have morning sex?"
    I licked my lips nervously and then just said it, "I can't have it until I've had coffee and a full bathroom experience. Otherwise, I won't go all day and I’ll have a bloated belly."
    His hand dropped, "Did you just tell me you can't have sex, because you need some coffee and raisin bran to complete the morning… first?"
    I nodded.
    He bit his lip and processed, "That’s sickening. You have to learn about appropriate sharing and not appropriate sharing."
    I climbed off the bed, pulled on the sweats I had made Steve go buy for me, and tied my hair into a messy ponytail. I stretched and yawned, "You’re keeping me here against my will. I am a thirty-six-year-old woman. You can't expect me to be a giggly, twenty-year-old who keeps secret the fact she poops and passes gas."
    He grimaced and continued to type on the laptop, "Good God, you aren’t going to start passing gas in front of me, are you?”
    I laughed, “No. My mother would beat me if I did that.”
    He looked wounded, “You know you’re not here against your will. You may leave, if you want."
    I stopped the act of disgustingly-lazy housewife and frowned, "What?"
    He nodded, "You can leave anytime. You know the deal we have."
    I walked out of the room to where my clutch was on the table in the foyer. If I stayed, I would have to kill the Derringer man, messily. I needed out. I needed to take my chances and run.
    He called out of the room, "Take with you what you brought. None of the things I've bought for you."
    I looked over at the door and sighed. I pulled off my t-shirt and slipped the sweatpants down my legs. I kicked them to the side. A noise behind me of choking, got my attention. I looked back and blushed, "Sorry, Steve."
    He waved me off and gulped back some coffee to wash down whatever he was choking on.
    "Thanks for the fun!" I shouted and bolted for the door. I held my wobbly bits and ran past the guards, flinging open the door to the stairs. I had a clutch and a hair elastic and my own hands for coverage. I sprinted down a flight and opened the door to the next floor. I closed it and tiptoed down the next flight. Just in case they were following me, they would think I’d left. I slowly opened the door on the lower floor and knocked on the first door I found.
    An elderly lady answered and jumped back.
    I blushed, covering my pubis and breasts, "My robe got stuck in my door. My kids are laughing and won't open it."
    She started to snicker and opened the door for me, “Little brats!”
    I stepped inside and closed it, still covering myself. She passed me the robe from her door. I pulled it on and shook my head, "Little brats is right."
    She laughed, "Oh my. I bet they'll have sore bottoms."
    I nodded, "Sure will. Do you mind if I call the front desk from your phone?"
    She shook her head and laughed, "Lord no. Use the one in the bathroom."
    I slipped in and dialed 9-1-1 on the phone I pulled from my clutch.
    The FaceTime screen came up. "Where are you?" The young man spoke while sipping something looking like Starbucks. I put my fingers to my lips.
    I winked, "My kids locked me out of the room, floor 17, room 1723."
    He nodded and was gone. The code was what we had agreed on, when I left the car in the parking lot of the Boston airport. It meant I was in severe shit and needed an evac immediately. It meant there would be a car waiting at the front door. I would have to find a way to make it there,