I’m dressed but barefoot and sitting on the floor in front of the mirror braiding my hair when Sergio walks in a little before nine. I meet his gaze in the mirror, but my smile falters. He looks strange, like he’s got something on his mind, and in his hand, he’s holding a tumbler of whiskey. He closes the door, stands just inside and watches me as he takes a sip of his drink and I wonder if it’s his first. It doesn’t look like it.

“Hey,” I say quietly, returning my attention to braiding my hair, feeling my fingers disappear in the thick mass as I create a long, intricate pattern.

Sergio moves, he pulls a chair up behind me and sits, takes another sip of his drink before setting it down. His legs are on either side of my shoulders.

“Okay?” I ask.

He nods. “You look good.”

I finish the braid, but I don’t get a chance to tie the end of it together before he puts his hands on the thick straps of the dress and pushes them off my shoulders. I look at myself, at the dress as it slips down to my waist. Look at my bared breasts. At how the braid is already beginning to unravel.

“Don’t you want to get changed for dinner?” I ask.

Sergio reaches down and cups my breasts. Draws his fingernails over them. He takes the already hardened nipples between thumb and forefinger and rubs.

I swallow, my eyes locked on his in the mirror. “We’re going to be late,” I say weakly.

“Turn around,” he says.

I kneel up, put my hands on his thighs and face him so I’m kneeling between his widespread legs. He touches his thumb to my lips, then smears the dark red lipstick across my cheek.

“What are you doing?” I ask quietly, beginning to rise as I touch the corner of my mouth. But he takes my hands and shakes his head.

“I want to mess up your face,” he says, undoing his belt, the buttons of his jeans.

I watch, my heartbeat picking up when he pushes them down, takes his already thick cock into his fist.

“I want to bruise your perfect lips when I fuck your mouth. I want to come all over your pretty face.”

He wraps one hand around the back of my head and draws me to him, ruining the braid as he pushes himself into my mouth. I open for him but it’s not wide enough and when I try to draw back, he stands up, his fingers curling into my hair, fisting a handful of it.

“Just open,” he says.

I’m looking up at him because he’s got my head tilted upward. He bites his lip and I rise up on my knees, wrap my hands around his powerful legs.