The lights in the interrogation room were harsh. The air was hot and clammy. He could feel beads of sweat on his neck. Harry was seated in the chair. His hair was platinum, shoulder length and it fell in waves around his face. Was he wearing a wig? He tried to move his hands but they were cuffed to the arms of the chair. Ruth leaned across the table. She cupped his chin in his hands. The pain sent a surge of delight through him.
"How many men do you think I've had? Some are harder than others. Do you imagine that I would have any difficulty breaking you?"
Ruth stood up and walked over to Harry, as she moved she untucked her blouse from her skirt. She began undoing buttons. She sat down on the edge the table, lifted her right leg and placed her foot on the back of Harry's chair. The Ruth of Harry's dreams was very flexible and her skirt was a lot shorter. She pushed the chair backward and then let it fall forward again with a crash. When she did that he could look up her skirt.
She wasn't wearing any knickers.
He gasped a little bit as she removed her blouse and let it fall to the floor. She leaned in, letting the lace of her bra graze his lips. He opened his mouth, but she pulled away before he could make contact.
"Ruth please!" He cried out. "I want you so much."
She snorted derisively. "We're all just treacherous bitches to you aren't we?"
"No. Wait. How did you know I said that?"
"It's a dream Harry. I know everything. I know about your sordid little affairs with every woman in the Service. They all just wanted your power,
Harry," she hissed and stood with her legs astraide the chair. She lowered herself onto his lap, allowing her thighs to touch the massive pup tent pitched in his pants.
"What do you want, Ruth?"
"I your heart, Harry Pearce. All you tender little bits: your chivalry, your honor, your integrity. In short, I want your soul. And I won't give you even the smallest taste of this until I have it."
"What will you do with it, if I give it to you?"
She laughed, cruelly and said, "You aren't in any position to ask that. You are going to have to trust me."
Harry Pearce sat up stock straight in bed. He was sweating buckets and the sheets clung to him everywhere. Morning wood was an understatement for what was going on down there. His phone, set to vibrate, bouncing itself madly across the top of his bedside table.
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