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waiting around for a full-face paint job. “Just put on some lipstick and some ho shoes.”
    “Why you trippin’?” She sucked her teeth and stomped to the bureau. Amidst the clutter, she miraculously retrieved a tube of lipstick and smeared it on without even glancing in the mirror.
    What is wrong with this ho? Reed couldn’t understand why Buttercup was being difficult. An experience that should have been as exciting as a roller coaster ride was threatening to become as boring as the sex he had at home.
    The thought of Dayna and her damned biological clock caused his annoyance with Buttercup to escalate into full-blown rage. Yet strangely, at that moment, he could feel a hot flush as his manhood began to rise. By the time Buttercup located a pair of stilettos, Reed had stroked himself into a hard erection.
    “It looks like you’re doing all right by yourself. Sure you need me?” she teased.
    Grunting as he swiftly worked his hand up and down, he gave her a look that was mixed with both loathing and lust.
    “How come you still have your clothes on?” Buttercup wanted to know.
    Reed detected exasperation in her tone. She sounded like she regretted having brought him home. But he knew she wasn’t totally stupid. She realized the ball was in his court and if she expected to get paid, she’d have to play according to his rules.
    “Need some help?” she asked, attempting to take the edge out of her voice. Reed ignored her; he didn’t even look at her as he continued to manually stimulate himself.
    Buttercup stepped into Reed’s direct line of vision, forcing him to look at her. “What do you want? A blow job?” Frustration coated her words.
    With his adrenaline pumping and acting on sheer instinct, he stopped masturbating, stood up, unbuckled his belt, and snatched it from around his waist.
    Reed yanked Buttercup by her thin arm, flopped down on the bed, and promptly turned her over his knee.
    “Let me go! Stop it!” She struggled to free herself from Reed’s grip, but Reed pressed his forearm down hard on her back. “What’s wrong with you—you crazy or something?” Buttercup raged.
    Thwack! The strap landed across her bare buttocks. For a few seconds, her mouth fell open in silent shock. Then she let out a high-pitched wail that should have alerted a neighbor to call the police. In Buttercup’s neighborhood, however, late-night screams were a common sound that competed with the background noise of gunshots and police sirens.
    Reed raised his arm high; he held the leather belt as if it were a whip. He came down with another hard smack that delivered high-wattage pain. The pain was beyond anything Buttercup was familiar with. “Ow! Stop it! Oh my God, stop!” she screamed. “I’m not playing, you crazy muthafucker. Stop!”
    Twisting around, she managed a flimsy grasp of the arm that was stretched high in preparation of bringing down another stinging assault.
    Reed yanked away from her grasp and struck her again. This time he dispensed a flurry of hot lashes that landed in rapid succession.
    Fearing for her life and having endured more than enough of this absurd flogging, Buttercup managed to fling herself off his lap and onto the floor where she swiftly slithered under the bed to a safe but dusty haven.
    With Buttercup beyond his reach, Reed began to calm down and slowly returned to his rational state of mind. He was shocked by what he’d just done, and felt ashamed of himself. Confused, he sagged onto the bed and buried his head in his hands.
    “Get the fuck outta here before I call the cops!” yelled Buttercup, who was still hiding under the bed.
    Of course, Reed realized that her threat was empty. In her line of work—exotic dancer, hooker, and a booster, as well as having a drug habit—Buttercup would not bring unnecessary police attention to her own door. Still, he felt bad. He hadn’t meant to hurt her; he didn’t understand what had come over him.
    Buttercup was an affordable and