Axel hadn't slept, despite the luxury silk sheets. Lolita's snoring hit like a jackhammer—relentless and utterly hostile to rest. He'd hoped for a night of passion, even splurged on a pedigree dog with show-ring potential for her birthday. Instead, he got a front-row seat to the aftermath of her wine binge: a bloated stomach, a sour mood, and a stench that could wake the dead.
He nudged her shoulder. She cracked one eye open, groaning.
"Why are you waking me so early?"
"It's ten in the morning," he said with a soft smile. "We need to talk about us."
Lolita rolled her eyes.
She stretched with a yawn—then let out a blast of gas that scorched the inside of Axel's nose. Her eyes widened—not from shame, but from shock—as Axel recoiled, gagging, clutching his nose like he was trying to rip it off his face. After all, shouldn't Axel be paying her rent to breathe this air?
"Lolita!" he snapped, stumbling out of bed, arms crossed and cheeks flushed. "You need to cut back on drinking—you're bloated and ripping like a methane factory on overtime!"
"Shut up, I smell like roses." Lolita crossed her arms.
"Roses?" Axel choked. "It smells like a sewer pipe threw up in here."
"You're the one stinking up the room. You should leave." She grabbed the perfume off the table to spray the room as if covering a crime scene.
"Lolita, I want to talk about our future."
She flopped back onto the bed, annoyed.
"Lolita," he pressed on, "if you want to have kids someday—which I hope you do—you can't keep drinking like this. You were blackout last night."
"I don't want to think about having kids right now," she said, sitting up and rubbing her temples.
"Lolita, I'm thirty-six years old. I want to be your husband, not just your fuck buddy. I can help you rule this country."
"I need the washroom." She pushed the blankets and left her bed.
"Lolita! Why don't you want to talk about starting a family with me?"
"Because I'm not ready for that!" she snapped. She bent down, snatched his white silk boxers from the floor, and hurled them at his face.
"Get dressed." She barked before she entered her private washroom. Axel sighed but changed into his clothes.
After fifteen minutes, Lolita exited the washroom. "Axel, you've to go. I have a headache."
Axel said, "You're hungover. I'll get you some water-"
"I've maids to get me what I need." Lolita approached her white rustic dresser to remove a red laced G-string. A snugged fit on her heart-shaped butt.
"You need to go home." Lolita grabbed her blue dress from the closet.
Axel shook his head. "I want to stay and talk with you-"
"No, it's time for you to leave." Lolita's voice was firm.
Axel groaned. "Why does it always have to be this way? You always asked me to leave right after we're done having sex?"
"I'm a very busy person. I've other things to deal with."
"You're making up an excuse for not wanting to take our relationship further." Axel sighed. "My clothes are wrinkled."
"Then you shouldn't have left your clothes on the fucking floor last night," Lolita replied.
Axel grabbed her wrist and pulled her close to his chest. "Was I not good in bed last night?" He kissed the top of her head.
She groaned. "I've a headache. I need an aspirin."
"Can I kiss you before I leave?"
"Fine."
He pressed his lips firmly against her lips. Rubbed her back and squeezed her butt. Then he pulled away.
"Goodbye." He'd left the bedroom and shut the door.
Lolita returned to her bed and collapsed onto the plush blanket, smirking. "I smell like royalty—not like cow manure."
She exhaled slowly.
Maybe she did needed better perfume.
Axel wasn't in the room, yet it reeked like a graveyard at midnight.