35

Ralf set the glass down on the table, stretching his arms over his head as if he'd just woken up from a deep sleep. Then, with an exaggerated grin, he leaned forward slightly, eyes glinting with mischief.

"You know," he said, tapping his chin, "they say blondes make the best wives."

Sorn's entire body stiffened.

A slow, simmering rage started to rise. "What."

"Yeah, you know—the whole gentle, caring, devoted submissive type." Ralf grinned wider. "And here you are, bringing me water without me even asking. It's practically in your blood."

"You bastard—"

Before Ralf could react, Sorn lunged.

His hands wrapped around Ralf's throat—not hard enough to choke him for real, but enough to make his point.

"Stop. Talking," Sorn growled through gritted teeth. "It's not funny!"

But Ralf? He just laughed.