Frank helped Lauren along as she combination baby hopped and shuffled to the bathroom, her ankles still bound with the phone cord. Frank had rope in his car but didn't want to be seen near the motel, lugging it around. He would more conventionally truss her in the car.<br/><br/>He timed her. He used his Timex and kept track of the second hand. At two minutes, she flushed. At three minutes, he entered the bathroom. She was looking at herself in the mirror.<br/><br/>"You still look gorgeous, Lauren."<br/><br/>Frank smirked at her. He was about to lead her back to the bed when she pointed to the faucet and her mouth. He sighed.<br/><br/>Part of being a good lounge singer is emoting and playing to an audience of mostly men. Lauren was calling upon those skills now. She looked duly distressed. Frank could have sworn that she even batted her lashes.<br/><br/>Shit.<br/><br/>It was water. A basic necessity. She looked at him, cocking her head. She was gorgeous, even mussed up and gagged. Her eyes were liquid and soulful.<br/><br/>She was playing him. He knew it. But he would feel like a heel, denying her water.<br/><br/>"Look. So help me God. If I take that gag off and you so much as utter a single fucking syllable..."<br/><br/>He didn't finish, because he didn't think he needed to.<br/><br/>His eyes bored into hers. "You understand me? You drink, the gag goes back and you don't say a fucking word. Capeche?"<br/><br/>Frank loomed over her. And he wasn't playing around.