“We can just get what we need as we go,” he says impatiently, looking wounded when I ask him if he’s gonna take a shower at some point.
“Do I smell?” he asks, lifting his arm and thrusting his own head in for a sniff of his pit.
“You smell amazing,” I tell him, hinting he should at least bring some of the cologne he wears with us. I love it.
“What’s the rush anyhow? You on the run or something?” I ask.
I mean, I’m eager to get somewhere we can truly be alone but I at least want to have a shower and get dressed first.
He smiles, relaxing instantly, taking both my hands in his.
“Just a little too keen to claim what’s mine, I guess,” he admits bashfully, bending down and pecking me on the cheek.
“Maybe you could have a shower after all?” I suggest. His eyes narrow and his hands hook around my waist.
“We could save water and take one together,” he croons, and as much as I like the idea I know there’s no way both of us will fit in our shower cubicle.
Even if a part of him was inside me.
I wonder if his shower’s any bigger and I ask. He looks puzzled for a second, “You’re right. I barely fit in mine, so yours would be the same,” he says quickly.
“Well, don’t be long,” I tell him, hurrying him along by glancing at the door which he takes as his cue to leave me temporarily.
No breakfast, just coffee.
I wonder if that’s how he functions. Maybe that’s his key to staying in such great shape?
Me, I’m starving so I grab a couple of granola bars, and munch them down quickly before heading to the bathroom to get ready.
I resolve to take my new dress which I laid out last night and as I shower I make a mental list of everything else I figure I’ll need for a few days away.
I don’t get the impression that Blake wants to go for just one night, he seems like he’s got the permanent travel bug. Always on the move.
No wonder he left the owner’s house just as it was, he’s probably hardly ever there. A bit like my dad with our place.
At one point I think I hear the doorbell, but it’s impossible to say with the shower running all the way upstairs.
Once I finish and am drying off, I do something I never do which is look at myself in the full length mirror naked.
I don’t do this because I never like what I see, but today I’m looking trying to see what Blake sees. What he finds so attractive.
Can’t pick it myself, but I don’t want to jinx it either. If he’s happy I’m happy.
I slip back into my robe, hearing the front door as I pack.
Blake reappears in my bedroom doorway looking fresher but still wearing the same clothes. He scans me with a pleased eye and then frowns when he sees my giant suitcase which I’m filling up.
“Uh. You planning on going for good?” he asks.
I laugh quietly, figuring he’s kidding around but there’s a look he gives me as he waits for an answer.
“Well, no,” I tell him. “Just packing my new dress and a few other little things,” I explain. Wondering if he’s ever had a female companion before.
Most of us don’t travel ‘light’, even if it’s just a trip to the store.
“I was gonna bring my camera gear too,” I add, reminding myself not to forget it.
I could fill a thousand memory cards with images of Blake and it’ll be the perfect excuse to see more of him without many of his clothes on if I can get him to model for me.
He’s gone quiet, moving over to the window and glancing out through the lace curtains as he moves them an inch to one side.
I wonder for a second if he really is hiding from something or someone.
Since this morning’s two visitors, he seems almost on edge.
“Or I could just take my overnight bag,” I suggest, compromising without wanting to make him anymore tense.
“But I won’t fit my new dress in it,” I debate to myself out loud.
He has the patience of a saint with me and calmly explains again that we can grab anything we need as we go.
“I should be able to have our clothes from the tailors delivered to our hotel suite anyway,” he adds.
I’d completely forgotten. All those new outfits, shoes, and handbags.
My god, I wonder how much it all came to? Daphne did tell me that it’s useless to argue with Blake when he knows what he wants. And he wanted me to have a whole new wardrobe.
He tries to do it discreetly, but when I notice him looking at his watch, I know he’s giving me the hurry up.
I breathe out heavily through my nose, and stomping to the bathroom I pick one thing, coming back into my room holding up my toothbrush.
“How about I just take this, would that make you happy?” I ask, trying not to sound annoyed but his smile shows me I failed. Reminding me that he actually thinks it’s cute when I get mad.
“Perfect,” he exclaims, but I bundle him out of my room so I can at least get dressed in private otherwise we will be here all day.
In fresh jeans and a sweater and nothing more than my oldest sneakers on my feet, we head out. Blake’s mood seeming to get lighter and more like his usual self the further away from home we get.
He’s been busy with his phone for a bit, and I notice he sends a lot of texts rather than making actual calls.
When I ask him, he shrugs. “Sometimes people want to go on and on or complain about this and that. A text is simpler. More direct.”
I guess someone in his position can’t afford to spend hours a day on the phone.
Or in fancy hotels with girls half his age.
It’s none of my business, but I can’t help but ask if and when he has to be back at work.
“Oh, I’m hardly ever in the office,” he remarks, looking up from a text while his fingers still type.
“Amazing what you can do from one of these things,” he adds, holding up his phone.
I look away, not wanting to see any of the messages he’s sending, and I tell myself off for being such a sticky beak in the first place.
Even though it’s during the day this time, I have no trouble finding the hotel that has the same restaurant as last night.
It towers over most other buildings in the city and is easy to find.
The valet is as polite as ever, and with no real luggage, the concierge insists on seeing us up to our suite himself.
“Always a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Mason,” he gushes, almost as if he’s dealing with a celebrity.
Blake only smiles politely and once we’re inside the elevator he slips his hand over mine, giving it a little squeeze.
The ride up is long and I wonder if the elevator is broken, but once the shining silver doors open it all makes sense.
From what I can tell, we’re on the very top floor, with only one or two suites on it.
There’s a huge window at the end of the long hallway, red-bordered white carpeting, and a view that takes my breath away.
I want to go check out the view, but Blake’s hand in mine signals me the real view is from our suite. Not the hallway.
The concierge swells with pride, announcing the Presidential suite and flinging open both the huge white doors with gleaming brass handles before we both step in.
It’s huge, bigger than our whole house. Bigger than the whole block if it was laid end to end, it seems.
I gasp and feel overwhelmed as the concierge does his little routine, announcing the services and features available for the suite.
Blake was right, we’ll want for nothing staying here but I had no idea when he said fancy hotel he meant the Presidential suite.
It looks like something from a movie set, with old style furniture and fittings from another era that look like they were made just the day before.
More than impressed, I quickly forget about his keenness to get me away from home and into this place.
It all makes sense now.
I’ve never bee
n so—
The concierge tsks to himself, picking up a remote from one of the low tables.
“Sorry Mr. Mason, someone left one of the televisions on.”
But before he can switch it off, I grab it from his hand, torn between trying to figure out how to work the volume and the image on the huge, wall-sized screen in one of the lounge rooms.
It’s a photo of the owner of Blake’s house. I’m sure it’s even one of the photos he took off the wall and put in a drawer.
Blake moves to take the remote, but finding the volume I keep it out of his reach just long enough to catch the end of the news story.
“…Mr. Nathaniel Macy, chief editor and part-owner of Chord magazine has been reported missing after not returning to his work or home as scheduled…”
My blood runs cold for a moment, and my entire body gets a chill, as Blake slips the concierge some money, murmuring that he’ll take it from here.
“…Vegas holdings, the owner and publisher of Chord is offering a fifty thousand dollar reward for any information leading to the whereabouts of their—”
I want to hear the rest, but Blake’s switched the TV off at the wall.
He’s obviously seen enough. And I’ve maybe seen too much.
“So if that guy on your wall at home is our neighbor, if he’s Nate Macy,” I ask, feeling like I’ve been winded. Punched below the belt.
“If that guy’s our neighbor,” I say again, not wanting to even look at him. “Then who the hell are you?”
Chapter Sixteen
Blake
I was gonna tell her. I really was.
I mean, I will. I have to now, don’t I?
Krystal looks beyond hurt. More than upset. And I guess she has every right to be.
Once she hears the news on the huge TV, sees the real neighbor who not only owns the house I’ve said I rent, but actually does live there himself, my secret’s out.
I move closer to her, my hands reaching out for hers, but she shakes her head, backing away from me. She seems almost frightened of me all of a sudden, which hurts me more than anything else.
“Krystal, let me explain,” I tell her. Figuring now’s as good a time as any to get it all off my chest.
And then we can just...
“Where are you going?” I call after her, my stomach twisting into a knot as I see her turn her back, making for the door we just came through.
“I don’t know who you are, Blake. If that’s even you’re real name. But I’m going home now, just stay away from me,” she stammers, walking before she actually runs the final few steps for the door.
Jesus.
“Krystal! Wait!” I call after her.
This isn’t going to plan at all.
I hesitate for a moment, not wanting to frighten her by chasing her down, but I can’t just let her run away either.
I jog after her, watching her tear stained face as the elevator doors close, making me growl out loud with frustration.
There’s another elevator down, and by the time I make it to the ground floor, I can see her bolting from the front desk.
I watch her run outside, fumbling for her valet ticket before someone at the desk asks if everything’s alright.
“She wasn’t sure who you were, Mr. Mason. Kept saying something about her neighbor… Should we call someone?” They ask, not wanting a scene in their high-end hotel lobby.
“I’ll take care of it,” I murmur. Heading out front I can see Krystal’s given up on the valet and is heading toward the underground lot to get her car.
I want to call out again, but she’s spooked enough.
I had no idea she’d react so badly, but I haven’t had time to explain how simple this whole misunderstanding is.
I won’t have her driving like this either, not when she’s so upset.
But what can I do? I can’t physically restrain her, even if I did catch up to her.
The sound of tires squealing gives me a hint, and finding the exit to the underground garage as the sound of a car gets closer, I can only hope it’s her.
I block the single lane by standing in it, relieved when I see her take the turn and accelerate towards me.
I’m trusting she won’t run me down, but for a moment I’m not so sure.
Either way, I’d rather break both legs or die trying to stop her than have her run off like this.
She hits the brakes and the car skids to a stop, just nudging the front of my shins.
She’s crying, almost hysterical as I open the driver’s side door and switch off the car.
“Let me explain, Krystal,” I tell her, squatting down to her eye level, stroking her hair back as I fish for my ID. My touch seeming to calm her some.
“See. Blake Mason, me,” I tell her.
“When you thought I was your neighbor at the airport, I was so taken with you that I just played along. I was going to tell you straight away, or at least once I got your number. I just got so caught up in you.” I reason.
“But one thing led to another and then there just never seemed to be the right moment to tell you the truth,” I tell her truthfully.
“When were you gonna tell me?” she blubs and I have to admit I don’t really know.
“I’m sorry, there were many times I tried to tell you but...I guess I just got scared you might hate me for omitting the truth. But I was going to tell. And to be honest, I’m a little concerned for your neighbor,” I add, suggesting we look into it ourselves once we...
Or maybe that ship’s already sailed.
She takes my driver’s license and studies it through her tears, listening to me explain everything as she sniffs again and wipes her running nose with the back of her hand.
“So you are Blake Mason?” she asks, and I can guarantee a yes on that one.
“And why not just let me go? Why not just let me run away and go back to being who you really are?” she asks.
“Because I love you, Krystal. I love you more than anything or anyone. And there’s no way or any reason I’d ever let you just walk out of my life. Our life,” I tell her, my own voice cracking with emotion.
My words draw fresh tears from her and she sobs heavily, but in the end, she reaches for me, stroking my face before giving it one almighty slap.
I guess I kinda deserve that.
“Don’t ever scare me like that again, you hear?” she scolds, finding her strength through the tears. Letting me know she’s not going to leave, but putting me on some sort of notice.
“I won’t,” I promise us both. Knowing that I’ll never need to bend the truth with her ever again.
“Can I be completely honest with you right now?” I ask, glad when she nods.
“There are a half dozen cars backed up behind us and I really want to just get you back to our suite so I can finish what we started this morning,” I tell her.
“Are you down with that?” I ask, glancing at the furious drivers, not one of them angry enough just yet to actually honk or get out of their cars to have it out with me personally.
She stabs her head in a nod, sniffing back the last of her tears with a smile playing on her lips.
“Well, don’t just stand there ya big galoot, get in,” she demands, making me smile. My heart is in my throat as I realize for the first and last time just how close we’ve come to losing each other after only just finding one other.
And all because I didn’t want to lose her in the first place by telling her I wasn’t her neighbor.
We manage to get the car back to the valet and parked again, and so I don’t lose her again I scoop her up into my arms, carrying her through the hotel lobby to the nearest elevator.
“Everything taken care of, Mr. Mason?” Somebody behind the counter chimes, and I nod slowly.
“Just about,” I rasp, punching the top floor button as the doors close. My eyes telling the staff we’re not to be disturbed under any circumstances.
Krystal’s hands are clutching at my chest, unbuttoning my shirt al
ready with a look that tells me she’s overdue for what we both know is coming to her.
The suite door is still open and I kick it closed on my way through, making straight for the master bedroom.
“Now. I’m gonna fuck you, fill you, flip you over then do it all again until you beg me to stop. Understand?” I grow in her ear, my freshly minted steel pole grinding into her fine ass with every step.
She nods in agreement, half speaking half-whimpering by the time I toss her down onto the huge bed, begging me to fill her hot little hole.
She gets tangled in her sweater, which I easily slip over her head, exposing her large naked chest, making me groan.
She’s shaking so much I have to do it all, unbutton her and slip her out of her jeans and panties, tossing everything aside.
Knowing she won’t be needing clothes for a good while yet.
Not until I’m through.
“Tell me again, Blake,” she wheezes, writhing on the bed as I take a step back to admire her virginity one last time.
“…Tell me you want this,” she purrs, opening her legs and running a flat hand over her glistening mound, gasping from the touch. “Tell me you’re gonna fuck me so hard… fill me with your come…”
I didn’t expect this, and I feel my lip curl with a newfound satisfaction.
Krystal’s no slouch in the dirty talk department, and what’s more, she’s not afraid to show me what needs attending to first.
I might have wanted to suck and squeeze her for an hour or so first, but no. I can see we have a case of urgent need of fucking here, and I can’t help but think it’s about fucking time as I unzip my pants, feeling the heaviness of my length spring forward and up as it slaps my abs while I undress fully.
Krystal moans at the sight of it, at the sight of me naked.
I tell her no when I see her hands straying to her sweet little cunt again, needing to remind her who it belongs to now.
“That’s mine,” I tell her firmly, grabbing her by each ankle and yanking her body towards me.
She only moans louder, her breath so hard and heavy that her whole chest ripples from it.
Her thick, pebbled nipples seeming to quiver and twitch as much as her tiny pink hole as she whimpers for my fat cock again.
Not My Neighbor: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Page 9