by Lee, Nadia
But the hottie? Everything coming out of that gorgeous mouth is multiplying his charm. It’s pulling me to him like gravity and Newton’s apple.
“And how about me?” he says, leaning closer.
My gaze flicks to his lips, and I know exactly what I’m going to call him. “Whiskey.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, because you’ve been drinking it. I bet you taste like it, too.”
“Probably true.” Something bright and wicked glimmers in his eyes. He puts a hand between my shoulder blades, and my heart starts to thud.
“Let’s see if you taste like Skittles.” His mouth swoops down.
Chapter Four
Pascal
He brushes his lips over mine. His touch is soft, inviting rather than taking.
Hot sparks of excitement crackle over me. Even my fingertips are tingling.
I open my mouth and flick my tongue over his lips. I want to know if I’m right about him tasting like whiskey. But he’s so much headier. More addictive.
He feels like the hottest dream and sweetest endearment. There’s a breathtaking confidence in the way he meets my tongue, slips his into my mouth.
My heart is racing like I’m still dancing hard, sweat filming over my heated skin. His breath fans over me, and I fit our bodies closer, wanting more…needing more.
His erection pushes against my belly, hot and hard. And I freakin’ love it.
A vague voice from deep inside says this isn’t like me. I’m much more careful about who I tangle tongues with, more judicious about my relationships. But I’ve never felt this way before. Why not embrace this new feeling, the kind you always hear about in movies and books?
This is going to be incredible. Carefree. And, most importantly, simple, without any attachment or complications.
The word that comes to mind is thrilling. I wrap my arms around his neck and deepen the kiss, wanting to go all the way. Gotta find someplace private.
After what seems like an hour or so, he breaks off. The lust in his eyes stokes the heat burning inside me. “You’re delicious.” He licks the corners of my mouth. “Let’s get out of here.”
“You have a place in mind?” The things I want to do with him will get us tossed in jail if we do it in front of an audience.
“Actually, yeah. Come on.”
My response is immediate. “Okay.”
He reaches out. Our fingers link, and I grin as our palms touch and the hot tingles intensify and radiate throughout my body. My heart is pounding, like the first time I bungee-jumped. I can’t remember ever feeling like this. It isn’t just that I’m excited. He makes it all seem new, as though I’ve never experienced sexual attraction or chemistry before.
We make our way outside. He doesn’t get his car or hail a taxi. Instead, he leads me down the sidewalk.
“Where are we going?” I ask, wondering if he lives close by.
“The Aylster,” he says as though the exclusive hotel is his backyard pool. “It’s only a couple blocks.”
Another place I’ve never been to, even though I’ve lived in the city all my life. A uniformed doorman greets us, and the revolving door dumps us into a lobby glinting with marble and crystal. There’s some kind of abstract bronze sculpture thing in the center.
Whiskey goes to the front desk. Since we agreed to keep it anonymous, I stay far enough away that I don’t overhear his name.
I look up at the murals on the ceiling. Wow. This must be how a medieval peasant felt when she saw Notre Dame for the first time. It’s awe-inspiring…but not off-putting. Down on the floor, there’s a hint of elegant hospitality in the careful arrangement of the seats and tables.
My gaze slides toward Whiskey. After all, he’s the most fascinating thing in this hotel. He’s obviously got money, but seems too down to earth to show off. My experience says if he’s the type who can afford a room at a hotel like this, he should’ve done something like show off his Porsche or whatever to attract me. But nope. Nothing of that sort.
And the fact that he’s confident enough to not bother with such inane attempts stokes my desire for him.
I shift my weight, trying to relieve the hot sensation between my legs. As soon as the smartly dressed clerk hands over the key card, Whiskey takes my hand again. He leads me unerringly into a waiting elevator, as though he knows the layout of the hotel.
Before the doors can close, a couple of people join us. I bite my lip, my shoulders sagging a bit. If they weren’t here, I’d totally be jumping him right now. I haven’t felt this reckless in…well, ever. And it feels damn good.
Freeing.
Since there are other people with us, I prop my hands on the horizontal bar behind me and lean the back of my head against the wall. I run my tongue over my lips, then my teeth, trying to grab what little flavor of him lingers there.
Mmm. I close my eyes so I can savor it better. Something chocolatey and laced with liquor—the best combination. But what makes it unique is the special taste of him that’s all male and confidence.
Whiskey slides a discreet hand between me and the wall, cups my ass and squeezes. My eyes pop open. Oh God. It’s illicit and so damn hot. My gaze moves to the people in front of us. They’re checking their phones. With an uncharacteristic impulsiveness, I brush my hand across his crotch. Delicious lust shoots along my veins at the knowledge that the others have no clue I’m soaking between my legs and Whiskey is hard and ready.
What I’m feeling isn’t like me at all. But I don’t care. Tonight, I’m going to be irresponsible and carefree. It’s my reward: stocking up on fun before I spend the next several months focusing on my career.
The people exit the elevator five floors below ours. As soon as they’re gone, Whiskey nuzzles my neck.
“You smell so good.”
His breath tickles, and I place a hand on his cheek. “So do you.” And in the small confines of elevator, his scent seems to intensify until my senses are saturated with the pine and male. Why isn’t the car moving any faster?
The elevator doors finally open with a ding. We rush out, laughing breathlessly like a couple of horny teenagers. He stops in front of a door and sticks his key card in. The light blinks red. I drum my fingers against the wall. The hotel needs to upgrade its card reader. Doesn’t their management know their guests’ time is money?
He tries again. But the door remains locked.
“Shit. Why isn’t this working?” he mutters.
“Maybe they made a mistake.” Which is possible. But very irritating in a hotel of the Aylster’s caliber.
“They better not have.” He checks the envelope that key card came in, then swears under his breath. “Damn it. Wrong room.”
I laugh at his chagrined look.
He pulls me down the hallway. Finally, we stop at the door at the end of the long corridor.
He sticks his card in, then dramatically intones, “Open sesame.”
The lock clicks. Finally!
He turns the handle, and we spill into a semi-dark suite together. He puts the plastic in its slot next to the door, and all the lights in the suite come on. Very convenient, because I want to see him.
He pushes me against the wall, his mouth ravenous over mine. I kiss him back, my need no less intense than before. It’s like all the logistics of leaving the club and coming to the hotel and checking in and finding this room have whipped my lust to an Everest-like height—as though they were necessary steps before the most sumptuous meal ever.
And that sumptuous meal is definitely worth the wait and effort. I’ve never felt a hunger this deep. His dick, thick and hard, is pressing against my belly. I’m embarrassingly wet.
Our mouths still fused, he pulls the zipper on the back of my dress, his movements as urgent as the need inside me. He tugs the garment down, letting it pool around my feet. A soft sigh of admiration slips between his lips as he takes me in, his face stark with carnal delight. I’m glad I put on my best underwear today. I don’t have the biggest
breasts or the roundest ass.
But the sheer male appreciation that glimmers in his gorgeous blue eyes heats me up. I feel like I have the best body in the entire universe.
“You’re perfect,” he says, soft awe in his voice.
My toes curl in my shoes. “Take off your clothes,” I demand, feeling bold and powerful. I’ve never been wanted like this—unabashedly and so openly. It’s liberating, untying the knots of inhibition around myself and my lusty instincts. Wanted and wanton.
With a wicked grin, he gets rid of all of them in a few quick motions. Fully naked, he’s stunning. Most guys actually look better in clothes, but he’s an exception. It’s a crime against women that he has to put something on for propriety’s sake. Positively sexist.
His body is lean and beautifully muscled, not an ounce of excess fat anywhere. And his cock. It’s long, thick, veiny and pulsing, curving up like a very, very large finger beckoning. The sight makes me lick my lips.
“Gorgeous.” I flush, because I didn’t mean to say it out loud.
He laughs softly. “Glad you think so.” And then his mouth claims mine and he tunnels his fingers into my hair, pulling me closer. He’s no longer coaxing or gentle. It’s all intense heat and lust, white-hot and searing. He nimbly undoes the clasp on my bra and lets it fall. Then he’s pushing down my panties, and when they reach mid-thigh, I wriggle my hips and legs until they join my dress on the floor.
“Keep the shoes.”
The way he says it makes it sound positively filthy. I smile saucily. “You like?”
“Fucking love ’em.”
He carries me to the bed, kissing me, and lays me on the cool sheets then covers my body with his. His weight is anchoring, secure and solid. I rest my hands on his shoulders, feeling the power in the muscles, then his ass. This doesn’t seem like a dream that vanishes when you blink, but one that you can hold on to.
Our mouths seem endlessly fused. I’ve heard of drugging, addictive kisses, but I never realized what they were until now. My head is spinning, desire pulsing with every beat of my heart. Then finally, he’s moving down my body, nipping, licking, tasting. Unquenchable fire seems to burn in my gut, so hot I feel like I’m about to combust.
He pulls my nipple into his mouth and sucks hard. I arch off the bed, a strangled scream caught in my throat.
It’s insane how much I want him. It’s like my body is no longer mine to control. It can only feel and obey what he’s doing to me—and the crazy attraction between us.
“You taste amazing, Skittles, I love every inch of you.” He slips one of his long, agile fingers between my thighs. “You’re so wet. So slick.”
My muscles clench around him, but it isn’t enough to soothe aching emptiness. I spread my legs, needing more.
“I love it that you’re so hot for me.” He takes the glistening finger and licks the juices off. “Tasty.”
My cheeks heat. But the need crackling between us burns away any mild embarrassment. “I bet you are too.” I stroke my index finger across the tip of his cock and pull the fingertip into my mouth.
His blue eyes grow so dark that they’re almost black. Deep red colors his cheeks. “Skittles, I don’t think I can wait.”
“I’m not asking you to. We can do the slow stuff later. I want to take the edge off now.”
He laughs, the sound light, happy and just a little bit wicked. A small part of me does an ecstatic dance that I can make him like this. He puts on a condom and glides into me, big and hot and thick and Oh My God good. My vision blurs, and I clutch him hard. He braces his weight on one hand and uses the other to caress my ass and leg, all the way down to the ankle and back up. “Sexy and sweet. All mine.”
I smile up at him. He’s all mine too—for the night.
He puts my calves over his shoulders and drives into me. With every thrust, pleasure builds exponentially. He seems to know exactly how hard to push and what angle to hit. The bliss swells until I think I’m going to explode, and it finally rips through me, burning me inside out.
I scream. Then I crest again, harder and faster than I’ve ever done before. He shudders over me, his cock jerking inside my still-spasming pussy.
I manage open my eyes and see his beautiful face, ecstasy twisting his sublime features.
A vague regret surfaces. I wish I knew his name, so I could scream it…or call him by it softly in afterglow.
But as our breathing settles and he wraps himself around me, I tell myself that it’s better this way. All I can commit to at the moment is this single glorious night.
Chapter Five
Court
I stir, feeling the soft, luxurious cotton sheet under my nude body. I stretch an arm to my left, then frown when I feel only the other side of the sheet.
Which is chilly.
I crack open an eye and glance over. No one.
Maybe she went to the bathroom. I close the eye and shift until I’m more comfortable. I can feel a huge grin spread across my face.
Last night was amazing. We had this connection. And I came five times, which is a record.
As for Skittles? I lost count after ten. My grin grows wider. I seriously love how responsive she is, and I can’t wait to start the morning off right.
Another half-dozen orgasms between the two of us should do. Then a leisurely champagne brunch—I know the Aylster has it on the room service menu. Exchange phone numbers. See each other again. I can’t remember the last time I felt something like this with anyone.
We should definitely explore what we have between us. Have a very normal and nice relationship. No drama, no crazy people. Just me, Skittles and our awesome chemistry.
Thinking about that makes me heat up. The bitter and slightly sour knot in my chest is now gone, and my heart is at peace, beating normally. The small pit in my stomach that felt like a burning acid pool? That’s gone, too.
And it’s not just the sex. There’s something more.
Hmm. Wait a minute. It’s too silent. No sound from the bathroom. No TV.
Women are never quiet for this long.
I open the eye again and look at the bedside clock. Damn. Already ten o’clock. I open the other one and sit up. Did she have to leave? I don’t have any plans, but some people have to do stuff, even on Saturdays. For all I know, she has to work today. We didn’t talk about anything like that last night. Something to rectify soon.
I get up and look around. Sure enough, her belongings are gone. Guess she really did have to go. A little seed of disappointment wedges deep, just under my solar plexus. She could’ve at least said goodbye. I wouldn’t have minded being woken up.
Maybe she left a note. I look around. The suite is too damn big, but I’ll find it.
A good five minutes later, I glare at her side of the bed. She didn’t leave a note! There’s nothing on the coffee table in the living room or the counter attached to the built-in bar. Sad to say, but Skittles has skedaddled.
Then I see a stiff green rectangle, almost hidden under the sheets. Oh, no way. I snatch it up. It’s a fifty-dollar bill.
I examine every square millimeter on both sides, in case she wrote a phone number. But no, there’s nothing. And I’m quite certain this isn’t a tip for housekeeping. Nobody tips fifty bucks. We didn’t mess the room up that bad.
What the hell?
I stare at it, and could swear Ulysses S. Grant is smirking at me.
Suddenly the peace and happiness I’ve been feeling dissipate. My stomach is rumbling with something that feels like a volcano ready to erupt.
What that fuck is this? I deserve better than this bullshit.
I’m going to find her and kick her ass—well, not actually kick her ass, because she’s a girl. But I’m going to yell at her. Set her straight.
But first things first.
I hop into the shower. Might as well be fresh and clean before I track her down. Then I’ll shake her until her bones rattle and whatever gear that came loose in her brain goes back into place.
But as the soap sluices down my body, my outrage starts to build. She didn’t drop that money by mistake. She meant to leave it.
Is this some kind of a cheap shot? Some sort of payment? Even if I were only charging ten dollars an orgasm, she’d owe me more than fifty bucks!
This is what happens when you sleep with a woman who can’t do math. But then, not a lot of people can after a fabulous night full of hot sex and very little sleep.
It doesn’t soothe the hot, jagged edge of my temper much. I yank on my clothes and go to the front desk to check out. A clerk in a crisp black uniform smiles at me.
“Good morning, Mr. Blackwood. Did you enjoy your stay?”
I’m this close to telling her that it was anything but enjoyable. But it isn’t her fault that Skittles insulted me and skipped out. I force a smile of my own. “The room was great. Thank you.”
I give her my credit card, and she swipes it. While she deals with the payment system, I glance around, impatience nipping at me. A smiling concierge hands an envelope to a guest.
Oooh. Why didn’t I think of that before? We don’t have to leave a note in the room now, do we?
“Are there any messages for me?” I ask.
“I don’t see anything on the screen here, sir.”
“No, I mean like a real note. On paper. Like in one of those old movies, where two people are staying in the same hotel, but one of them—”
“Let me check, sir.” She disappears into the back then returns within a few moments. “I’m sorry, there doesn’t seem to be anything.”
“Okay.” What miniscule hope I’ve been nurturing is dashed. Just like that. “Thank you.”
Now the volcano isn’t just rumbling. It’s shaking. And fiery steam is hissing out of the top. I’m not taking this gross indignity. Skittles will pay.
My whole body tense, I start toward the sitting area in the lobby, ready to call for a car.
My phone buzzes. A text from Tony.