He is hard and warm, and I am melting into the defined lines of his body even before the fingers of one of his hands tangle into my hair, dragging my mouth to his. His breath is a tantalizing promise of another kiss, his free hand curving my backside, molding my hips to his, of something more. “I’ve been thinking about how you’d taste since the moment I laid eyes on you.” The declaration is a low, raspy seduction made a promise by the thick press of his cock against my belly and the hot press of his tongue into my mouth.
And I do not feel the normal things I’d expect with a stranger, like fear, nervousness, or doubt. There is a thrill to the unknown with this man I did not know was a part of me, but it is. It so is. My body has control, or perhaps this man has control, because I can’t find it in me to find a reason for this to be bad. There is only the sensual overload he’s creating in me, the way his scent, so divinely woodsy, teases my nostrils. The way his taste, of what I think is a mix of bourbon and mint, seeps into my mouth. And, oh God, do I like bourbon and mint. It’s addictive. He’s addictive and our silence is golden. It’s freedom and it’s forgiving, asking no questions, demanding no explanations. It’s freedom I never allow myself, not even with past lovers, but I feel it now.
My fingers flex where they have landed on his hard chest, and I fully intend to begin exploring every deliciously masculine line of his physique. He distracts me though, walking me backward, pressing me against the wall, shocking me by shoving my hands over my head, using one hand to connect my wrists and pin them in place. I’m held captive, both by his grip and his piercing green stare. But even more so by how much I not only want him, but how much I want to give myself the permission to do something daring and edgy. For once in my life, I want to color outside the lines, and not in sweet hues of pink, but in fiery red.
I inhale and hold in the air as his free hand goes to my waist, gliding upward over my ribcage, slowly taunting me with his intended destination, until he is cupping my breasts. He studies my face, waiting for a reaction. I cannot deny him or me. My lashes flutter and my back arches, my body leaning into his touch. His fingers tease my nipples through my dress but the touch is too brief. His hand caresses its way back to my hip. “How many times have you fucked a stranger?”
It’s a surprising question that ends our sweet silence, but somehow, coming from him, it’s not a demand. It’s a further seduction. “Never.”
“Do you know how dangerous it is to trust someone you don’t know?”
A shiver runs down my spine but it’s not the fear such a question should create in me. I’m aroused, my sex clenching, my thighs damp. “Yes,” I reply. “Yes, I do.”
“And yet, you’re here.” The words are thoughtful, as if he’s contemplating why that might be rather than asking me for an answer I don’t have, and he never gives me a chance to deliver.
Abruptly, he releases my hands, rotating me to face the wall, and my hands press to the smooth surface. He steps into me, the thick pulse of his erection nestled to my backside once again, his breath warm on my neck, by my ear. He nips my ear with his teeth. “You don’t begin to know how dangerous it is. Or what I can do to you if I so please. Right here. Right now.” He yanks my dress all the way up to my waist, the black thong I’m wearing leaving me naked to his touch, his palm caressing my cheeks. “A good man would spank you for taking the risk.”
My heart leaps. “What? No.” I try to turn, afraid I have made a mistake, but his powerful thighs cage me in. “No, I—”
“But I’m not a good man,” he continues, his hands high on my ribcage, fingers framing my breasts. He leans in, his head dipping low, his lips grazing my neck. “I’m the kind of bad guy good girls like yourself run from.”
It’s an erotic thrill that is one part fear and one part electricity. I believe him. And I believe that is exactly what drew me to him. He is what I am not and never will be. He is daring, dark, completely without the many inhibitions I hate that I possess. Rejecting that part of me, I declare, “I’m not running.”
“You should be.” He reaches down and yanks away my panties. I yelp with the shock of the action and there is just a hint of fear in me, but there is also arousal, there is a burn low in my belly. I want to know what his kind of bad is in a way I am not sure I’ve ever wanted in my life. “The list of ways I’m going to make you come is long and creative,” he assures me, the words licking at my sex the way I want his tongue to, and soon. Please, soon. “But,” he continues, “I’m going to start by licking your pussy. I want to know how you taste.”
I feel him shrug out of his jacket and then he’s squatting, hands on one of my calves, caressing up, up, up. His fingers graze my sex, trailing over the slickness there, delving inside me. He strokes back and forth and I’m so aroused I think I might come, but he doesn’t give me that one last touch I need. He moves again, his touch gone in a moment, leaving me cold, but it doesn’t last. He sits against the wall and slides in front of me, his hands shackling my hips. I look down, his eyes meeting mine, or mine his, I don’t know, but that’s when his tongue licks my clit.
My lashes lower and my knees nearly buckle with the spiral of pleasure that one touch of his tongue delivers. His mouth clamps down over my sex and the licking, sucking, and tasting begins, and I lose myself, completely, totally lose myself to pleasure. I drift into the sweet, dark sticky place that consumes me like honey does a bee, controlling me, claiming me, but it is not complete. The buzzing of a cell phone, his not mine, breaks through the spell, but he ignores it, pressing two fingers inside me, stretching me, pumping into me. I begin to lose reality again, hanging on a proverbial ledge, so close to that blissful sweet hotspot, when the phone in the hotel room sounds. This time though, I am too far over the edge to be pulled back. I stiffen and my body clenches, the orgasm spiraling through me, sensations rippling in my sex and darting to every nerve ending I own.
I lose time. I lose the ability to stand and his arm wraps my hips, holding me up. I blink and he’s staring up at me, watching every feeling I have ripple over my face, his fingers still between my thighs. “I’m done,” I say before I can stop myself.
Amusement lights his eyes. “You are far from done, I assure you.” His cell starts to ring again and his fingers slide out of me. I expect him to take the call but he stands and takes my hand. “Come with me.” He shackles my wrist and starts forward, and I am embarrassingly aware of my missing panties and skirt to my waist as he all but drags me toward the bedroom.
We make it to the edge of the bed and he tugs me back against him, his hands cupping my naked ass. “You taste like—”
The hotel phone rings and he curses, running a rough hand through his hair. He sets me on the bed. “I’ll deal with this and then with you.” He steps away, giving me his back as he grabs the phone, and a wave of discomfort overwhelms me. Who calls at this time but a wife or a girlfriend? What am I thinking? This is something my mother would do.
“Not now,” he bites out to his call. “No. I said—” Whoever it is cuts him off.
My mind starts dancing to a hard rock tune that is far more midnight demise than midnight seduction. I’d been in the elevator. There are cameras. This is my workplace. I stand up and my heart is in my stomach. Yanking down my skirt, I half wish he’d turn and half wish he wouldn’t. I want him to convince me this wasn’t a mistake. His mouth could convince me. His body could convince me. I have his back. His back. He won’t look at me. This feels wrong, off in every way. This was a mistake.
I take off my shoes and hurry toward the hallway, grabbing my purse and never stopping. I’m out of the door in a flash, and I run down the hall. The door behind me doesn’t open so he’s either glad I left or still lost in debate with whoever called. I don’t take a chance, though. I exit the stairwell, go down two flights, and run down the hall and catch a service elevator. I exit and put on my shoes, finding the side door and head out into the hot summer night. This was a foolish move I made tonight, a risk I can’t afford for a hot man I didn’t even manage to see naked. No other place will pay me the way Meredith pays me. I can’t lose it or it will be another year and a half before I can take the MCAT again.
Ten minutes later, I’m on the subway, and I collapse into a seat. Slowly, logic returns and I’m breathing easier. I’m not going to get fired. I was off duty and free to do what I please, as long as it didn’t hurt the reputation of the hotel. I could have stayed with Jensen, except for the phone calls, and my gut instinct that they were a problem. He was married. I feel sick with the certainty he was married.
By the time I reach my stop and enter the twelve-story red brick building where I live, I wish for the elevator we don’t have, and I can’t take the stairs fast enough. Once at my door on the seventh floor, I enter my apartment and slam the door shut, locking it, before I lean against it. One night of hot sex, even with a man as delicious as Jensen, isn’t worth proving my mother right. I am not like her and I never will be. Alone again and it still feels wrong tonight when it’s always been safe. It is safe.
I walk to my bedroom, and kick off my shoes, turning on a hot bath before I grab my purse to dig out my phone and charge it, only to find it missing. I sink down on the lumpy, ancient mattress, and drop to my back. I left my phone in Jensen’s room. I don’t even have a landline to call and try to get it back. No more tequila for me. Ever.
After hours of tossing and turning, I bolt to a sitting position in my bed in a panic, glancing at the clock. Four a.m. If Jensen takes my phone to the front desk and Katie sends me a text about something private, the potential the staff will see it is very real. I get up and go to my ancient monster of a computer and send her a message. I’ll go into work early to call her and to be sure Jensen isn’t an early riser and drops my phone off sooner rather than later.
I’m back in bed and staring at the ceiling fifteen minutes later, finally dozing off around five, and jolting awake at six, the aches in my body wishing I hadn’t slept at all. I think I’d feel better. By seven, I’ve had three cups of coffee and am dressed in a pale pink skirt and black sleeveless silk blouse with my black pumps. I’ve forced myself to take a few minutes to cover the dark circles under my eyes and applied just a little extra lipstick to match my skirt and a little extra eye shadow and blush.
I walk into the hotel at 7:20, almost two hours before I’m scheduled, and head straight to the front desk. “Has anyone turned in my cell phone?” I ask Sheila, the thirty-something front desk supervisor who is as friendly as she is efficient.
“No but I’ll keep an eye out for it. What color is it?”
“White but it’s in a red case. An iPhone.”
“Oh,” she says, her red painted lips twisting. “That’s bad. They can be reused fairly easily.”
“Yeah,” I say, though I somehow doubt Jensen needs to use my phone. “Thanks for keeping an eye out. I’ll be at my desk in the next fifteen minutes. And Sheila, I’m worried about the staff reading some personal stuff from my mother.” It’s not completely a lie. My mother is a piece of work who has embarrassed me more than once. “I don’t want Meredith to get irritated by chatter floating around about her or me like it did last time.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, having witnessed the “last time” when my mother made a scene over my disdain for stepfather number four. “Your mom’s pretty crazy. I’ll guard your phone.”
“Thank you so much.” Her phone rings and she gives me a nod and answers it.
Turning, I quickly decide against the main elevator where I might run into Jensen and instead head for the service area, forcing myself to consider an uncomfortable possibility. Jensen is still here. He has to be. I could go to him and ask for my phone. I discard the idea, afraid I’ll end up naked and in his room when I can’t forget why I left in the first place. I think he’s married. But I could leave a note under his door. And say what, though? I already expect him to leave my phone up front. And what if he catches me while I’m still there? I step into the service elevator and stare at the buttons to each floor, trying to decide my next move. I’m an adult. I could go to his door. My finger lingers over floor thirty and I grimace and punch twenty where I’ll find Katie and her rocker.
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve slipped the birthday card and a note warning Katie not to use my phone number under her door and made my way to my office on the tenth floor where the executive offices are located. I decide to call the room Katie is in, but there’s no answer. I resist the urge to look up Jensen’s room and confirm he really is Jensen. That’s wrong. It’s unethical. I dial Katie’s room again to no avail and force myself to work.
An hour of work later, and several unanswered calls to Katie’s room, my lack of sleep starts to get to me. I make coffee, but now I’m jittery, and I need food. Still in avoid-Jensen mode, if that’s really his name, I call down to the restaurant and order breakfast to limit the time I’m downstairs. Nervously then, I venture downstairs and manage to slip into the kitchen where I eat my breakfast. I return to the office at ten minutes to nine, surprised to find Meredith’s door shut. She never closes her door until I’ve brought her coffee.
Frowning, I settle behind my desk, and I don’t know why, but suddenly my croissant sandwich isn’t feeling all that good in my stomach. I buzz her office. “Good morning, Meredith. Do you want coffee?”
“No. And hold my calls until I say otherwise.”
I sink back into my chair, really wishing I’d skipped breakfast. I juggle calls and two sales reps visits for products I know Meredith won’t buy. Nearly an hour has passed when my phone buzzes. “Can you come in my office, Danny?”
“Of course. Do you want coffee now?” I ask, not wanting to disappoint her. I know how she likes her coffee and how cranky she is when I forget it.
“No. Just come into my office.”
My heart starts to race. Was I wrong to think I had nothing to worry about? Did security pick up the feed of me going to Jensen’s room and it’s somehow become a problem? Did he find out I’m an employee and complain? No. No. That’s silly. What would he complain about? Me not fucking him properly? Or… Oh God. What if he said I bribed him in some made-up story? He’s rich. I’m sure of it. Or worse, did Katie text something about her job or mine, or even Meredith, and he decided to get back at me by reporting it or me?