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A snooty concierge glares at the sand we’re trekking into the lobby—like he hasn’t seen people return from the beach a million times by now.
“Hello,” I say to him. “We’d like a room.”
The guy looks me over and doesn’t seem impressed. “We’re not running any discounts at the moment.”
A kindling of annoyance sneaks through my Brooklyn-induced hormone overdose. It feels a lot like when I’m about to get hangry, which makes sense, because I am starving for something—it just doesn’t happen to be food. “I don’t need any discounts,” I say coolly. “Just give me the first available room.”
Looking doubtful, the concierge lazily types something into his computer, then looks back up with the fakest apologetic expression I’ve ever seen in my life. “I’m afraid all our regular rooms are booked.”
Is my eye twitching? “Why did you emphasize ‘regular?’ Are ‘special’ rooms available?”
“Well, rooms like the penthouse are?—”
“I’ll take it.” I get my wallet and rummage for my credit card.
The concierge rolls his eyes. “The penthouse costs?—”
His words are cut off when he spots my American Express Black Card.
“Oh.” His whole demeaner changes in an eyeblink. “Do you want the suite with the pool?”
“Yes.”
“What about?—”
“Stop wasting time,” I grit out. “I’ll take the best damned suite available. Now.” I toss the card at the guy as if it were a ninja star.
“Okay.” He catches the card with such adroitness it makes me wonder how often other people have tossed cards at him. “I’ll book you into the Royal Suite.”
Brooklyn arches an eyebrow at me, so I wink back, my annoyance fading.
When we get into the elevator, she blurts, “Something is wrong with me.”
“Why?”
She blushes. “When you grumped at that dumbass, I found it kind of hot.”
“Pervert,” I say with a smile. “Seriously, though, I’m sorry about that. I’m not usually so easy to rile up.”
“Are you sure?” She grins. “What if you’re low on calories?”
“Well, I’m not craving food right now.” I lean in and whisper into her ear, “But I am ravenous.”
Her cheeks turn their deepest pink yet, which was my intent. “I think I’m hungry for that too.”
Fuck me. My erection is borderline painful now.
Beast mode activating, I gather Brooklyn into my arms and kiss her roughly and deeply, doing with my tongue what I’m dying to do with my cock.
Brooklyn melts into me, her soft parts feeling glorious on all my hard ones.
The elevator seems to slow to a crawl—it’s clearly a cockblocker, like those old people on the beach.
When I’m on the verge of bursting, the doors finally open into the luxurious suite, which could be a hovel for all I care, so long as there is a bed. Or a carpet. Or a wall. Honestly, even a cement floor would work as long as no old people barge in on us.
In our frantic quest to get naked, we sprinkle clothes onto the floor as we search for the abovementioned bed, and when we locate our quarry, Brooklyn pulls away from my kiss to whistle appreciatively. “This bed is enormous.” She glances down at my hard cock and grins wickedly. “Sorry, I should probably reserve that adjective for that. The bed is merely huge.”
I pull her so close my cock touches the luscious skin just below her navel. “Are you trying to stroke my ego?”
