Page 73 of Nocturnes & Nightmares

His tongue dips past my teeth, deepening his kiss, and he drags my thigh up over his hip. With my knee hiked, he once again has access to what he wants, and the tickle along my slit is a warning. “I want more, Nola.”

The elevator dings and opens to the lower level, where the garage sits beneath the hotel. No one there, not that it seems to matter to Voss, who keeps on with his curious tongue and wandering fingers. It closes again, but doesn’t move.

We do, though. Voss drags his lips down over my throat, biting my jawline along the way. I’m squirming in his solid arms like a worm caught on a hook. Frantic and impatient, we tear into each other like it’s the last few seconds on earth.

“I’ll do anything to make you mine tonight. Anything you want.” Pushing the crotch of my damp panties aside, he flicks his finger over my sodden entrance and shudders a breath. “Fuck, you’re already wet for me.”

“You can have … any woman. Why me? I’m just … just a mom.”

“You’re a hot mom. A beautiful mom. And I got fucking mommy issues.” Only the tip of his finger slips inside. In and out, bringing to mind a stark awareness that it’s been too long. Too long since I’ve felt wanted. Desired.

Properly fucked.

Trollop. I cringe at the words of my mother. But then I remember, my mother had a man who doted on her for years, and she never once appreciated him. She never felt the empty void of affection, never spent her nights trying to remember the scent of her husband, or the sound of his voice. She built her own cage to avoid my father, to shun his affections, so she wouldn’t know the first thing about what I need right now.

“Three hours. That’s it, right?”

“Three hours.”

I don’t know what the hell is so significant about three hours, but I reach out and press the button for the lobby. “Okay. Deal.”

* * *

“I had no idea you could pay for a hotel room with cash.”

“You can do just about anything, if you talk to the right person.” Voss threads his fingers in mine, stepping aside for the wait staff, who wheel in dinner and two of their best bottles of wine, per his request. I catch him slip a wad of green into the waiter’s palm as he passes, and the moment he closes the door, my heart flutters like it’s prom night all over again.

A whirlpool tub takes up the corner of the room across from the bed. Not in the bathroom. Across from the bed. As if to encourage sex afterward. To the right of it stands a wide dresser mirror that takes up half the wall, beyond the foot of the bed, offering a clear, unobstructed view. Like voyeurs. The whole damn room seems to be designed for one thing.

I can’t even turn around for fear I’ll end up doing something embarrassing, like passing out. The last time I was with a guy, other than Denny, was Spin-The-Bottle at age fourteen, when Jake Northcott pulled me into a closet to kiss me.

The age gap between Voss and me is suddenly apparent, as I stand here, feeling like an inexperienced girl, against this man who’s probably had a woman every way imaginable. I don’t even know what’s sexy anymore. I’m only glad that I wore matching underwear and shaved my legs during my bath the night before.

“Turn around, Nola.” He’s closer now. Close enough that I can feel the buzz of excitement vibrating off of him.

With a deep breath, I turn around to catch him unbuttoning his shirt, and everything comes crashing in on me with vivid reality. This is really happening.

“Take your panties off,” he says, popping his cufflinks.

The tickle of his command beats against my skin like a soft caress, and I steal a minute to focus on my breathing. Take your panties off. My stomach flutters, sending goosebumps across my flesh. His words reverberate inside my head, telling me there’s no going back to just Voss and Nola after this. Taking off my panties will be lowering my guard, letting down the walls and leaving myself open and vulnerable to whatever Voss has in mind.

Taking a moment to release a shaky exhale, I reach around for the zip of my skirt, only loosening the small latch, before he pauses his undressing.

“Not the skirt. Just the panties.”

“Just the panties,” I echo, abandoning the zipper. Part of me is relieved I get to shield some part of myself, but another part of me says that isn’t how Voss works. Somehow, even with my skirt on, this will undoubtedly be the dirtiest experience I’ve ever had.

He slowly peels his shirt over thick shoulders, exposing the lean, cut muscle of his body beneath as if he’s preparing me for a fight.

If that’s the case, his body is a momentary distraction of pure perfection—one that has me mentally calibrating our compatibility. Will that body hurt me? If he’s as proportionate as what I’ve seen so far, I’m in trouble.

A patch of white draws my attention to a bandage taped across his bicep. “What happened there?” I ask, tipping my head toward it.

He doesn’t even bother to look, as if far too distracted to care. “Nothing. Unbutton your shirt, and take off your bra.”

What is it with him, making me undress beneath my clothes like I’m some Houdini master?

The curiosity compels me to find out, so I unfasten the buttons of my shirt, one by one, desperate to remember whether, or not, I put on deodorant this morning.