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That's when it dawned on him. She'd left him alone in the hotel room, just as he had done to her the week before. He knew she hadn't intended for it to be more than another night, but he'd been too wrapped up in the sex the night before to figure what might happen next. He wasn't overly surprised, though, not anymore. He was getting to know her, no matter how hard she tried to keep him out. He noticed a small white envelope on her pillow, marked with his name. "So you got me back, did you?"
Yes, but she had left a note. Being the sort who was into games and one-upmanship, she would, though, wouldn't she? He shook his head, but he couldn't help being amused. He should have known. He was learning fast. Second-guessing her would be easier the next time. And there would be a next time. He would make sure of that. She'd played him at his game, so he would play her at hers.
He picked up the envelope, turned it over and pulled out the card.
Now you know how it feels.
That was it, no other comments, it wasn‘t even signed, so he still didn't know her last name. Smiling wryly to himself, he realized she'd kept him awake until well past dawn, making sure he was worn out, so that he wouldn't wake when she slipped off. She'd planned this all along, the vixen. Although he supposed he deserved it, at least in her eyes. The way she'd forced him to look at the autograph showed him that much. Everything she'd said, she'd meant. She wanted him to believe her because she was stubborn and determined. She really had something to prove. And so did he, now.
He'd have to work a lot harder to show her he hadn't wanted to walk away from her. If he'd known she was really interested in him at the outset, they'd still be making the furniture rattle in that very first hotel room, let alone this one. She wanted more, whether she admitted it or not. This hadn't just been about revenge. She'd enjoyed every minute as much as he had. Whatever reason she had for being so bloody prickly, he wasn't going to let her get away.
Running the card against his nose, he took another breath of that scent she'd been wearing. He rested back against the pillows, dropping the card on his chest. Breakfast in bed would have been good. Feeding her tidbits while she looked at him with those strange eyes of hers. He supposed he should be grateful she hadn't left him tied to the bed for the maid to find. He scanned the room. No sign of the bondage tape.
Did you keep that for a souvenir, or for another time, Kelly? He groaned, his mind running over the events of the night before, savoring every filthy moment. She'd been a wildcat in bed the weekend before, but seeing her take charge like that last night was something else. She'd used him so thoroughly. He'd never experienced such intense sexuality—such confident domination—in a woman before. Oh, he'd played at it with others, but with Kelly she'd got so far into the role-playing it had consumed her. And him too.
He ran his hand over his dick, half risen. He still tasted her in his mouth. He wanted to taste her in his mouth again. And again. Idly stroking himself, he shut his eyes and pictured her over him, her taut body towering over him while she lowered her pussy to his mouth. He'd been hard as rock, his balls aching, when he filled his mouth with her, his tongue exploring every soft,
damp inch, devouring her pussy.
His dick went rigid in his palm. Her kinky sex games would haunt him, and she knew it. He chuckled softly. She was a vixen, a devious, scheming, crazy vixen—and he loved it. If she wanted to play games, he was definitely up for it.
* * * *
Kelly shut the front door behind her and dropped her backpack on the sofa, unsure whether she was glad to be home or not. Jojo wasn't around. Her parents had taken her off to a cottage in the country for the weekend for a change of scenery.
The faint sound of classical music came from the vicinity of Helen's bedroom. She'd be in bed with the Sunday papers, a large mug of percolated coffee, and the classical station on her stereo. It was Helen's once-a-week effort at being informed and intellectual. The rest of the week she played loud rock music and drank instant.
Kelly was glad Helen didn't appear. She wasn't in the mood to speak to anyone right then. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the CD that Clayton had autographed for Jojo. It had served one purpose, now it would serve another. She went to her friend's room, where she lifted one of Jojo's cuddly toys from the shelf, and sat it on the bed with the CD propped between its paws. That would bring a smile to her face. "Mission accomplished," she murmured to herself.
When she got inside her own sanctuary, she looked around as if with fresh eyes. It was so different from the exclusive hotel suite of the night before, but she wouldn't want to live in a place like that all the time. Somewhere in between would be nice. She made a mental note to invest in a couple of framed prints and some faux fur scatter rugs next payday.
She headed for the bed, taking off her clothes on the way. She didn't think she would be able to sleep, her mind was whirring and her body was suffering the kind of obsessive sexual awareness that came from two all-night sessions that blew the mind. But she was physically tired, and it was the logical thing to do.
It had been so hard to leave him, she mused. All she'd wanted to do was snuggle up against him, enjoy the feeling of his body next to hers, until he awoke. It was one of the hardest things she'd ever done, making herself turn away in order to complete her mission. But it was done and over with. Now she was home, and she had to get on with her life.
As she dropped her jeans and T-shirt onto the floor she caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror on her wardrobe. Startled, she paused and stepped closer, examining her reflection with curiosity. She looked sated, oh yes, but a bit shell-shocked too. Her hair was a bed-tousled mess, her skin glowed, and her eyes looked full of hidden secrets. On her body, she could see evidence of the sheer physicality of their passion—a kiss bruise on her neck and chest, and a faint bruise on the back of her hip where he'd rolled her across the floor, staying inside her the whole while. Thinking about the way he'd been, so demanding, so determined—even in bondage—her head dropped back and she sighed. He was a force of nature, and he'd hit her hard.
She turned this way and that, looking at her profile. Undoing her bra, she let it drop to the floor. There was definitely something different about her reflection, but she couldn't work out what it was. Moving closer still, she pushed her hair back from her forehead and scrutinized her face. Her lips looked swollen, slightly bruised. Maybe that was it. Her hand instinctively went over her lace-covered mons. It was bruised and sensitive too. She smiled, remembering. As she did she noticed something else. A slight sense of sadness in her eyes, perhaps?
"You really like him," she said to herself, with a wry smile. That's what it is. She hadn't looked that way the night before. It was as if the sense of loss had appeared in the cold light of day, when she had woken and known she had to sneak out without waking him or saying good-bye, to complete her plan.
Stepping away from the mirror, she threw back the quilt and flung herself on the bed. Lying on her back, she shut her eyes. The sound of classical music reached her through the walls. It was soothing and she stroked her body to its rhythm, but whatever she did she couldn't stop remembering images from the night before. Tommy's expressions, how he looked when she surprised him, how genuinely happy he'd been when he'd discovered it was her who'd bought his time, how willing he was when she challenged or pleasured him beyond even his own expectations. Seeing that light in his eyes and that smile on his face did good things to her. Really good. Heartwarming.
I really like him.
There was no denying it. Whether they were challenging each other sexually, role-playing or making love, they were entirely attuned. He responded to her wild streak and she couldn't help loving that. Her body craved more of him, and her mind and heart echoed a question over and over—wouldn't it be something to know a man like Tommy Sampson better, to have him be part of your life? But that's not what it had been about. It had been a wild sex game, a chance encounter with a like-minded sexual being. But...if only, her heart echoed once again. Sighing, she grabbed the quilt, and pulled it over her head.
* * * *
The door to Clayton's mews cottage was an old world affair with a medieval knocker and a timber-beamed doorway. Tommy lifted the ornate door knocker and rapped. Moments later, Jay appeared in the doorway with a surprised expression on his face.
"Tommy, just the man. You must be psychic."
"Run that by me again." Tommy was confused. He'd been about to explain his presence.
"I was just about to ring you. We need to ask you a favor. Come in, come in." He gestured Tommy into the hallway and pointed in the direction of the sitting room.
"Looks as if we have a coincidence, I need to ask you guys a favor too."
