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He felt the need to care for her. He reached down and pulled up the warmer blanket, tucking it over her bare shoulder. She let out a satisfied sigh. God, she was perfect.
Now’s the time to leave, he thought. When she’s still perfect.
Reluctantly, he turned to leave, grabbing his wallet and cell phone. On his way out, he saw the hotel pad and pen on the desk. On a whim, he scribbled a quick note and then smiled to himself.
They technically still had twelve hours on the Nost clock, he reminded himself. A lot could be done in twelve hours.
He opened the hotel room door and slipped out, careful to make sure the door shut quietly behind him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A BURST OF chimes from her phone woke Emma with a start. The hotel room was dark, the light-canceling shades drawn, and for a second she was disoriented. Where was she? Then she realized she was naked beneath expensive thick cotton sheets. Mr. X. Memories of the night before flooded her mind and all the various ways they’d explored each other’s bodies. Her neck grew hot just thinking of his strong hands on her body. That was by far the most amazing sex she’d ever had. Bar none. She sat up in bed and found it empty.
Where was he? The bathroom light was on, door ajar. She opened her mouth to call his name, but then remembered with shocking clarity that she didn’t know it. Was she really going to shout out, “Mr. X?” to the room?
Oh, God. Had she really done this? Had she really fucked the brains out of a man and she didn’t even know his name?
Sure, she knew women did this all the time. Sarah came to mind. This was probably her normal Tuesday night.
But Emma? Never. As in, not once. Not at a frat party, or a club, or a bar. She’d never taken a stranger into her bed. She thought of all the many ways they’d gotten to know each other last night. Not so strange anymore, she realized. Emma could practically sketch his amazingly fit body in her mind. She might not know his name, but she sure knew every other thing about him.
She studied the light from the bathroom. “Hello?” she called from the bed. No answer. Emma pulled the top sheet off the bed and padded over to the bathroom, finding it empty.
“Huh,” she murmured out loud as she crossed the room to the curtained window. She flung back the curtain and sunlight poured in. Outside, the day had already begun, and far below the street was crowded with small cars and the sidewalks teemed with people on their way to work. The Loop bustled with energy and focus. She’d soon be among the throng, making her way to the L. She glanced at her phone. She had a half hour to shower and get dressed, then she’d need to head home and finish up that last article that her editor wanted today. Such was the life of a freelancer.
Emma turned, and that was when she saw the letter on the nightstand. She went to it, reading the precise, neat handwriting:
8 p.m. tonight. Meet you in the lobby.
A little thrill ran through her. He wanted to see her again? Was this something that happened with Nost? She thought it was purely for one-night stands. But there was also no mistaking what Mr. X wanted. He wanted more sex. Tonight. Here.
She could feel a little tingle in her inner thigh. Yes, please. More of him, please.
Then she felt deliciously naughty. I don’t know the man’s name. Nothing. And I’m coming back for more.
She folded the note carefully and tucked it into her bag. Then, she bit her bottom lip. She really ought to know his name. Some detail about him. She searched her brain, but came up with nothing. He’d vaguely said something the night before about working in tech, but that could mean anything. She had no idea where he lived or worked. She did know that he came alive beneath her touch, that he loved it when she focused her tongue on the tip of his...
Suddenly, the room got hotter. Emma absently cupped her own breast through the sheet, remembering Mr. X doing the same thing the night before, remembering the feel of his teeth against her nipple. She felt a rush of heat then, and almost felt the urge to slip her hands beneath the sheet and touch herself.
She shook her head. What was happening to her? Just thinking of Mr. X sent her into a tailspin. She glanced at her phone. Emma needed to get ready. She retreated to the bathroom to find the shower where just hours ago, Mr. X had sudsed her down, washing every part of her in delicate, perfect circles. She turned on the pizza pan–sized shower head, and the room soon filled with steam. Mr. X was everywhere in this room, and her body felt like he’d claimed it. As she let the sheet fall down, she remembered everywhere he’d touched her, every little ripple of pleasure he’d sent through her body. Suddenly, it seemed that the evening felt like years away. She wasn’t sure she could wait.
