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“What didn’t I do?” Sarah shrugged and laughed a little at her own joke. Her green eyes sparkled with mischief. “But he just couldn’t keep up with me. He was just too vanilla. Sweet, but there’s no way I would’ve wanted a long-term relationship with him.”
“Well, I don’t mind if Mr. X turns into...more.” Emma thought of Mr. X’s strong hands, his sexy hazel eyes, the way he seemed to know her, even though they hadn’t known each other that long. She wouldn’t mind that turning into a regular thing.
“No!” Sarah slapped her hand on the table. “Emma. We talked about this. You are just too quick to settle. That’s what happened with Devin, remember?”
Emma nodded, reluctantly. “But Mr. X is nothing like Devin. They’re polar opposites.”
“From the picture you showed me, I believe that much is true, but still. The whole point of this little exercise is to show you how many fish there are in the sea.”
The waitress appeared then with their lunches, setting the plates in front of the women. Emma dug into her fries like a woman who hadn’t seen food in days.
Sarah quirked an eyebrow. “Well, I can see Mr. X worked up an appetite in you.” Emma coughed.
“You have no idea,” she said, between mouthfuls.
“Well, then. Tell me. All the juicy bits!” Sarah leaned in, eager.
* * *
Later that afternoon, Emma sat at her computer and stared at the cursor. What on earth was she going to write? Nearly all of her date with Mr. X was...uh, X-rated. At least, the good parts were. She couldn’t imagine how her editor would even go for something so...graphic. After all, their online magazine was read mostly by working moms, not co-eds looking for the hottest tips for spicing up the old blowjob. She glanced at the handwritten note from Mr. X and felt a little shiver of anticipation. She’d see him again tonight.
She didn’t even know his name!
All the things he’d done to her and she had no idea what his first name was. More than anything, she wanted to find out. Yet, as she pulled up Google to start her search, she had no idea how to start. “Amazing hazel eyes and abs that won’t quit... Chicago?”
“Mr. X Chicago?”
Both of those searches pulled up beefcake photos and one news article about a TV pilot being shot in downtown.
Argh. She searched Nost and Mr. X, but just got his profile, which she realized with a start as she looked at the little wristwatch graphic in the corner, would disappear from her feed sometime this evening. A little prick of panic tickled the back of her neck. What if she never got his name? What if she never saw him again after tonight?
But there would be tonight, and then...she’d just ask him. Flat out. What’s your name? Can I have your number?
Because I want to fuck you many, many more times.
The naughty thought popped into her head unbidden, shocking her. She sat for a few minutes, staring at the blinking cursor, but all she could think about was Mr. X’s golden eyes on her while she came for him, the way he’d held her, as if keeping her under his spell. She’d never felt so exposed, yet, so protected at the same time. Maybe it was the thrill of being with a stranger. She could do things she never dared with someone she knew.
Emma knew she’d get no work done today. She opted instead to try to find an outfit for tonight. She rummaged through her drawers, but even the laciest of her lingerie seemed not sexy enough. She grabbed her bag and decided to head to the stores on Armitage. She was going to stop at the lingerie shop.
* * *
Emma stood anxiously in the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton, wondering if she’d arrived too early. It was ten until eight, ten full minutes before Mr. X had set the meeting date. The lobby was mostly empty, with just a couple of workers behind the desk and few patrons milling about. The elevators dinged occasionally, announcing the arrival of a new guest, and Emma found it hard not to glare at each one, hoping to see Mr. X’s face. She wore a tight black dress, one she hadn’t worn in years. It was stretchy and long-sleeved, and clung to her curves. Beneath the dress, she wore the most delicate laced thong she’d ever owned, a matching push-up bra, and actual thigh-high lacy tights, which she’d never worn her whole life. But the idea of Mr. X peeling them off her had made them a must-buy. She wore stiletto heels and carried a small clutch bag. She’d tied her blond hair up this time in a messy bun, with silver dangling earrings that skimmed her jawline when she moved her head. She felt...pretty. She also felt...very much like she wanted to get back up to that hotel room with Mr. X.
Her stomach fluttered with nerves. She’d never before shown up at a hotel lobby with the express intent of sex. She felt beyond naughty. She was being bad, wasn’t she? Good girls didn’t do this. A flutter of nerves cinched her stomach. A bellboy went by with a golden cart full of bags, maneuvering around the giant fountain; he nodded at her, an appreciative look on his face.
