AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The next thing I notice is the suite door wide open, making me wonder if our little imposter (if that’s what she even is) has already left.
Chickened out, maybe?
The sounds of water running before it stops as I reach the open door tells me otherwise, and instead of leaving a note or simply waiting in the lobby or hall, I do what comes naturally to me.
I make a complete asshole out of myself for the second time today.
I’m expecting a middle-aged professional. Most likely just splashing some water on her face to freshen up after a flight.
But the girl I startle as she exits the bathroom isn’t at all what I’m expecting as I announce my presence.
Two can play the swarthy game, y’know.
Her squeal of fright is almost drowned out by the low sound escaping me after I call out to see if anyone’s home.
She’s only just managed to close her complimentary robe, but I catch enough of her curves to get an instant curve all of my own – in my pants.
Our eyes lock, my piercing dark browns against her clear baby blues. And although I want to take in every inch of her thick frame and still wet from her shower blond hair, I find it hard to look anywhere else.
Her initial shock and fright quickly transform into something else when I notice her eyes dilating.
Her eyes shift just long enough from mine to take in my large frame, still blocking the doorway.
I’m not a small guy, and for her to see nearly seven feet of beef walking in on her as she’s getting out of the shower must be terrifying. But the slight curling of her lip, almost in recognition as she relaxes a little, lets me know she’s not gonna scream or call security.
“I’m Xander –,” I start to say, but she’s already crossing the room with her hand out.
It’s then I become aware of one of the promotional magazines open on the coffee table.
My cheesy mug is smiling back at me from a full-page photo, smirking as if he knows more than I do about how much homework our little imposter’s been doing.
“Xander Alexander,” she acknowledges as I feel her tiny hand disappear into mine.
The shock is on me now as we both recoil for an instant from the charge between our touch.
Not static electricity either.
Something else, far more powerful. Dangerous even, as we both feel it filling the whole room in time with a long-forgotten hardness filling the front of my pants.
The sound of her saying my name echoing in my mind makes my member jerk. I’m already imagining her screaming it as I fill her balls deep.
My eyes eventually find their power of movement, and I smile to myself as I take in her ample chest under the toweling of her robe.
The bullet outline of her nipples. Her cleavage line teases me some more as her robe seems to follow my own mental commands and starts to fall open again.
“And I’m…,” she stammers, looking up as if the answer might somehow be painted on the ceiling.
My eyes glance again at the open magazine on the coffee table.
“Ms. De Laurent,” I affirm, realizing at once that I have found my little imposter.
If she does have a first name, I don’t remember reading it, and my new favorite girl doesn’t seem to know who she’s pretending to be either.
That call earlier was real then.
The real Ms. De Laurent has had a bad day somewhere on the other side of the country, and as much as I’d never wish that on anyone, she’s making my day just perfect by not being here.
Keeping a firm grip on my mystery girl’s hand, I bow slightly and bring her hand to my lips.
Imposter, yes.
Worthy of my full attention? Most fucking definitely.
I grace her with an old-fashioned, totally taboo show of affection for the modern age. But it’s the only thing I think of on the fly so I can adjust the tent pole forming in my pants without being as obvious as it is.
Plus, I have a need to match it.
Having the scent of her freshly showered skin against my lips. The smell, taste, and feel of her are enough to make me dizzy with both lust and crazy curiosity.
Such a swarthy girl, waltzing in here like this…
I’d like to do more than just press her hand against my mouth, but Jesus Christ, what a girl.
Brazen is the word, playing the joker card as if it’s her ace in the hole.
She should snatch her hand back. Slap my face and call me a chauvinist pig.
I wish she would slap me and hard.
Then I could grip her wrists and pin her to that wall, pressing more than just my lips onto her quivering little mouth…
“You’re taller in real life,” she murmurs softly, sounding suddenly shy. Anxious.
