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‘Like you want to fucking eat me.’
‘But what if I do?’ She purrs, lifting her brows in a silent challenge, one hand snaking to my waist and flicking the button of my pants open.
I suck in an uneven breath as she draws the zip down, her eyes showing amusement and promise all at once.
Pants unzipped, she slides her hand back to my navel then pushes it inside the cotton of my boxers, her fingertips curling around the length of my cock, her breath growing husky as she tilts her head back a little on a wave of something—pleasure, anticipation, triumph—I have no idea.
‘Fu-u-u-ck.’ Her touch is so good. Her fingertips brush the tip of my arousal and I make a throaty noise before dropping my head and nipping her shoulder with my teeth.
She responds with a groan, low in her throat, and suddenly I can’t take it any longer. Her touch is inquisitive, too slow; I need more. I need everything and I need it now. But hell, we’re in an elevator and I know there are security cameras in these things. Shifting my body and pushing her back into the corner, where she’ll get maximum privacy, I kiss her, my lips ruthless in claiming hers, possessing her as an answer to her touch, showing her that the same madness runs rampant in my blood. She whimpers and I kiss her harder, pressing her head against the wall, my body hard to hers so her hand is flattened inside my pants. She moans, moving her fingers up and down, and I feel a hint of precum spill from my dick. I need to get her to a bedroom, or at least inside closed doors, and soon.
My hands pull her blouse from her waistband as though they’ve got a mind of their own, my fingers brushing the bare skin of her waist, pushing higher to the silk of her bra. I slide my fingers underneath, loosening it enough so that I can cup her breasts, feeling the sweet pucker of her nipples in the palms of my hands. She makes a mewing noise of pleasure right into my mouth; I grind my hips, pressing my cock harder into her hand. She flexes her fingers, rewarding me with a rhythmic movement that, while fantastic, completely threatens my equilibrium.
Without a slight buzz and definitely without our consent, the elevator begins to move again, continuing its upward trajectory. I don’t want to stop what we’re doing for even a second but the fact is somewhere deep inside me is a decent guy and I don’t particularly want to expose Jessica to the kind of publicity she’d get if she were seen half naked in a lift with me.
I pull my hands loose of her bra, replacing it carefully, then straighten her shirt, dislodge her hand from my pants and step backwards. Jesus Christ, it must only take eleven seconds to reach her floor but they’re the longest eleven seconds of my life.
She shoots me a look that is searingly hot as she strides out of the lift, just as she strode into the bar downstairs—full of purpose.
The corridor has a high roof and windows that reveal a beautiful view of the city. There are only three doors, showing how few suites are on this level. At the end, she clicks her key card against a lock. The light flashes green and she pushes it inwards, holding the door open for me to follow. I step in as she flicks the lights on—dull, moody lighting, sensual and classy. I’ve been in quite a few of these rooms over the years but never this one. The furnishings match the décor of the hotel, playing up its late-nineteenth-century roots with colonial antiques, though hints of modernity abound too, in the classy lights and the enormous flat-screen television mounted across the room. It’s a corner suite—one side is walls and doors, and the other two are open to the night sky, glass reaching over the city, creating an incredible sense of being out in the open.
‘These rooms were added on in the fifties, when they di
d the extension,’ she explains, as though I give a shit about the architecture.
‘I know.’ I shrug out of my suit jacket, moving deeper into the suite and draping it over the back of an armchair that’s been upholstered in a floral material.
Her eyes drop to my chest, doing that thing again, as if she’s mentally undressing me. I laugh, a husky sound of mirth that has her eyes gradually wrenching upwards. ‘What?’
‘You’re doing it again.’
‘What?’
‘Looking at me like you want to eat me.’
‘Didn’t I already answer that?’ she ponders, and now she doesn’t stride towards me exactly. She glides, if that’s possible, but there’s the same look of purpose in her face, and her body’s taut, poised for action. I stand exactly where I am, wondering at this slightly unexpected turn of events. I’m always in the box seat. When I take a woman to bed, I do the taking. I seduce and tease and flirt and tempt and pleasure—I pride myself on being able to deliver multiple orgasms—but Jessica seems to want to drive this and I don’t find I have any issues with that whatsoever. She stands in front of me for a second, having to tilt her chin up to meet my eyes—she’s probably almost a foot shorter than I am, but there’s so much strength in her that she doesn’t seem diminutive.
Her eyes stay locked to mine as she pushes my still-unbuttoned pants down to my knees where she lifts her foot and catches them, pushing them the rest of the way. I step out of them at the same time I kick off my shoes and socks, my eyes scanning her face as if to challenge her: what next?
She lets a slow smile cross her face in response, reaching to my chin and drawing my face down a little.
‘Are the rumours about you true?’
I’m momentarily distracted, so I find it hard to respond. Her hands push into my boxer shorts, removing them in the same way she did my pants, until I step out of them.
‘That depends on what rumour you’ve heard,’ I somehow manage to reply.
Her smile is lopsided. ‘You’re a player.’
Something about that wedges inside me. ‘Player’ is one of those words that has negative connotations whereas my decision to avoid relationships is a gold-star choice, in my book. Nothing negative about it. ‘Meaning?’
‘That you like sex.’
‘Who doesn’t?’
‘With a lot of different women.’
‘Yeah.’ I’m not ashamed of that. Fortunately, as a man, I haven’t needed to be—that’s a double standard I’ve never particularly appreciated.
