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Knock, knock.
It was the sound of someone at the door. Hell, “someone,” my ass. Of course, it’s Trina. She’s right on time.
Another quick sip of the whiskey then I open the door.
Man, oh man. My knees actually go weak at the sight of her.
Tonight she’s wearing a pretty burgundy dress instead of the gold one from the last time I saw her. Knee-length and fitted tight on her luscious curves, the dress is a knockout. But it’s nothing compared to Trina herself. Thick brown hair straightened out of usual cute curls and shining all the way down to the middle of her back. Her lips wear a shy, red smile just for me. Her eyes eat me up, telling me without words that she loves the way I look.
My dick gets iron hard at the sight of her and I can only growl a few words to invite her inside.
“Thank you, Mr. Knight,” she says shyly and walks past me and into the suite.
Mmm. Her perfume. It’s something floral and feminine, but I smell the hot spice of her skin and her cunt underneath. My dick jumps in my slacks and I hide my groan of response with a quick cough. “Please, call me Grayson. Or Gray.”
I want her to scream my name later while I’m drilling deep, so she needs to get used to it now.
With another shy look over her shoulder, Trina smiles at me. “Okay, Grayson.”
Hearing my name on her lips makes me shudder. Fuck. Maybe this is a mistake. It’s all I can do not to grab her, push her luscious ass up against the wall, and take her fast and deep. My stiffness is certainly up for the challenge.
But I’m no animal to fuck a virgin like this without any prep. She didn’t even eat any dinner yet for Christ’s sake.
I clear my throat. “Have a seat, sweetheart. Make yourself at home.”
With fingers that are absolutely NOT shaking, I point her to the romantic little set-up in the middle of the suite. The small square table is already arranged for two with a white candle burning in the middle of the floral centerpiece. The flame flickers over the gold-edged porcelain plates, with an empty champagne bucket off to the side.
Just as Trina settles her juicy bottom in the chair, a quick double knock sounds at the door. It’s room service. Perfect. The Billionaires Club is like a high-end hotel with everything on site. Dry cleaning, a gym, and five pools are available 24/7, at your service.
So the two guys from Hospitality in their black and white uniforms quickly do their thing. They set the food down on the table between the two place settings and leave champagne chilling in the bucket near my chair. After they’re done, I quickly slide each guy a fifty and show them the door.
“This looks so good,” Trina says, a little breathless as she takes everything in. The food does look good. Ricotta crepes drizzled in honey. Butter drenched lobster on a bed of angel hair pasta garnished with fresh red cabbage. A pair of tiny chocolate cakes with creamy vanilla filling seeping down the edges.
I know exactly what the meal is because I chose it all myself this afternoon when I visited the kitchen to see our options.
“I want to eat everything,” Trina breathes softly.
“Good.” But when I look up from arranging the napkin across my lap, Trina is looking at me, not the food.
She looks like she’s absolutely starving.
“Well, eat up, baby,” I tell her with a slow grin. “This is all for you.”
Her pretty face goes all red and she drops her eyes back to the food. Then it’s like she’s seeing the actual food for the first time and her red mouth drops open in amazement. “Thank you!”
She reaches out with her fingers and delicately takes one of the crepes already rolled up like rose-scented stogies. Trina sniffs and opens up her lush red lips to slip it inside.
“Yum,” she moans around the ricotta and honey crepe, smearing her lips with sweet stickiness.
God damn. Desire kicks in my stomach and my mouth goes desert dry.
Safely hidden under the table, my cock gets rock hard, smearing my pants with pre-cum.
Damn. Why did I choose tonight of all nights to go commando? Ah, well. That’s what the dry cleaners are for.
“Glad you like the crepes. It’s a special recipe from France,” I tell her. “The chef brought it back special to try on the clientele.”
“Mmm.” Trina finishes chewing and licks her lips. She smiles with childlike happiness, like I’m giving her the one thing she most wanted in the world. “You can tell him it’s a home run. This is so good!” She reaches for another crepe and immediately takes a large bite, creamy whiteness smudging the corner of her mouth. I watch, entranced, as her tongue traces her lips to wipe it away.
