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Finally she appeared. She walked like a runway model milking her time for all it was worth, strutting down the hallway. I didn’t try to hide the way I watched her in the mirror this time. I grinned widely at her.
You want to distract me? The joke’s on you. I don’t mind a bit.
Molly’s smile disappeared as she realized I wasn’t fighting it. An annoyed look flashed across her dark eyes, and then was replaced with something like inspiration. She looked like she had a really good idea.
She suddenly stopped and held out her phone. She let go of it, dropping it on the floor. She covered her mouth with her hand, like a mime acting out a scene.
Then she turned around and bent over to pick up the phone.
Ah, fuck.
My eyes locked onto her ass automatically. The white cotton panties were molded to her skin in a way that left nothing to the imagination. Her ass was perfectly heart-shaped, tapering up to a narrow waist that I desperately wanted to wrap my hands around. Flashes of what I wanted to do ran through my head. Bending her over just like that, pulling the panties down slowly. Burying my face in her pussy from behind. Sliding my tongue as deep as I could to taste every delicious inch of her.
I was so distracted that my foot landed on the edge of the treadmill, the part that wasn’t moving. I stumbled forward and tried to regain my stride, but my other foot was off-balance now. I started to fall, flailing around with my hands, finally grabbing onto the treadmill rails before I face-planted on the ground.
I regained my composure in time to see Molly stand back up, holding her cell phone and laughing. She tossed her hair and strutted away with a victorious smile on her face.
I’m going to get you, Feisty, I thought while resuming my workout.Just you wait.
12
Molly
The Day Shit Hit The Fan
With nothing else going on in my life, one-upping Donovan felt like winning the Super Bowl. I giggled as I finished my lap around the hotel, then went back to my room and sent him a few taunting texts.
Molly: So that’s what having the willpower of a saint looks like?
Molly: Don’t worry. Next time I’ll walk around the fourth floor.
Molly: For your safety.
Donovan: Yeah, yeah. You win this round, Feisty.
I pumped my fist at his admission of defeat. His text also held an unwritten promise: he was going to win thenextround. I couldn’t wait to see what that was.
I heard Donovan return from the gym five minutes later. Then came the soft hum of the water being run in his bathroom. He was taking a shower.
A naughty thought came to me, the kind of thought that I never would have considered before meeting Donovan:I wonder if he’s jacking off in the shower while thinking of me. Guys did that, right? I was normally too shy to flaunt my sexuality, but I knew I had a great ass.
Maybe I should ask him.I immediately shook my head. That was way too forward for me. Heck, doing what I had just done—stripping off my clothes and walking around in my underwear—was far more scandalous than I normally acted. The old Molly never would have done that, and if shehad, she would have been mortified by it.
Being here in this empty hotel was bringing out another side of me.
But I knew it wasn’t the setting. It was Donovan’s friendly, flirty attitude that was pulling me out of my shell. I wanted him to look at me the way he had in the gym mirror, eyes wide and thirsty, drinking me in like I was the Gatorade he needed after a run.
It was a good way to pass the time, too. Flirting with him was much more fun than being alone.
I was watching TV when suddenly there came a knock on my door. Not the divider between our rooms. Thefrontdoor.
I slowly walked to the door and gazed through the peep-hole. Donovan’s gorgeous frame was distorted in the fish-eye lens.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I want to ask you something.”
“Why do I have the feeling you’re going to go all Hannibal Lecter on me?”
