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When the plane touches down at JFK, I am elated to be on the ground once again. I have never enjoyed flying and try to avoid it as much as possible. A driver is waiting for me at the gates and drives me to the Baccarat. Only the best for the songwriter behind a singer we know is going to be a star.
I check-in, and a bellboy helps me with my luggage, and when I get to my room, I tip the young man, looking around the guest room in awe. Opulent cannot describe it appropriately. It is a beautiful balance of contemporary design and French tradition. Stunning crystal fixtures, floor to ceiling windows, a plush four-post king-sized bed, and a sitting area make this room fit for a Queen. Which is what I feel like standing here. Stunning works from the hotel’s namesake Baccarat collection grace the walls. I think I could stay in this room all week. Well, at least for the night.
After a bath, I decide against staying in. It is my first night in New York, and I will not be spending it in bed. Instead, I dress up and visit the hotel bar, feeling glamorous in my gold empire waist dress and gold stilettos.
The bar is abuzz with conversation, smooth jazz music plays in the background. The barman looks at me appraisingly. “And what can I get the beautiful lady tonight?”
“A bottle of your finest champagne.” I grin. If the company is paying, I sure as hell am indulging. He passes me a glass and sets the bottle in an ice bucket below the counter.
“I’ll be at your service all night,” he says with a wink. His sandy blonde hair and blue eyes are but the tip of the iceberg on the beautiful man.
I sip on what must be the most decadent bubbly ever created, admiring the crimson velvet and merlot-colored walls, glittering red chandeliers, and fine art. Other patrons relax on leather seats. I’m on the terrace bar, so the night sky is a stunning backdrop.
My phone buzzes, and I realize I haven’t even let Nate know I've arrived. I see a text from Denton, choosing to ignore it and let my husband know I’m safe through text, taking another sip of champagne.
Denton: You are fucking gorgeous.I close my eyes and take in a breath. I make my way to one of the empty seats, and the barman nods that he’ll be available for a refill when I’m ready. I feel like chugging that whole bottle right now.
Me: Yeah? How about telling that to your wife for a change.
Denton: I have, but right now, all I can think about is how sexy you are.
Me: Jerking off, are you?I grin at that one.
Denton: I’d much rather be sinking my cock into that hot, wet pussy.Oh fuck, did he just say that? I have to press my thighs together, the ache between them growing. I call the barman over for the refill and ask him to leave the ice bucket.
Me: How badly do you want this pussy, Denton?
Denton: Oh, you have no idea. I want you begging for my cock, kitten.
My lips part, and I swallow hard. I feel the heat rise to my face at the way I begged and squirmed, needing him to fuck me.
Denton: You remember, don’t you? How you like to be fucked like my little whore.Oh God, why are his filthy words such a turn-on.
Me: You’re all talk right now, though.
Denton: Tell me where you are, and I’ll make it a reality.I laugh at that, downing my champagne, deciding I like this game, and I would much rather play it in private.
Denton: You’re wet, aren’t you, baby? So wet you wanna go somewhere and touch yourself.I ignore that he is right and grab my champagne bottle and take the elevator down to my floor. I hate that his texts make me horny as hell. I open the door to my hotel room, and my breathing is ragged as I lean against it. I remind myself that these are just texts and that what happened that day at the hotel was a horrible mistake. A mistake I will have to live with for the rest of my life.
My phone rings, and when I see it’s Denton, I’m almost afraid to answer.
“Am I right?”
I’m practically panting at his words. “Denton, you shouldn’t be calling me like this. You shouldn’t be texting me.”
“And why is that, Bre?”
“Duke,” I whisper into the phone.
“That’s right, baby, that’s the only name you’re going to be calling when I fuck you again.”
There’s a knock at the door. “Hold on,” I say, my face heating. I hope it isn’t Harrison.
I open the door, and my phone hits the ground because standing there is none other than Denton fucking Duke with his phone to his ear and a panty-melting grin. He steps inside my room, then cuts the call.
“What-what are you doing here?” My voice comes out more breathy than I would like. He closes the door behind him.
“I’m here to give you what you want if you’re a good girl, that is. So how about we start by you taking off that dress if you like it, leave those shoes on.” He commands, and I like the way he says it. I want him to keep talking to me like that. He removes his suit jacket hanging it up on the coat hanger—thegentleman.
