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“Then I’d run my fingers through your weeping pussy, my thumb dragging across your throbbing clit as you buck your hips back against my hard cock that’s grinding into your ass like a promise of what’s to come.”
I shake my head and force myself to move, deciding that a shower will help me wash off the day and hopefully get all thoughts of Mr. Matthews out of my head. I’m walking toward the bedroom to do that very thing when there’s a knock at the door.
Backtracking, I move that way, checking through the peephole to see nothing but the dusky gray colored wall of the corridor. Slowly turning the handle, I open the door, my eyes drifting down to a silver tray with a matching cloche on top. More than a little intrigued, I look both ways down the hallway and finding no one, I bend over to pick up the tray and carry it back into my suite.
Crossing the room, I place the delivery on top of the glass dining table before lifting the cloche to reveal a shiny black, sealed envelope.
Easing the red painted fingernail of my index finger underneath the seam, I carefully open the flap and pull out a black folded card with my first name handwritten in silver on the front. My pulse is racing with nervous anticipation as I open the note, my breath catching as a slow growing smile takes over my face.
If this is a game of cat and mouse, then consider yourself caught, Kitten. You didn’t find me, so I came looking for you. Now I’m ready to claim my prize. You. Eight p.m. Rooftop. Clothing optional. Yours soon, Barrett Matthews.
I’m still grinning when I place the card back on the table and resume my journey toward the bedroom with a new spring in my step. Because not only do I have plans tonight, I also now know my sexy stranger’s name.
* * *
With a hot date now lined up, one I hope will end with an even hotter hook-up, I decide a new dress is in order, one that’ll have Barrett salivating and unable to resist my feminine wiles.
I’m in the fourth luxury store in the mall attached to the hotel when my phone vibrates in my purse. When I see the name on screen, I answer the call with a smile.
“Aiden.”
“A trip to Seattle just isn't the same without seeing you,” he teases, making me laugh.
“I'm sure you of all people will have no trouble finding otherattractionsto entertain you.”
“And yet anyone else would pale in comparison to you, Alyssa.”
I snicker and swoon in the same breath. Detective Aiden Lawrence has always had a way with words, every one measured and chosen with the perfect amount of weight to have the desired effect on me. The first time we met I swear he made me orgasm just by talking to me. He’s tall—more than six feet—with dirty blond cropped hair and a body you can tell at first glance that he works his ass off for.
Aiden is a detective for the San Francisco Police Department. We met two years ago in a bar two blocks from my apartment. I’d stayed late at the office and had called in for a quick nightcap. A few cocktails and loaded compliments later, Aiden had me flat on my back on the floor of my entryway, screaming his name louder than the hallelujah chorus. It was the start of a beautiful friendship—with frequent, yet always mind-blowing—benefits.
I have never considered taking our relationship past the physical, mostly because I don’t have the time to commit to anyone, and Aiden lives eight hundred miles away. He’s a great guy though and I know we would be good together, but neither one of us have brought it up either, despite my suspicions that Aiden has always wanted more.
“Believe me, you’re not the only one who’s disappointed,” I say. I’m not lying, per say, I was definitely unhappy about missing Aiden’s visit until the moment I came upon Barrett Matthews.
“Good to know, Aly,” he replies and I can tell he’s smiling. “Where are you? It sounds loud?”
“Would you believe me if I said I'm in a changing room wearing nothing but two skimpy pieces of black lace?”
“Jesus,” he groans. “Are you wanting to torture me? Is this punishment for crimes I haven’t committed yet?”
“You saying the idea of me naked makes you want to break the law, detective?”
“I’m saying that while I consider the merits of catching a flight to Vegas to see if you’re telling the truth.”
“Hmm,” I muse. “As nice as that would be, I have plans tonight.”
“Who's the lucky guy?” His tone is unreadable but its anything but happy.
“Who says it’s a guy?” I retort.
“You’re you, so it would have to be a guy,” he deadpans.
“Someone I met on the plane.”
He chuckles. “And why does that not surprise me?”
I look at myself in the mirror and smile, wondering whether Barrett is a lace or a satin kind of guy.He’s probably the ‘everything looks better on the floor’ type. “Why do you say that?”
