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"I can't meet you," I tell him, and myself really. "How do I know you're not some serial killer and this is how you lure your victims to some dodgy hotel? Strangling them to death or something?"
He chuckles, dark and sexy. "Oh, I do love to choke, but not to death. Only until you come."
"Oh God." I breathe. Just the image I needed right now.
"And I don't quite think I'd be luring victims with elevator cameras watching me."
I look toward the corner where the camera is, wondering if someone can hear our conversation, the proposition I was just given. A flush crawls up my neck, making me hot for all the wrong reasons.
"Does that embarrass you?" he asks, standing up too, making me look back at him. "That someone might have heard me saying I'll pay to fuck you?"
Oh God. I look away again, needing to hide the truth that might be in my eyes. The lust he'd find there if I looked at him for too long. Because I'm not embarrassed that someone might have heard. I'm turned on. I can feel the wetness coating my panties at this point. From the way he's watching me, his words, his voice. Then I do the dumbest thing possible. Check to see if he's as aroused as me. And fuck if his pants aren't tented... a lot.
"God, why haven't they gotten us out of here yet?" I groan.
"You'd pick the hotel. Just let me know which one, and I'll book a room. We meet, we fuck, we leave. Simple."
"What is simple about anything that you just said?"
"Do you accept?" he asks instead of answering my question.
"I can't. If I fuck you for money, that would make me a prostitute, wouldn't it?"
"It would make you a woman desperate enough to do anything for the money I'm offering."
"This is crazy. I don't know a thing about you. How do I know you'll even actually pay me?"
Why am I even asking this? Why am I even actually considering this?
"I'll pay you upfront, for the entire three months, the first time we meet."
My mouth hangs open in shock for a moment. Three hundred thousand dollars, up front. I can pay for Charlotte's surgery, her hospital bills, get us a nicer apartment for her to come home to, leave that fucking diner. And most importantly, get her on the transplant list. But still, this is crazy, nuts, bonkers.
"This all sounds ridiculous. How do I know-"
My words cut off when he abruptly crosses the elevator, getting so close that I press back against the handrail to get some distance between us. But even that, he won't allow, taking another step closer.
"How do you know I'm not the answer to every one of your problems?" he asks, his voice low. "Especially the problem throbbing between your thighs right now."
I can't breathe, not with him so close, not with the barest hint of his hardness against my thigh, not with need rushing through me like it never has before. His height makes it so that my eyes are level with his chest, only allowing me to stare at the hint ofskin noticeable through the two buttons left undone at his neck. How can such a little bit of skin turn me on so much? Then my eyes are moving up, my head tilting back until I can look at his lips, quirking up at the corners again in the most seductive way. It’s as if they’re begging me to kiss them, forcing me to imagine what they’d feel like on my body.
I tell myself to look away from them, to look into his eyes instead. Only, when I do, I find his eyes are on my lips, want clear in them, as if he’s dying to kiss me. No, to devour me. And I want him to. God, I want him to. So why does spending every Saturday letting him do just that sound so absurd?
Because he's a stranger. Because he could do anything to me in that hotel room, and who would be any the wiser? Because this is the kind of thing that happens in movies, not in real life. Certainly not in mine.
"I... I..." I sputter, trying to tell him no, but not finding the words.
He leans closer, his nose trailing along my jaw. "Would it help if I told you just how badly I want you to say yes?"
Hell yeah, it would.
"A few Saturdays with me, doing whatever we want," he says into my ear now, closer, closer, until that hint of his hardness is now absolutely clear. It rubs against my inner thigh, so close to where I really want it to be right now. So close to the part of me that is thrumming with my pulse at this point, needy and desperate for attention. "I can smell how wet you are, Sophie. Won't you let me take care of it for you?"
A whimper does escape me that time. I couldn't stop it if I tried. But I don't try, because all of my attention is on preventing myself from taking my hands off of the handrail and putting them on him instead.
Suddenly, the elevator jerks and begins moving again. I look up at the roof, then at the camera again. But that only leaves my neck exposed. I feel his beard scrap against the skin there before I gasp and jerk my eyes to his. He licks those lips again.
"That sound." He all but growls. "All I want is that sound. Well, that and a few others."
