The floor beneath us jolts the slightest bit, signaling the lift doors are about to open. I keep my eyes on hers as the doors slide and then lean past her to place a hand against the open lift door, blocking it from closing. “After you,” I tell her, my voice low. She pivots and exits, stopping as her eyes rest on the opposite wall where an arrow points in one direction for rooms three hundred to three-nineteen and another for rooms three-twenty to three-forty. She pauses and I wonder if this just became too real for her. I wonder if she’ll back out.
I take her hand and lead her to the right. She follows, her hand soft in mine, her heeled footsteps near silent on the hotel carpet. I wave the keycard to my room in front of the electronic lock and push the door open when the light flashes green, stretching my arm out and holding it open for her. She drops my hand and walks into the room and I note how lovely her hair is. Long tumbling waves of rich chestnut brown or possibly black resting against her back. It will look even better on my pillow.
She stops a few feet into the room and looks back at me over her shoulder as the door snaps shut behind me. Seeing her here in my room, I feel a moment of regret. Because while I know nothing about her, I know she deserves more than this hotel. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. It’s perfectly nice, in a business-class, family vacation sort of way. But I’d prefer if I had her in a five-star with a view of the capital, the lights of the city casting a soft glow through the room. A marble bathroom with a shower big enough for two. But we’re here, so the view of a fast-food chain across the street will have to do.
All she has with her is a small bag that can’t fit much more than a mobile phone and currency. I watch her set it down on the sideboard across from the bed then turn to me, a tiny lift of her chin as she likely reminds herself why she’s here, a mental pep talk flashing across her face. Then she wets her lips and smiles, but it’s for her, not me.
She has absolutely no idea how to proceed, does she? I’ve bedded virgins more aggressive than this woman.
“So how do you want to do this?” I ask her as I close the distance between us, my hands in my pockets and my steps unhurried. I stop before her and when she doesn’t move I untuck my hands and trail one finger along the shell of her ear. She bites her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Naked,” she replies earnestly, flicking her eyes from mine to my chest. “I’d like to do it naked.”
I’m definitely keeping her all night.
“Take these off,” I tell her, with a gentle tap of a finger to an earring. She removes them from both ears and places them next to her tiny bag, then looks back to me expectantly.
“How do you want to fuck?” I ask and pick up her hand. I kiss the inside of her wrist and meet her eyes. “Soft or hard? Fast or slow? Dirty or dirty?”
“Um…” She blinks, her skin flushed. “Yes.”
I’m not sure she’s even processed what I’ve asked, but I’m certain I had the answer before the door closed anyhow. And I wasn’t asking for any particular reason other than to watch her response. She’s not aggressive, this girl, she’d love it if I took the reins, so to speak. Removed whatever doubts she has in her mind about her desirability by leaving no question of my interest. And I’m interested. Interested in fucking her in every position possible until she passes out, exhausted and sated. I drop her wrist and rub my bottom lip with my thumb while I enjoy that visual for a moment.
“Your blouse,” I say, my tone brooking no argument, not that I’m expecting one. “Take it off.”
“Okay. And you take off your pants,” she responds in complete sincerity, her tongue peeking out between her lips. Her fingers have already moved to one of the buttons fastening her blouse as her gaze drops to my cock.
I swell in response. Hell, I was hard for her before I knew she was game. Her blouse hits the floor as I unbuckle my belt and unsnap my jeans before moving to my shirt and unbuttoning from the bottom up. Her hands pause for the briefest of moments before she reaches behind her and unzips what must have been a hidden zipper on her skirt. It pools around her feet and she steps out of the circle of fabric, leaving her sandals behind, then looks down with a tiny grimace before scooping her clothing off the floor and placing it quickly next to her earrings and bag.
She squares her shoulders as she turns back to face me, naked save for a pretty bra and pants set. Cotton, I’d guess, with delicate lace trim. Sweet. She’s sweet. And I wonder again what brought her to me tonight. I wonder if someone’s hurt her, but the idea of someone cheating on her seems ludicrous, as does me having that thought when I’ve known her only an hour. Actually, not even that. I don’t know her at all. I’ve not even kissed her yet. Why does she want this? Why now?