This is what I want. He is what I want. I’m not normally the one to instigate a sexual encounter, but Mr. Jesse here seems to be a tiny bit reserved. It’s kind of cute, actually. I just hope when we get upstairs and we’re alone, the cute disappears and the sexy makes an unforgettable appearance. Not wanting to grope in public is a perfectly rational reservation and I can respect that… if I have to. I pull back enough for Jesse to survey my face.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” He mutters, avoiding my eyes.
“I think it’s a great idea.”
His dark irises flick over my face and linger on my lips for a second too long. Hook, line and sinker. My lips quirk at the corners as he reaches for his wine glass and tips the red liquid down his throat.
“Meet me by the elevator and I’ll get a room.”
Inside me, my organs coil and clench as excitement tears through me. I slip off of the stool, grab my coat, and pick my bag up off the floor. I’m unable to keep the smug grin from my face as I saunter towards the elevator at the back of the lounge. As irrational as it sounds, I hope he doesn’t want to do it with my tall, black heels on, because my feet are killing me.
I lean against the elevator, waiting for Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome to return from reception.
Five minutes pass and as I sigh and toy with the ends of my long, brown hair, he finally strides up to me. Without hesitation, I hit the button on the elevator and we slip inside. When the doors close, his scent envelops me, teasing me beyond belief without even trying.
I lean against the wall and flick my tongue around my closed mouth. Jesse seems uncomfortable. His shoulders are rigid, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks and as I open my mouth to torment him, he clears his throat and lifts his dark, sinful eyes to mine.
“I, uh, I don’t normally do this.”
“What?” I ask, gesturing to the silver box we stand in. “Ride elevators?”
He scowls at me, his amazing eyebrows furrowing. “I’m clearly not talking about the elevator, Alix.”
I click my fingers. “Oh, you mean sex. You don’t fuck strangers often?”
A subtle hint of pink flickers over his features, and it thrills me no end.
“Please, don’t censor yourself on my account.” He adjusts his jacket. “Do you always talk like that?”
“Like a woman who isn’t afraid to speak her mind? Of course.”
I push off the elevator wall and saunter closer to him. He swallows hard and, goddamn, it strikes all of the right chords inside of me. Strangely, his vulnerability is a real turn on.
“I’m not a very good girl, Jesse.”
He smirks. “That much is evident.”
I reach for his tie and let the soft, silky fabric slip through my fingers as I stroke the black fabric in slow, suggestive rhythms. Oh, how good it would feel to have it bite into my skin.
“One night and then it’s over. All I want is to peel you from your suit and to have a good time. That’s all. After that, you’ll never see me again.”
A ding rings throughout the elevator signaling our floor, and I glance at the panel.
Floor 53.
I peer at Jesse and he’s surveying my face. I wonder what he’s looking for? Reservation or a change of mind, perhaps? Then, with a sigh, he steps out of the elevator.
Geez.
Would it kill the guy to be a little more enthusiastic? I follow closely behind him until we reach a room at the end of the hall, and as he reaches out to swipe his card, I notice his trembling hand. I bite back a smile.
“You’re not a virgin, are you?” I tease as I lean against the door frame.
I try to hide my smile, but I can’t and it breaks free. Toying with him is too much fun.
“I’m thirty three years old. I’m most definitely not a virgin.” He pushes open the door. “Get inside.”
“Ooh,” I brush past him on purpose and his breath hitches. “Yes, sir.”
Inside, the room is empty. Not empty in the literal sense. It has all of its amenities of course, but it just seems… plain. I’m not sure I like any shade between white and cream. I drop my handbag and coat on the floor as I make my way over to the bed. Thankfully, there’s plenty of room to do all sorts of crazy things. My mind runs wild. I sit down on the soft mattress and run my hands over the top sheet before I flick my attention back to Jesse. He’s standing on the other side of the room with his hands stuffed into his pockets, with his face held in a serious pinch.
“Do you want to undress me, or should I do it myself?” I ask, grinning.
“What do you prefer?”
I roll my eyes. God, does everything have to be so stilted with him? Where’s the passion? The excitement of bedding someone you don’t know? Where’s the fucking panty-dropping humor and statements that leave you breathless? Do authors just make that shit up? Do any of them write from experience, or purely from fantasy? I’ve had sex with a lot of guys, more than I can count on my hands and toes—not much more, but you get the idea—and not once have I ever, ever experienced the magic these heroines do. What gives? Maybe it’s all just some sick ploy; write about situations that never happen, get readers addicted, and then make them depressed with their life so they’re never happy unless their face is buried in a book. It’s all a damn scam… that I willingly pay for.