Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 129427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
The waiter smiled as he unwrapped the foil. “Mr. Elwood requested that it be sent up upon your arrival.”
He’d had someone on look out for me? Sneaky man.
“Is it good?” I knew nothing about champagne. I was more of a red wine girl.
The waiter’s eyebrows lifted and he chuckled. “Oh, it’s very good.”
After the waiter departed— declining gratuity because, “It’s been taken care of,”— I wandered the suite with a glass in hand. The room’s decor straddled the line between modern and comfortable; nothing too pretentious, nothing absurd for the sake of design. I went up to the loft, where I found a bathroom with a European-style shower and, to my surprise, a black leather shaving kit and some cologne and shampoo in commercial sized bottles. Those weren’t standard hotel toiletries.
Was Neil staying here? I went to the bedroom and peeked in a drawer. There were some neatly folded clothes inside, and I quickly shut it. I didn’t want to snoop. Clearly, he’d been staying for some time.
I checked the clock. It was quarter to seven. My stomach knotted with excitement. I had just a little over an hour before Neil would arrive, and I intended to seduce him from the moment he stepped through the door.
I showered carefully, so I wouldn’t get my hair wet, then dried myself and rubbed some of the divine smelling hotel lotion into my skin. I frowned at my hair in the mirror. I’d worn a tousled up-do all day, but it was work hair.
To my unbelievable good luck, when I pulled out the pins my hair let down into waves I couldn’t have possibly achieved with a curling iron and infinite patience. If there were a patron saint of sexy hair, I would be lighting candles to her, for sure.
I touched up my makeup, thickening my eyeliner just a bit and swapping my nude lip color for a dark berry gloss I’d found in the bottom of my purse. I dressed, neatened up the bathroom, then hurried downstairs.
Standing before the mirror in the living area, I tugged down the hem of the short dress that clung to my body like a glove. The wide sleeves fluttered from my elbows as I reached up to fluff my hair one last time. I thought back to what I’d looked like that day at the airport six years ago. This was a definite improvement to greasy teenager skin and bad highlights in a tee-shirt and jeans.
I found an iPod plugged into a stereo dock, and I took the liberty of scrolling through the albums. I was pleasantly surprised to find some genuinely cool choices— Peter Gabriel, Florence + The Machine, Damien Rice— and ultimately I selected some TV on the Radio. A slow, moody song filled the entire suite from built-in speakers.
After some searching, I’d found the switch to lower the shade over the huge window. There was a dimmer switch in the main living area, so I turned down the lights, then arranged myself on the wide white couch. I wriggled my skirt up a bit and spread my legs, my attention fixed on the door.
I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I couldn’t believe it was actually happening, after six years. After I had given up hope of ever having a sexual experience as satisfying as my night with Leif. Every muscle in my body tensed with anticipation. My breath caught in my chest as my fingers ventured down, under the black lace of my panties. I thought back to my white cotton underpants that night at the Crowne Plaza, and I giggled to myself. If anyone had told me back then that I’d be sex ambushing the man six years later, I wouldn’t have believed I would have the nerve.
I closed my eyes and stroked two fingers down my slit. My hips lifted. I’d been so eager for this moment, now it seemed like my skin was too sensitive to touch. I thought of what Neil would see when he walked in, and remembered the undisguised appreciation in his eyes while he’d watched our hands on my body.
My stomach fluttered with nervous butterflies. What if he was expecting the girl from six years ago, who’d only had sex with fumbling teenage boys? What if he got here and was turned off by my initiative? After all, he’d found my naiveté so endearing the last time we were together.
Oh shut up, I scolded myself. Would you really want to fuck a guy who only wanted you for your sexual inexperience? No, because that would be weird.
I’d made a salient point, I had to concede.
My fingertips circled my clit, and a shaky breath stuttered across my lips. My flesh felt hot and heavy under my hand, and I cupped myself, letting my fingers slip between the folds of my sex.