Fall Into Love (Simone: Part One Naughty Nookie Series) (4 page)

Smiling a little as he accepts my hand and
curls his own fingers about mine, he says, “Oh, just the Kensington
Park.”

I chortle at the use of
the word
just
with the Kensington Park hotel.  There’s no
just
about it!  A
boutique hotel in central Manhattan, it costs a bomb to stay
there.  I only know because Eddie works there as PA to the MD
of the company.

“
Wow, you’ve really made
it, huh?” I mutter with a low whistle.  “I thought all writers
were struggling artists.”

He shrugs and for a moment, looks completely
uncomfortable.  “I’ve done okay, I guess.”

There’s made it, and then
there’s the Kensington Park made it. But rather than argue, when I
know it has to be anything but
okay
to afford those kinds of prices, I let the topic
drop.  I’m not interested in the man’s pockets, more like what
lies between them. 

“
I can’t wait to find one
of your books.  Are you sure you don’t write under a
pseudonym?  Why haven’t I heard of you?”

“
Mustn’t be your kind of
genre,” he murmurs with a shrug and looks away.  The
discomfort I noticed earlier when discussing his work has
reappeared.  I don’t want to give it a chance to fester and
spoil the moment. 

So, I change the subject again and ask, “Do
you want to show me your hotel room?”

“
Ouch,” he mutters with a
grin.  “First base, thanks to my hotel room.  I could be
staying in a cardboard box down in the basement.  Complete
with fleas and mites.  Does that hold the same
appeal?”

Rather than reply, I allow my foot to slip
out of my shoe and slip it between his legs.  “If that’s the
case, I’ll give it a chance.”

His brows lift and his eyes widen as my foot
nudges his cock, rubbing along the length.  I’m surprised at
my own audacity, so it’s no wonder he is.  “Really? Want me,
want my cardboard box?”

Slowly, I nod and let my foot move away.
 The sensitive flesh of the sole tingles with sensory memory
of that hardness against my flesh.  Christ, I’m wet
already.  By the time he does anything in any way sexual with
me, I’ll be a pile of molten goo. 

And you know what? I’m not entirely averse
to that thought.

With his hand still in mine, he stands and
tugs me up and on to my feet.  Before I can do anything, he
pulls out three ten dollar bills from his pocket, places them on
the table underneath a sweating glass of soda, and pulls me out of
the booth before I can do more than squeak in complaint. 

I only get a chance to glare at him, when
we’re outside and sitting in a taxi. 

“
You did it again!” I
whine.  Despite myself, I can’t help it.  I’m
charmed!  Not every southern boy is a gent; just like not
every southern girl is a lady.  Chivalry is a dying trait,
even down south, but still, that Zane had been taught it, gets to
me like wildfire.  Being treated with respect is
thrilling.  After years of marriage to a man who didn’t give a
damn about me or my wants, to come face to face with someone who
does is heady stuff. 

I’ll willingly pay my way. It’s not like I
can afford it, but that doesn’t matter.  I’ll do it. 
Going Dutch, at a minimum, is only fair.  And I’m nothing if
not fair. 

Didn’t I, the only spouse who brought any
income into the household, who paid for everything from eggcups to
a TV set, agree to go halves with all our worldly possessions, when
Dan and I got divorced?  

You can’t say fairer than that, can you?

Either that or I’m a moron.

Could be that makes more sense.

“
I’ll pay for something,”
I promise him, the words a warning. 

He merely smiles.  “How about breakfast
in bed, tomorrow?”  In the shadowed cab of the taxi, I can see
the gleam of his white teeth as his grin widens. “Did that sound as
corny as it sounded to me?”

“
Yeah,” I admit with a
chuckle.  “It did.  But I’ll pay for breakfast in bed;
with pleasure.”

There’s a huge smile on my
face as I turn to look out of the window.  As my head turns,
my eyes are caught by the taxi driver’s in the rear-view
mirror.  It’s only then that I realize the driver is a woman
and that she’s looking at me with an amused, envious,
damn-I-wish-I’d-seen-him-first
look.  My smile merely increases in power
and the strange woman winks at me in congratulations.

That moment of female
camaraderie was most peculiar; but it was confirmation that this
man is a sex god.  And I’m about to have him in my bed.
 Or should I say
his
? Aagh!

New York is as manic as ever, even at two AM
and the drive seems to be taking an age.  There are cars
everywhere.  The exhaust fumes never stop, even in the midst
of a heat wave when the gases feel even weightier, making the
atmosphere as heavy as lead.  And even though it’s early
morning, the temperatures are constricting. 

In the car, with the
windows open, the air is hot and sweaty.  Clammy.  My
dress, my expensive silk dress, has wilted and clings to my
flesh.  I know that the only way I’ll be able to salvage it is
if I have it sent to the dry cleaners.  As soon as I think
that, I reprimand myself,
I’m with the
hottest man I’ve seen in a lifetime.  I shouldn’t be thinking
about the dry cleaners and the bill I can’t
afford. 

With an inner tut, I stop all useless
thought processes and turn to look out of the windshield.
 Spying the Kensington Park straight ahead, I mutter
inconsequentially, “We’re almost there.”

I can’t help the fact that
there’s a gleeful note to my voice.  Any woman in their right
mind would share my satisfaction.  Either that or they’d envy
me! Just as the cabdriver does.  I’ve never been envied
before.  It’s not something I’d want to repeat, but it’s a
pretty cool novelty.  Eventually though, I guess I’d feel
inadequate.  Not up to fulfilling the job as this guy’s
lover.  Even if at this moment, I’d like to take on that role
on a full time basis.  I doubt I’d be enough for
him.

But for one night only...  hell, I’m up
for the ride and I’ll give it my best goddamn shot!

Zane pays for the cab fare and this time, I
let him.  I’ll pay for breakfast tomorrow; even if it comes
close to bankrupting me!  

He helps me out of the car and as we enter
the hotel, he steps aside to allow me to walk through the door
first.  A doorman, dressed in a smart coat, holds it open for
me and allows me to walk into the sumptuous ornateness of the
reception.

The modern austerity of the furniture should
clash with the exaggerated gilt cornices and royal reds and blues
of the decorative palette.  But it doesn’t.  It somehow
manages to look as though the entire hall belongs in a palace,
where past and present are embraced and not engaged in battle.

Even in my expensive silk dress, I’m out of
place here, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the scenery. 
This place shrieks class and I’m nothing more than a
cleaner/housekeeper, trying to survive in the city. 

This is definitely my Cinderella moment.

I just try not to feel inadequate.

Yeah, that’s really working out for me.

After telling me to wait for him, I watch as
Zane strides over to the reception desk to collect his key card. As
he walks toward the receptionist, I take the opportunity to watch
him and his butt.  Yum.  Yum.  Two words but they
say it all. 

I doubt I’m the only woman
in the world to notice how men’s asses no longer fill their
pants.  And I don’t mean the baggy,
round-the-hips-pants-that-show-all-the-underwear
look.  I mean chinos and jeans, for
example.  They’re like empty sacks.  All material and no
filling. 

As the human race evolves, men seem to be
losing something that women are gaining.  

I can attest to that fact. 

My butt is nowhere near as trim as it ought
to be.  Regardless of how many squats I do, or of how much
sweat drips off me as I scrub floors and iron clothes.

Zane, on the other hand,
is going some way to disproving my belief.  That firm gluteus
maximus of his fills his chinos to perfection.  The muscles
roll together in a tight circular motion that has my eyes
mesmerized.  I can’t wait to see it
sans
pants.  I can see the
delineated lines and know from that and the exposed length of his
muscular forearms, where the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up,
how muscled he is. 

He’s the only man I’ve ever met who probably
has an eight-pack. 

Christ, I’m drooling. And
down below, I’m wet. Actually
wet
. I can feel the moisture against
my panties.

I fight the blush because
there’s no one to chide me for sinful thoughts, no one to make me
feel guilty.  My parents aren’t here, they haven’t been a part
of my life for a long time and they can no longer judge me.  I
am who I am.  I’ve made myself into an independent
woman.  I might not be the richest
̶
that’s for damned sure!
̶
but I can pay my bills
and put food on the table.  I’m autonomous. 

If at times, that isn’t
enough.  If it at times I crave more, whatever more might be,
then that’s just the way it is. 

That’s life. 

It will come with time, or it won’t. 
I’m used to disappointment, but not tonight.  Every part of me
is telling me that tonight will more than live up to any
expectations I might have. 

As he returns toward me, key card in hand, I
notice a change in his features.  An intensity, a hunger that
wasn’t there before.  It had only lingered in the very depths
of his eyes; it hadn’t cast a shadow over his entire face. 
Now, however, it has overtaken him and that thrills me to the
bone. 

There’s an austerity to the harsh lines of
his face, from the surprisingly full bottom lip to the taut
firmness of his jaw.  It’s lust.  And I’m more excited
than I’ve ever been. 

The ride up to his room takes place in
silence.  I follow him into the elevator and travel to his
floor without a word being shared between the pair of us.  I
don’t mind.  The time for talking has passed and as thrilled
as I am, as gleeful as I feel, I’m slightly nervous.  
How can I not be?

This man is a dream hunk and I feel like a
teenager calling him that, but it’s the truth.  He is, and I’m
not a match for him at all.  I’m his polar opposite, in fact!
 But I refuse to let nerves get the better of me and continue
to follow in his wake as he moves out of the elevator and toward
his room. 

With no sound at all,
we’re in his suite and it
is
a suite.  Not a single room or a
double.  It’s a suite.  With different rooms.  A
lounge, even!

Either the man has put a
huge notch in his credit card or he can well afford this
place.  He’s obviously quite famous in his circles and I hate
that I’m ignorant of his name.  In this world, knowledge
doesn’t cost a thing and I do my best to keep abreast of current
events.  But this man, this obviously successful writer, has
slipped past my net. 

Damn. 

As soon as the door closes behind us, in
such close quarters, we stand opposite each other in the short
vestibule.  Surrounded by expensive furnishings and antique
furniture, I refuse to feel overwhelmed.  He looks at me, and
I at him.   He swallows and I see the bob of his Adam’s
apple.  I know his eyes are following the heaving thrust of my
breasts and I know my nipples have puckered in welcome.  For a
moment, we just stand there.  In a weird kind of stasis. 
A beat pulses silently through the room, and then comes a
click.  A noiseless click that is somehow connected to the
pair of us. 

Instantly, we’re upon each other.

My fingers are at the buttons of his shirt,
tugging and pulling at them, trying to free his body to my gaze
with maximum speed.  Each inch of bare flesh I lay open to my
eyes, I caress with my fingertips, reveling in the silken touch of
his skin and the harsh, crispy hair that rests there. 

There’s little softness to
the mating of our mouths.  Because in the flurry of frenzied
activity, I’m intent on getting his shirt off and getting to the
good stuff.  By the time I reach his belt and fly, his hands
have gripped my waist and have come up to cup my breasts.  All
the while that I’m clawing at him, trying to devour him, his lips
are on mine.  His mouth suckles, while his tongue and teeth
tug, pull, curl, and rub.  Tomorrow, I know my lips will be as
bruised as hell.

Bring it on.

His kiss is a full frontal attack and I’m
more than ready to surrender. 

The instant he thrusts, I parry by opening
my mouth to accept his tongue.  Mine curls about his,
suckling, teasing. Inciting.  I feel as though we’re almost
eating each other with our intensity and I’m slowly reaching the
point where I can’t think at all.  The physical begins to take
precedence over the emotional.  Over the sensible, even.

With his shirt stripped off and his belt
unfastened, my hands reach down to grip his cock.  The minute
I touch bare flesh, I groan against his mouth, realizing he isn’t
wearing underwear.  His slight chuckle seems to reverberate
against my lips and vibrate through my body.  My hands pull
away and tug at my skirt, lifting it and dragging it over my thighs
toward my waist, uncaring if the fabric is forever creased. 
This is worth it.  This kiss.  This simple kiss is more
passion than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.  It’s consuming
me in its fire and I’m a willing victim to its power.