She: Part 2 (2 page)

“Shouldn’t you see a doctor if it’s been
all
day?” I ask, making him laugh. The sound of it enchants me; I’d happily spend my life drinking it in.

He shakes his head. “No, I just need to offload. Maybe a few times,” he says, his eyes wandering over my body, making me tense in sexual expectation. “And speaking of offloading, Miss. No-Name, if your
boyfriend
is working in your room, then I guess we’ll have to go to mine…” he lets his invitation trail off into a myriad of pleasurable possibilities. “Is
that
forward enough for you?” he adds.

I smile and nod in response. “Which floor are you on?”

“The top. Obviously,” he says arrogantly, making my smile broaden.

“Me too,” I tell him. “We’re probably neighbours.”

“Probably,” he grins.

It takes me a moment to realise that the bartender is lingering awkwardly in front of me. He’s looking from me to my soon-to-be-one-night-stand and back again, evidently knowing that we’re picking each other up. I flush crimson.
Argh
! I don’t want him to think I’m a harlot!
How embarrassing
, my mind screams.

Seeing that he’s finally caught my attention, the bartender asks if my drink is alright. I tell him it’s delicious, and then request that he charges it to my room. When I give him the room number a smiles comes across his face, and suddenly I realise…he knows the game we’re playing.

Ignoring this interruption to said game, I ask the stranger next to me, “So, uh, what do you do?” I pick up my glass, and raise it slowly to my waiting, wanton mouth.

“I’m an interior designer,” he tells me.

I splutter into my drink. “
Really
?” I giggle, and he nods. “Are you any good?”

“I’ve been told I am,” he smiles, and then adds, “Oh, you were talking about interior design?”

I laugh at his innuendo. “I was,” I say. “I used to do that myself.”

“And what do you do now?” he enquires.

“Now I work in construction. I own my own company. I’m a pretty big deal,” I say smugly.

He smiles at me and the sexual tension in our bubble builds. His hand on my knee tightens its grip. “So, Miss. No-Name, who works in construction, tell me…do you often cheat on your boyfriend with strangers in hotel bars?” he asks me.

I consider: does this fictitious part of me pick up strangers regularly? I shake my head. “Tonight will be a first,” I tell him. “You’d better make it worth it,” I grin.

Another delectable smile spreads across his face, and he doesn’t miss a beat, declaring, “Oh, I will.”

I don’t doubt him. I never have, I never will. Another pang of longing courses through me.
Jeez
, I want his hands all over me, and I can’t wait until they are.

Our eyes pour into one another’s and the intensity of his — along with the x-rated images of us currently invading my imagination — result in me almost being pushed over the edge.

I ask myself for the hundredth time: how does he do this to me? How does he turn me on just by looking at me; how does he make me feel so loved and wanted
just
by looking at me? Then I remind myself, once more, that I’m supposed to be pretending he’s a stranger.

Fuck it
, I think. My impatience wins out, and I down the rest of my drink in one. No more seductive sipping. I’m already seduced — big time — and I know he is too.

“Will you show me your room now?” I ask him quickly.

His smile widens, predictably. I smile back at him.

“Forward
and
impatient,” he notes.

“I have a schedule to keep to,” I joke, in a rather business-like manner.

He chuckles, and then reveals, “Ah, but I plan on keeping you
occupied
for a
long
time.”

Hmm
, he wants to occupy me? I smile again. “I’m sure I can fit you in,” I say, and then I blanch and pull a face.
Eww
, that didn’t sound right!

He laughs at my freudian slip, then he too finishes his drink, looking at me hungrily. “Shall we?”

I nod, my tummy filling with nerves again. I want to roll my eyes at myself —
seriously
,
Gem
,
nerves
? Why, I wonder. Perhaps it’s because tonight, in a new place, under the guise of being strangers, things feel different — it feels like our first time all over again. I stand and brush past him as I leave the bar. I walk ahead of him through the crowd, and despite the number of people around me, he’s the only one I concentrate one. I can feel him several steps behind me, and I know his eyes are on my back.

In the lobby he follows me towards the elevator, but just before I reach it I turn away and make for the stairwell instead. Behind me he chuckles, and I take my short head start into the stairwell to increase the distance between us by hurrying up the first flight of stairs. Then I slow down, letting him make up the distance, and relishing in the feeling of him approaching me. I don’t look around, and no words pass between us. Everything is unspoken. The electricity between us is palpable.

At the top of the stairs we step out into the top floor landing. I let him overtake me so that he can open the door to his room. His hands work quickly to pull out his keycard. I wrap my arms around his stomach and tuck my chin onto his shoulder.

I whisper into his ear, “Hurry, stranger.”

He smiles, and then I hear the satisfying peep as the keycard is accepted and the door is unlocked. He opens it and walks inside, holding it open for me to follow him. I walk into the stunning suite, ignoring my own clothes and bags strewn everywhere. I turn to face my one-night-stand and less than a second later, he’s on me.
Who’s impatient now
, I smile against his mouth. His lips crush mine, and once again I can taste the whiskey on his tongue. It’s a delicious, heady kiss.

“Aren’t you going to show me around?” I say breathlessly, pulling away from him, teasing him further.

“I suspect it’s the same as the suite you’re sharing with your
boyfriend
,” he replies, eagerly leaning in to kiss me once more.

Oh, I
love
it when I’ve got him this riled up! He can’t keep his hands off of me, I note happily. They’re tangled in my long, brown hair, before they trail gently over my face, to my neck, slowly along shoulders, and then down the sides of my body, caressing as they go.

Readily we begin moving to the bedroom, me pulling him, him pushing me. When the bed is flush against my legs, I let my body fall effortlessly onto the soft mattress, and he is quick to follow me down. Together we shuffle up the bed, both of us becoming more and more impatient. I can feel it from him as much as I can feel it in myself. My head finally reaches the pillow and then his lips find mine once more. His tongue invades my mouth, brushing against my own; it’s a kiss infused with carnal longing. As if to confirm this, one of his hands runs greedily up my thigh, forcing my dress to rise, and with my legs free from their containment, I am able to wrap them around his back as he pushes his crotch firmly against mine. I can feel him hard against me, provoking me in just the right place.
Ah
, yes!
More of that
, my mind pleads.

“Pick a number between one and ten,” he murmurs.

“One,” I whisper back.

“Higher,” he requests.

“Two,” I grin.

“
Higher
,” he demands with a sexy smile.

I roll my eyes playfully. “Six?” Is that permissible, I wonder.

His smile widens. “Six it is,” he says, kissing me again with no further explanation.

“Six what?”

“Orgasms,” he mumbles into my mouth.

“I, uh, change my answer to ten,” I tell him, giggling.

“Ten it is.”

Ten?
Yeah right
, my mind scoffs…
Yes
,
please
, my body screams.

“I hope your boyfriend won’t mind if I keep you all night,” he says, before sucking on my bottom lip.

Oh,
jeez
, he’s going to overthrow me soon. “Speaking of my boyfriend,” I say, my breathing rapid, “this is starting to remind me of something he and I did last weekend.” I ponder last Saturday night with glee.

My words make him chuckle. “Is it now?”

“Yes,” I smile. “But then he had a surgery, and we agreed that this weekend we’d
relax
…”

His laughter increases as he says, “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not him then, isn’t it?”

There’s no use in arguing with him, I know it. Before I can even think to begin protesting, I give up. I smile back at him and we resume our make out session as he continues to press his hard member against my aroused sex. Ah,
sweet friction
! He’s never made me come with my clothes
on
before, has he?

You don’t know him
,
Gem
, remember? But this game of ours is getting too hard to play. Much too hard — just like him. He rubs against me again and I can’t keep from moaning.

“I want you naked,” I demand.

He smiles against my cheek, and then devours my neck with kisses, his pelvis still working against mine, ignoring my request completely. Not that I care, I note, pushed right to the verge. My arms are wrapped around his neck, my fingers digging into his scalp.

“Oh,
Logan
!” I whimper…and I freeze. A long, silent moment passes. “
Fuck it
!” I exclaim. Suddenly I’m cooled right down. I lost the damn bet.
Shit
!

Logan laughs happily. “I
knew
you’d break character first,” he celebrates. “I’ve just won a hundred euros,” he beams at me.

Whose idea was it to wager a ridiculous
one hundred
euros? Oh, yes, it was mine! I nod reluctantly. But I’m petulant, and a bad loser, as I say, “Your tactics were un-sportsmanly. All that crotch-rubbing, and orgasm talk…how’s a girl supposed to compete with that?”

“
Me
un-sportsmanly?” he says incredulously, leaning up on his hands and staring down at me with wide eyes. He looks utterly adorable. “What about you bad-mouthing my girlfriend?” he asks and I start to giggle. “You knew that bitch comment would throw me.”

“All is fair in love and war,” I finally concede. “Good game, baby,” I congratulate him.

“It really was,” he says, lying on me again, his hand sliding up and down my thigh once more. “So, do you always French kiss strangers, Gemima?” he grins, teasing me.

“‘I like cops’, Logan?” I tease back.

He chuckles, enjoying our banter. “I doubt such words were uttered in Tender Is The Night,” he rightly muses.

Mentioning my favourite novel by my favourite author, F. Scott. Fitzgerald, distracts me from our little bet and reminds gratefully of why Logan brought me here, to the Hotel Beaux Rêves — the supposed scene of inspiration for the book. Oh, he’s so thoughtful, so generous, so romantic! This weekend is going to be amazing, I just know it.

A dorky smile spreads across my face. “The Fitzgerald Bar is
amazing
!” I squeal, wiggling excitedly underneath him.

“I thought you might like it,” he looks rather pleased with himself — rightly so. Then he quips, “Fitzgerald had a bar named for him, but you got a whole hotel.”

“Hotel Forty-Nine,” I sigh happily. It’s only been a few hours since
that
revelation totally stunned me. Perhaps the hotel in Tokyo, which Logan named in my honour, will be the destination of our next trip away together? I look up at him, adoring him entirely. “Thank you, Logan,” I say for the millionth time tonight. “This evening has been a whirlwind. Completely surreal, completely perfect,” I tell him.

Fan-girling doesn’t even begin to cover it. I was beside myself with excitement when we arrived at Beaux Rêves and were subsequently shown to our suite. Being an interior designer whose favourite design era happens to be art-deco, I spent the first fifteen minutes taking pictures of
everything
, even the lampshades. Then I practically combusted with overwhelm when Logan unveiled the two nineteen-twenties dresses that he had Mercy buy for me last week, and the matching outfits he had her buy for himself. Taking the shorter of the two dresses, I stripped on the spot, much to Logan’s enjoyment, and revelled in how fucking cool I felt wearing this dress,
here
. I’ve never been so spoilt in my life!

I’m not sure what then came over me, but a few moments later, while Logan was getting changed for dinner in the bathroom, I manically collected up all of the hotel’s embossed stationary and hid it in my bag. My guilty conscience got the better of me, however, and I tried my best to appear innocent as I questioned Logan (a hotelier himself) about the legality of taking my stash of goodies. Once he stopped laughing at my antics, he gave me the all clear and so I spent our short journey down to the dining room looking for other suitable souvenirs, my brain feeling somewhat stressed by the amount of crazy coursing through me. I’ve never been so excited before in my life, not even when I went to Disney World as a child.

I relaxed during dinner in the Le Rêveur restaurant, partly because of the calming atmosphere and partly because of Logan’s foot nestled snugly between my thighs, hidden to everyone thanks to the floor length table cloths, issuing a very slow, sensual windup. Our dining experience was decadent, delicious and offered a glimpse into the hotel’s charm, the rest of which I am impatiently waiting until morning to uncover. Right now, there’s something else I want uncovered.

Logan kisses me slowly, deeply, before saying, “Anything for you.”

“Anything?” I raise an eyebrow.

My simple question lights a fire in Logan’s eyes. He nods, looking supremely turned on.

“I still want you naked,” I whisper against his lips. I smile as I add, “I’ll bet you double or nothing that I can get naked faster than you.”

His eyes narrow as he considers my offer. He’s got considerably more clothes to rid himself of than I have, but apparently he’s got a speedy trick up his sleeve because he smiles back at me and says, “Get ready to pay out, baby.”

“Oh,
please
,” I scoff, “I’m
so
going to win this time.”

He shifts his position, straddling me instead of lying between my legs. He’s got his game-face back on, his eyes are intense, he looks so attractive it’s distracting. “You seem pretty confident, Samuels.”