Chapter 7

7

L IZ

"So, what happened?" he asks as I pull up my thong and shrug on my jacket.

I lift my gaze and catch him looking at me in the mirror.

He lifts his stare from the apex of my thighs, straightening his tie knot.

He looks dashing with his suit pants, sleek belt, tailored dress shirt, and sparkling eyes.

His stare digs holes into my face.

"Elizabeth?"

I like how he says my name. Elizabeth. It's like we're married.

He's my husband, and right now, I owe him an explanation.

I'm rarely called my full name.

My whole life I've been called Liz, Lizzy, even Izzy, or Easy when Chloe jokes about my girlish ways of handling things.

Whenever someone called me Elizabeth, it was about handling some official business, and it usually sounded bland and dull. It's not the case with him.

He calls me Elizabeth as if this new Elizabeth is a sophisticated woman with opinions, moods, and a phenomenal inner life that would put to shame her real life.

Every time he calls me that, I feel like a royal.

A grown-up woman who has her shit together and control over her feelings and can live her best life whenever she wants to.

I like him when he calls me that.

My fictional husband, David.

"Baby…" he says, aware of my fleeting moment of distraction.

My musings come to an end.

Calling me ‘baby' in that tender, slightly raspy voice makes my knees soften and my body crave him again.

He turns around and studies my face.

"I'm sorry, what were we talking about?" I ask, having a memory lapse.

He stops in front of me, searches my eyes and runs his fingers through my hair before placing them on my neck.

"Why didn't you use my driver?" he asks.

"Oh… That."

I give him the entire story, and he listens attentively, his eyes melting into mine.

Having him so close to me feels so good. Too good, to be honest.The story I relay to him goes on forever while I try to process why it feels so good.

It may be because, as trivial as my story is, he gives me his full attention, which is new to me.

People are usually distracted––I'm guilty of that quite often––and finding someone––a stranger, above all, a man I just had sex with––to listen to me the way he does right now is exceptional.

Out of the ordinary.

His presence is no longer overwhelming. It's soothing and comforting. And it dawns on me it's something I have missed.

"Can I get your phone?" he says when I'm done.

I shove my hand into my pocket and hand him my phone, unlocked.

"This is my driver's phone number," he says, adding a new contact to my address book. "Call him whenever you need him. Even when I'm not around. He'll take you home or school or wherever you need to go. All right?"

He gives me my phone back and I close my hand around it.

"Yes. Thank you," I say quietly.

"Good."

"Ready to go?" he asks.

"Yes. Yes, I am."

Neither of us moves.

His eyes narrow at me, slightly contemplative, as he moves his thumb along my jawline.

He thinks about something for a few seconds before regaining his focus.

"I'll see you at the wedding rehearsal, yeah?"

I nod.

"Okay," he says in a different voice, snapping out of that moment.

He lowers his mouth to me and kisses my cheek.

This is his way of disconnecting from me and resetting everything.

"I'll take you home," he says, breaking away from me and returning to the bedroom to pick up his jacket.

I follow him, trying not to feel for him more than I should. And I'm doing my best without claiming I'm an expert at controlling my feelings.

That doesn't mean I can't get my fill of him.

His back is turned to me as he ensures his suit jacket falls smoothly over his frame, and I can study everything I like about him.

He is handsome, and he is funny when he wants to.

He's a sex god in bed, but that has already been established and highly publicized.

His confidence makes my feminine energy surface with fierceness, like a volcano. And it's the first time I'm experiencing this.

With him, I'm all set. Unafraid. Sure of who I am.

It will probably only last a moment, but I'll take it anyway.

There are boundaries in place, warnings, and limitations, but even so, sampling that feeling is fantastic.

Enough swooning over him.

He turns around to face me and finds me with a bland smile on my face, my hands tucked in my pockets, my shoulders pulled back, and my chin tilted slightly in a dare.

Surprise glistens in his eyes.

He likes this woman as much as he likes the woman covered in sweat with her legs wrapped around him.

A soft smile tugs at his lips when he gestures to the door.

"After you," he says.

Without a word, I spin around and strut to the exit, his stare burning holes into my back.

"Aren't you cold?" he asks.

I glance over my shoulder, and he flicks his finger to my bare legs.

"I'm used to doing this," I toss at him, smiling.

He laughs behind me while I step out and wait for him to exit his hotel suite.

Our eyes connect while he closes the door.

Pressing my shoulder into the wall, I hold his gaze.

"I like your sense of humor," he says, showing me down the corridor, yet not moving.

I stare straight into his eyes.

"I'm not joking. I'm doing this all the time," I murmur, my gaze going to his lips and then his eyes.

"You are?" he says, aware of my game. "And what exactly are you doing?" he asks, a crooked smile tilting his lips.

"Going out at night, wearing almost nothing underneath, and meeting handsome billionaires like you in a hotel for hot sex," I say quietly.

Amusement floods his eyes.

"Billionaires? As in more than one?"

"Yeah… I know many billionaires," I say daringly, and he chuckles silently.

His eyes go down as he ponders something.

"Did they pay you for sex?"

"Some do. But sometimes…"

He looks at me, slowly running the edge of his teeth over his bottom lip.

"Yes?"

"Sometimes I run a special…" I say. "And I let them eat me out for free."

He bites his lip hard, unable to crush his grin.

"Good play, beautiful redhead…" he says, discreetly adjusting his package.

"What else do you do for free?"

"I add free bonuses all the time, like, um… They can stop by my house in the middle of the night and flash their headlights, and I walk out wearing only a flimsy robe and slippers to give them a blow job in the comfort of their cars."

His eyes laugh, his lip locked under his teeth.

"Go on."

"I can do that on campus as well. At the end of the school day or during the day, if I'm on a break and their cars have tinted windows. But if they stop by at my place, I'll suck them off––naked. They like it a lot when I undo their flies and pull out their throbbing erections––''

"Okay, enough," he says, laughing and grabbing my elbow to nudge me away from his hotel suite.

"Would you be interested in something like that, sir?" I ask facetiously, walking with him down the hallway.

"I'll think about it," he says,tapping the elevator button.

His hand is still on me.

"You're my favorite client," I add, studying his profile.

He shoots me a side-eyed glance before the doors ding and slide open.

"Well, then… You'll need to prove that to me if you want me to believe you," he rasps while I step in, and his fist hits the button to keep the doors open so the elevator doesn't move.

His move pulls me out of my play. My smile melts off my face, my lips open.

"Are you serious?" I ask, peeking out from the elevator.

The corridor is silent, but what if someone comes this way.

"Get on your knees. No one will see you."

"David?"

"Get on your knees, Elizabeth," he says softly, and my mouth waters at the thought that I'd be sucking on him soon.

I pull my hands out of my pockets, untie my belt, and let my jacket slide to the floor.

He wedges his foot between the doors so they stay open without pressing the button, his back blocking the sight of anyone who might walk down the corridor.

"It will ring."

"It won't," he says.

"Let's do it, baby. I want to come in your mouth."

He grabs my chin, brings my lips to him, and sucks the breath out of me with his sensual kiss before pushing me down without finesse.

He undoes his buckle while I pull his zipper down and take him out. He's hard like concrete.

"Man…" I murmur, running my hands down, stroking him.

His skin is smooth.

He watches me while I palm his balls, cuff his hard flesh, and run my tongue up until I reach the tip of his erection.

Half of it goes into my mouth when my eyes briefly close.

I swear I didn't plan for any of this.

I thought it was a cute game. Talking dirty to him.

My muse finally showed up to do her job.

I was making stuff up on the fly. I was just being creative.

He inspired me to say all that.

See how this works, and now I'm on my knees, virtually naked with his hard-on in my mouth, licking and sucking on it, running my tongue around the chiseled tip like my entire literary career depends on that.

The smell of sex and male cologne triggers me in the best way possible, making me horny, needy, and famished for his hardness.

I open my eyes and stare up at him.

He is entirely focused on me doing my job. A blow job, that is.

Even with him blocking the door, someone might see me or at least figure out what I am doing since I'm on my knees, with my head bobbing and my lips glued to his hard length.

He moves his hand to the back of my head and tilts his hips so I can take more of him.

Almost gagging, I suck him with so much pleasure and dedication he starts to rock his hips.

Faster and faster.

Getting so stiff that I choke on him.

"Don't stop. You're doing it good."

His encouragement makes me move my hand with my head, and it only takes a few more seconds before he blasts his load in my throat and comes, grunting with pleasure.

His grip hardens on the back of my head, and my eyes water, and I'm positively sure someone just walked past the elevator without stopping.

Details we have no time to think about.

His grip softens, and he slowly pulls out of my mouth and looks down with unfocused eyes.

A smile clings to his lips.

"You're good at this," he says and coming from him feels like a prize.

He gives me a soft wink while tucking himself back into his fancy pants and reaching inside his jacket for a handkerchief.

Slowly he wipes my mouth clean, his eyes locked with mine.

"Think about what I said to you, baby. We can have so much fun together."

His smile makes a pull tighten in my abdomen and my heart clench.

I'm a bit high on the hormones in my bloodstream.

His voice is sexy while he slowly fucks me with his eyes.

Gripping my chin, he gently pulls me up.

A creamy bead rolls down my chin. Using his thumb, he smears it all the way down to my chest and rubs an already hard nipple. I smell like his release, and I want my breasts in his hands and his frame atop mine.

The more we're doing this, the more I want it.

He seals the astonishment on my face with a tongue kiss, and now I want his hand between my legs so I can experience the relief I crave.

"We need to go," he murmurs against my lips. "The pay is good, by the way. You won't regret it."

His thumb moves over my lips. They bear no lipstick anymore.

And then he looks down one more time and takes me in.

"Beautiful woman," he says, as if only to himself while studying my body.

He picks up my jacket and helps me put it on.

I button it up and tie the belt when he slides his hankie back into his pocket.

"Can I keep it?" I say, my voice no longer a tease, a shred of soberness woven in it.

"My handkerchief?" he asks, surprised.

"Yes. I'd like to keep it if you don't mind."

His hesitation is brief.

"Sure."

He slides his hand back into his jacket, retrieves his handkerchief, and gives it to me.

I take it, bury my nose in it, inhale the smell of sex and cologne, and shove it into my pocket.

Once I'm done, he releases the doors and presses the button.

The doors close over our silence, and moments later, we reach the first floor.

At this point, we look like two people who have just shared an elevator ride.

The doors open, and he chivalrously invites me out as if I didn't suck him off moments ago.

"We won't be able to talk much tomorrow evening," he says casually. "Everybody will be there."

"I know," I say curtly.

Our steps echo across the marble floor.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice his stare.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Yes. I'm fine."

The clamor of the lobby travels to us.

"Maybe we should walk separately," I suggest in the same bland tone.

I flick my eyes to him and notice a shred of concern in his gaze.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes. I am."

He says nothing, but my voice has gone up a little, suggesting otherwise.

I am okay.

It's that I'm still washed with good hormones.

There are better ways to end a night of amazing sex, like lying in bed, cuddling, or sleeping together.

Not that this is my idea of spending my night with him.

I'm just feeling that way.

"You don't need to take me home. I'll get a cab. Or I'll call your driver," I say flatly.

I'm not angry, just cold.

Practical.

Walking side by side across the lobby before hopping in a car with him is less inconspicuous than I'd like.

Plus, what are we supposed to talk about?

"I need some time for myself," I say seriously, my other persona gone. Whisked away by the lights and voices in the lobby.

No more sexy, sweet, naughty Elizabeth.

I'm checking out like I'm clocking out when leaving work.

His expression changes, and I don't have time to read into it when his phone rings. Just on time.

It's probably someone we both know.

If I were to guess, his expression just reflected some stern curiosity and concern about my sudden change of mood.

But it's not like I'm following a script here.

It's just how I feel.

I'd rather be alone.

He dips his gaze to his phone.

"It's James," he says without further instructions, and he takes the call.

On cue, I walk ahead of him, his steps trailing mine.

We're not walking together––we have a couple of steps between us––but we're still together in some weird kind of way.

The lights roll over me, almost prompting me to lift my hand and shield my eyes.

I suppress my impulse to do that at the last moment, squinting my eyes instead and taking in the few people in the waiting area.

A jazz pianist plays a mellow tune in the back and a woman who looks eerily familiar talks to the doorman.

She casually shifts her eyes away from him, and her expression beams with unbridled enthusiasm.

At first, I suspect she knows me. But why would she?

And why would I know her?

And then I watch her say goodbye to the doorman and head straight to me.

The closer she gets, the more looking at her face jogs my memory.

She holds her hand up, her eyes flying over me.

She's clearly trying to get someone else's attention.

"David?" she says, rushing past me, no indication she has even noticed me.

Uh… Oh.

That's the woman from the club.

I wish I could control my reaction and didn't turn my head to them.

Sadly, I can't.

Without stopping, I glance over my shoulder.

David turns to stone when she inches closer to him.

He holds his finger up to make her go quiet and continues his conversation, his eyes shifting to me.

As our eyes lock, so many thoughts travel between us.

Questions and obvious discomfort.

He doesn't seem pleased that she's here and feels just as ambushed as I feel, although she has no business with me.

His eyes talk to me, quietly telling me the things he's said to me so far are real.

On the other hand, reality puts that to the test, and that woman's presence here makes me question him.

He almost tilts his head in a secret goodbye while listening to James.

She doesn't notice that or the fact that his eyes pull away from mine. A small crater forms in my heart.

But life goes on.

We've made a deal, and we have to respect it.

I flick my hair over my shoulder and walk out of the hotel without looking back.