Junk Mail

by Kendall Ryan

  But Peyton nods, her thick brown ponytail bobbing along. She looks so damn cute and comfy in her oversized denim jacket and leggings. It’s probably the only time this weekend I’ll see her in anything other than pencil skirts and heels, and I’m torn as to which version of her is sexier.

  “Gram will be totally fine. She’s already recovering super well.”

  “That’s good to hear. She’s obviously a very strong woman.”

  Peyton nods again, and I wonder if she’s trying to convince me or herself. “Plus, her boyfriend, Duncan from the senior center, volunteered to play nurse for the weekend.”

  I stifle a chuckle as I flip on my turn signal, veering toward the airport parking garages. Of course Gram has a senior-citizen love interest. I should have known. It figures that some dude over twice my age is getting more consistent action than I am.

  And for the record, that won’t be changing this weekend. It’s going to be a serious test of willpower to keep my hands to myself with Peyton staying in the same hotel as me. There’s so much riding on these pitches this weekend, and it wouldn’t serve either of us well to be distracted. Which is why I took action ahead of time by booking us rooms on different floors, on opposite ends of the hotel. Might as well set myself up for success, right?

  I guess Peyton really can read my thoughts, because just then, she stops nervously twirling her ponytail and asks the question that’s on my mind. “So we’re going to, um, behave ourselves this weekend, right?”

  I nod firmly. “The second we step onto that plane, we’re on a business trip. I want your product launch to run smoothly, so yes, it will be one hundred percent business. No shenanigans. I promise I’ll behave myself this weekend.” Then I give her a sideways glance. “Will you?”

  “Yes, of course I will,” she says, answering almost too quickly. “Nothing but my best behavior all weekend.”

  I have to wonder if she’s talking to me or to herself. Either way, it doesn’t matter. I’m just glad we’re both on the same page. It’s the only choice.

  Parking is no problem in the enormous airport lot. Security, on the other hand, is an absolute beast and a half. Somehow, the famously slow TSA line is moving at a pace that would make a snail look like an Olympic track star. When we finally get to our gate and meet up with the guys, the sigh of relief that comes out of Brody is almost loud enough to drown out the sound of planes taking off.

  “Holy fuck, I thought you were going to miss the flight.”

  Toby clears his throat and tilts his head toward Peyton. “Language, Brody!”

  “Oh. I mean holy crap,” Brody says. “I mean holy . . . sorry, pardon my French, Peyton.”

  Peyton snickers, waving off Brody’s apology. “I don’t give a shit.”

  That gets a collective laugh from the group and takes the tension out of our shoulders, thank God. We don’t need to bring any extra anxiety into what’s already going to be a stressful trip. And not to make it a competition, but it’s going to be a little extra stressful for the guy trying to keep his libido on lockdown.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you,” Brody says to Peyton, extending his hand.

  I forgot that they haven’t actually met in person, only via phone call.

  As we line up to board the plane, I flip the switch in my head to go into full business mode. No more scoping out Peyton’s curves in my peripheral vision, or wondering if I could get her off through those leggings. I need to use this hour-and-a-half flight to check my sex drive at the gate and focus on what’s ahead of me.

  Unfortunately, what’s ahead of me is my seat on the plane. And who is seated right next to me? None other than the world’s sexiest travel companion.

  Damn. I’m not sure if that’s luck or some type of cosmic punishment.

  I help Peyton stow her bright pink carry-on suitcase in the overhead bin, and she shimmies into the window seat.

  Don’t look at her ass, dude. Don’t look at her ass.

  Shit. I looked at her ass.

  I slide into my own seat and clear my throat. As I focus on fastening my seat belt, I can’t help but notice that Peyton looks slightly nervous.

  “You okay?” I ask, gazing at her with concern.

  She presses her lips into a line and fumbles with her seat-belt latch. “This is probably a bad time to tell you, but I hate flying.”

  I take the seat belt from her trembling hands and fasten it, tightening the belt around her trim hips. “Which part bothers you? The takeoff? The landing?”

  She smiles. “Um, all of it. The claustrophobic feeling of being locked in this flying deathtrap. The recycled air that makes me want to gag. The way my stomach jumps when we lift into the air.”

  I nod and press my hand over hers, which is gripping the armrest in a death-like grip. “Lucky for you I’m here, then. I have the perfect way to distract you from your fears.”

  “You do?” she asks, her wide eyes looking hopefully up at mine.

  “I sure do. It’s called a vodka tonic and a lively hand of rummy.” I gesture for the flight attendant and pull a deck of cards out of my bag. “Are you game, or what?”

  Peyton smiles. “My hero.”

  • • •

  “The same room as usual, Mr. Hanson?”

  With the number of trips I’ve made upstate, both for work and family, I’m damn near a regular at this hotel. I’m not sure if I’m proud or embarrassed that the front-desk ladies and I know each other by name.

  “Same as usual, Pam. Thank you.” I shoot her a grateful smile as I accept my keycard.

  The team agreed to take a quick breather at the hotel before heading out for a working dinner. And after that flight, trying to share the armrest with Peyton while simultaneously fighting against the pressure building behind my zipper, I’m going to need a cold shower before I do anything work-related. Hopefully it will help get me in the right head space.

  When I hit the elevator call button, I quickly realize that plan is going out the door. The elevator dings and slides open to reveal a very worried-looking Peyton, gnawing on her lower lip. She was the first one to check in and ventured off to her room a few minutes ago.

  “Oh! Hi, again!” Her blue eyes widen as they lock with mine.

  “Hi, yourself. Is everything okay?”

  I move out of the way to let her off the elevator, but she doesn’t move an inch. She just keeps biting that lower lip in a way that, frankly, I’ve been dying to do again since the second we stepped out of that coat closet two weeks ago.

  “Um, actually, no. It’s not really okay.” She pauses, and I stick out an arm to keep the elevator door from closing. “I was on my way to the front desk because there’s sort of a problem with my room.” Her gaze is cast downward, as if the elevator carpet were suddenly the most interesting thing on the planet.

  “Sort of a problem? What qualifies as sort of a problem?”

  A nervous giggle slips from her lips. “Okay, not sort of a problem. A problem. But it’s fine. I’m sure the woman at the desk can help me.” She gestures toward the front desk, but cringes when she sees the huge line of people waiting to check in.

  “They look pretty swamped. How about I just come check it out?”

  I pause, trying to gauge Peyton’s reaction. She knows as well as I do that the two of us shouldn’t be alone together in a hotel room . . . with a bed, or a closet, or really any confined space away from prying eyes. But I’m not trying to pull anything. I’m just trying to help.

  She must sense that, because moments later, we’re both in the elevator, headed for her floor so I can scope out whatever sort of problem has Peyton so on edge. I’m assuming a questionable stain on the comforter or a broken TV that’s stuck on the adult channel.

  Nope. Much worse.

  It was a massive understatement for Peyton to say that there’s a problem with this room. There are problems. Multiple. As in maybe a few dozen. One window is stuck open, letting the chilly fall air blow in, and the whole place reeks of mold
. And that’s just my first impression. Between the unmade bed and the towels on the floor, this looks like a room that the cleaning crew forgot . . . for months.

  “Holy shit, Peyton. I’m so sorry. I’ve stayed at this hotel dozens of times and never had an issue.”

  Scrubbing my hands through my hair, I assess the damage. Even if we get the hotel staff to clean up this dump, there’s no immediate fix for the broken window or the mold issue.

  I sit on hold with the front desk for ten minutes before getting the info I was afraid of. As the huge line at the front desk suggested, they’re all booked up for the night. They’re willing to deep clean the place while we’re at dinner, but switching Peyton’s room isn’t a possibility. I’m frustrated as fuck, but I still manage the politest thank you that I can before hanging up and pocketing my phone.

  “Any luck?”

  Peyton’s voice is so sweet and hopeful that it nearly kills me to break the news that we’re shit out of luck. I’ve got to do something to make this right. As much as I don’t want to sleep in a cold, moldy room, it’s looking like my best option.

  I slide my keycard out of my front pocket and hold it out to Peyton. “Here. Take my room. Top floor, end of the hall. Room 1875.”

  She scrunches her brow at me and folds her arms over her chest. Damn, is she seriously going to be stubborn about this?

  “What? No way.”

  “Come on, Peyton. I’m the one who booked this hotel. I can’t let you sleep here in these conditions. Especially not since you’ll be pitching to store managers all day tomorrow. I need you well rested.”

  I nod at the keycard again, urging her to take it. When she finally does, a soft, sweet smile spreads across her lips.

  “Thank you,” she whispers. “You’re too good to me.”

  Her words hit me straight in the chest. Given the chance, I could be really, really good to her. But we agreed to be on our best behavior, and I’m going to do everything I can to stick to my word.

  • • •

  Dinner consists of plenty of business strategizing accompanied by plenty of wine. When in Rome, right? It’s Peyton’s first time to wine country, despite having lived in New York her whole life, and it would be a sin not to treat her to the fruits of the region.

  If this trip were for pleasure instead of business, I’d be showing her all the best wineries, waiting for her reaction as the finest cabernet hit her tongue for the first time. Instead, the four of us are in a mid-level bistro across the street from the hotel, putting sauv blanc on Brody’s corporate card while going over meeting notes. Not ideal, but I’ll take what I can get.

  “I’m not sure if I said thank you already,” Peyton says softly, leaning in to speak just to me. “But what you did for me on the plane was really kind.”

  “It was nothing. I was happy to help.” We played a couple of hands of cards and enjoyed a stiff cocktail together. It’s hard to be stressed out when you’re having fun.

  “Well, I appreciated it. It was probably the most relaxed I’ve ever felt on a plane.”

  “Noted. On the way back, I can teach you spades. It’s one of my favorite card games.”

  She laughs and swirls the wine in her glass. “That sounds like a plan.”

  “How are you feeling about tomorrow?” I ask, and glance at Brody and Toby. “Do you want to run through everything again?”

  “That’d be great.”

  After a few glasses, a few entrées, and enough corporate talk to make any sane person’s head explode, we all call it a night and head back to the hotel. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow. Although I doubt I’ll be sleeping too well in my chilly, moldy room. Looks like I’ll be powered entirely by caffeine tomorrow, but it’s worth it to be sure Peyton is safe and comfortable.

  Brody and Toby join the group ahead of us stepping into the hotel elevator, leaving enough room for a toddler or two in the cramped space. Brody gives us an apologetic wave, mouthing sorry before the doors close and we have to wait for another open elevator.

  I’ve still got most of a wine buzz going by the time we step into the next open elevator, so I’m sure it’s the sauv blanc going to my head when I notice Peyton giving me a familiar look. It’s the look I saw glistening in her eyes through the dark of the hotel coat closet last week. And it’s certainly not the kind of look that says I’m on my best behavior. It’s a look that screams come and get a taste.

  But I’ve got to be imagining it? Right? So then why is she biting that lower lip, making me want nothing more than to come over there and bite it for her?

  Fuck it. Brody and Toby are in their rooms for the night. And I’ve got liquid courage on my side. Why not test the waters?

  The elevator stops at my floor and I look straight at Peyton, keeping my eyes locked with hers as the doors open, then shut. I don’t get off. “Let me walk you to your room to make sure you get in safe.”

  She nods.

  When we get off on her floor, I follow her down the hall, trying to keep my expectations in check. Just because we’re attracted to each other, just because we’ve flirted and talked and laughed all day, it doesn’t mean she’s going to invite me into her room. Well, technically, my room.

  When we reach her room, we stop in front of the door, and I wait while she fishes the keycard out of her purse and swipes it against the sensor by the doorknob. Then she pushes open the door but doesn’t go inside. My heartbeat increases steadily.

  “Are you coming in with me?” There’s that hope in her voice again. It’s so fucking cute.

  “I don’t know. Am I?”

  It’s an honest question. I know I’m breaking our agreement here, and I don’t want to push this an inch further than she wants it to go. So, I’m following her lead, and it looks like she’s leading me straight into her bed.

  We hardly make it three steps into the hotel room before crashing into each other.

  My mouth finds hers so naturally, sucking and biting at her lower lip as her hands explore the muscles of my chest and shoulders. She tastes like wine and honey and autumn, just how I remember. It’s my new favorite flavor. When her hands hit the button of my jeans, my inhale is so sharp that Peyton hesitates.

  “Is this okay?” she asks, pulling back from our kiss.

  “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” I can’t help but smile. “I mean, there’s not much here that you haven’t already seen.”

  A wicked flame lights up Peyton’s eyes. “Oh, I remember,” she coos, wetting her lips. “But I’ve been dying to know if pictures do you justice.”

  Next thing I know, that gorgeous, honey mouth I was tasting moments ago is trailing kisses down my abs until her lips are pressed against the button of my jeans. She carefully pops the button open as she sinks to her knees, pulling my pants and boxers to the floor and freeing my erection.

  She’s quiet for a moment, sizing me up and admiring her prize. Well, she looks at it like it’s a prize, but I’m the one who feels like the biggest goddamned winner in the world. I’ve never had a woman just admire me like this before, and it’s making me harder by the second.

  Finally, she breaks her silence with one little syllable. “Yep,” she whispers as she runs her palm along my shaft. “Verified to be way better in person.”

  And without another word, she parts her lips and claims me.

  Jesus fucking Christ. Her mouth feels like heaven.

  “Fuck, Peyton. That’s so good.” I can hardly get the words out between groans. Damn, this girl is good. Better than good. Un-fucking-believable.

  She looks up at me with those big blue eyes and I’m gone, totally lost in her.

  I rock my hips in time with her rhythm and she takes me deeper, swallowing my whole length down her throat. Just as I feel myself building to a climax, she slows down and takes me out of her mouth to work me over with her tongue, tasting every inch, all the way to the sensitive tip.

  A groan rumbles in my chest as I shudder against her tongue, and just when I don’t t
hink I can take another second, she takes me in her mouth again, sending me hurtling toward the edge.

  “Fuck. Gonna come now.”

  I grip her ponytail in my fist, a last-ditch effort to hang on for another second, but it’s no use. I moan and free-fall over the edge, pouring into her until I’m left drained and spent and awestruck.

  “Holy shit, Peyton.” I cup her chin in my hand as she smiles up at me. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I know,” she says mischievously as I help her to her feet. “But I wanted to.”

  Once my boxers and pants have been returned to their rightful place on my hips, I pull Peyton flush against me and press a gentle, thankful kiss against her mouth.

  “I really, really appreciate it. You’re amazing. Just know that normally I don’t let a woman make me come until I’ve given her at least one solid orgasm.”

  Peyton laughs. “But you have given me at least one solid orgasm,” she says, then kisses my cheek. “You just gave me mine a week in advance. And I have to admit you’ve inspired a few more in the privacy of my bedroom, compliments of my vibrator and that picture you sent me.”

  Damn, that’s a sexy thought. “Then let me offer you at least one more.”

  I grip her hips and pull her in closer for a kiss. It was meant to be a chaste kiss, a kiss to feel out where she wants to take things next, but before I know it, Peyton is the one deepening our connection. As her tongue slides against mine, her hips rock against my pelvis and my cock begins to harden again.

  “You’re too much,” I murmur between kisses. I tug down her leggings that have taunted me all day and find her silky core is already wet for me.

  Shit.

  And now I’m fully hard again.

  We haven’t even made it to the bed. We’re still standing at the edge of it, both of us half dressed.

  I stroke my fingers over her, and Peyton moans. Somehow I know she’s not going to last long, and I love the idea that it’s me she’s losing control for—that I’m the one who’s going to be holding her tonight.