by Shandi Boyes
Snubbing the tremors making my body shudder, I ask, “Did you want to come in?” I smash my back molars together when my words come out with a hint of shakiness. The weakness of my words expose that the calm outward appearance I’m striving to display isn’t as authentic as I’d like Carey to believe.
Even with an invigorating blast of adrenaline and excitement heating my veins, I’m still a ball of skittish nerves. If I'm being totally upfront, I’ll admit, not all the butterflies fluttering in my stomach are nervous ones. Most are excitement from spending the last four hours in the presence of a man with strikingly handsome features. I thought the swelling of desire his pulse-racing good looks incite would fade the more time I spent with him. It hasn’t in the slightest. He is just. . . wow. Not just his looks, but the entire package.
When Carey remains quiet, I stop absorbing the fine details of his face and return my eyes to his. I really shouldn’t look directly at him. Just the defined cut of his jawline freezes my heart, and don’t get me started on his murky irises.
When he stares at me with confused eyes, I add on, “I did offer to buy you a drink in exchange for a ride to my hotel. I can’t do that if you don’t come inside.” I try to keep my tone as impassive as his facial expression. My efforts are borderline. Not even shock at my recently rediscovered boldness can conceal the eagerness in my voice.
Carey’s brooding mask that vanished hours ago slides back into place before my very eyes. The brightness in his eyes dulls, and his jaw muscle tightens. Taking his lightning fast switch from alluring stranger to grouchy recluse as an answer to my invitation, I issue my gratitude for a fun night with a smile before swinging open my door and peeling out of his car.
This time, I remove my suitcase from his back seat with more respect to his pride and joy. Although my hackles are bristling from his abrupt and cold demeanor, his car doesn’t deserve to cop the wrath of my fury. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not mad because he rejected me—rejection has never been something that overly worries me—it’s the fact every notion I thought I knew about myself has been unraveled tonight. To be honest, I don’t know if that is a good or bad thing. I guess, only time will tell. For all I know, it may not even be Carey pushing me out of my comfort zone. It could just be the next phase in my longwinded recovery process.
Standing my luggage to my side, I dip my torso into the cabin of Carey’s car and attempt to secure the attention of his absconding eyes. “Thanks for the ride. . . and everything in between. It was a lot of fun,” I praise when I capture the devotion of his dark gaze. “I’ll practice my tire changing technique and driving skills over the summer. If ever given a second shot, I’m going to live up to the Calderon-Lévesque name.”
The corners of Carey’s lips tug high before he briefly nods his head. After issuing my final thanks with another smile, I close the passenger door, secure a grip on my suitcase, and make a beeline for the entrance of my hotel. My steps are fast and frantic as the creepiness of being in a poorly lit parking lot rattles my free-spirited composure my night with Carey instigated.
It takes several yanks on the hotel’s front door before I realize I need to push a buzzer to be granted access to the foyer. The advanced security features of this hotel were the sole reason I chose it over the other numerous hotels in this area.
After pushing the intercom buzzer, I peer over my shoulder to ensure no one is sneaking up on me. It is a bad habit I’ve had since my attack six years ago. Although I’ve reined in a lot of my obsessive compulsive disorders the past three years, my need to constantly check my surroundings remains intact.
My regular breathing pattern returns. Other than Carey eyeing me with a strange gleam in his eyes, the area is vacant of another living thing. Noticing he has captured my attention, Carey smirks before dropping his gaze to his hands. Pretending I can’t feel the enthralling tension that’s been buzzing between us all night still hanging thick in the air, I return my eyes front and center and impatiently wait for the hotel clerk to buzz me in.
The dampness slicking my skin spreads to another region of my body when not even ten seconds later, Carey’s deep voice booms out into the night, “The sign on the door says the bar in this hotel closed at 1 AM. You can’t really invite me in for a drink if the bar is closed.” The rough grittiness of his voice causes the hairs on my nape to prickle.
Lifting my downcast eyes, I spot Carey’s reflection in the glass door beside the sign he is referring to. He is standing in the nook of his car door, like he is anticipating his confession will force me to give him his marching orders. His apprehension bolsters my campaign to spend more time with him.
After exhaling a sharp breath to settle the butterflies fluttering in my stomach, I reply, “The online brochure said there is a mini bar in my room.”
My body goes on high alert, waiting for Carey to respond. I don’t know if it is months of yearning restlessness instigating my boldness, or adrenaline from our heart-starting activities tonight. But whatever it is, it has ignited a cluster of hope in the pit of my stomach. Because even if Carey turns down my offer, the fact I made it at all is a massive achievement for me, one I will no doubt spend hours deciphering tomorrow.
The nerves making my skin a sticky mess increase when the loud shriek of a buzzer pummels into my eardrums. After clutching my chest to ensure my heart remains in its rightful place, I secure a firm grip on the brass door handle and carefully pry the door open. Any chance of calming the crazy beat of my heart comes undone when a large, manly hand curls around the door handle above mine and assists me in opening the door. I don’t need to look up to know who is standing beside me, but I do.
A zap of lust rockets through my body when my eyes connect with Carey’s dark gaze. From this vantage point, his well-built frame and tall height are even more beguiling, but they are nowhere near as ravishing as his rigid jawline. Just like the blistering heat bouncing between us during our two hours in the arcade, the energy flanking us now causes an out-of-control inferno to rage in my womb.
I stand muted in desire as I fantasize about kissing every sharp edge of his jaw until it softens against my mouth. Shock gnaws at my stomach. I haven’t been driven by the desires of my body in well over three years. I’m not saying I'm pure by any means. After the incident that shook my core six years ago, “promiscuous” was a word I’d use to describe my sexual endeavors. It was only after a tense bout of therapy and finding Wesley did I discover my self-worth wasn’t lost during my attack. It was simply misplaced for a few dark and very lonely months.
Shaking my head to snap myself out of the mood-dampening disposition of past memories, I slip by Carey and enter the foyer of the hotel. My breathing labors when my budded nipples graze past Carey’s rigid chest. They tighten even more when, after a short moment of quiet reflection, he follows me into the foyer. His long, agile steps have him reaching me in less than a heartbeat.
The hotel clerk with dazzling sapphire eyes and a friendly smile greets me when I saunter to the highly polished check in desk. “Good evening, welcome to the Grand Hotel. What name is your reservation in?”
“Quincy Mac Jones. I made an online booking early this morning,” I reply, placing my clutch on the counter.
I don’t need to look at Carey to know he is smirking at my immature alias. I can feel it deep in my bones. Ignoring the desire to witness another one of his all-inspiring smiles, I pull my credit card out of my clutch and hand it to the hotel clerk. Her eyes scan the company card associated with my photography business before she lifts them to peer past my shoulder. “And your guest? Will he be included in your booking?”
While following the direction of the clerk’s gaze, I stammer out, “He’s not a guest. He’s just coming up to my room for a drink.”
My words come out brittle, strangled by the large rock her silent accusation rammed down my throat. The stronghold wrapped around my neck tightens when I catch Carey’s cajoling gaze. Although technically I only invited him to my room for a drink, t
he sexual current firing between us indicates he understood the hidden innuendo in my suggestion.
Squeezing my thighs together to lessen the ache between my legs, I return my eyes to the desk clerk. Her eyes drift between mine for several seconds before she faintly murmurs, “Okay.” Placing a hotel keycard onto the counter, she points to a bank of elevators on her left. “Your room is on floor twenty-three. You need to swipe your key on the security panel at the front of the elevator for the doors to open. Upon exiting, take a sharp right; your room is halfway down the hall. Once you’ve unlocked your door, slide the room key into the holder next to the light switch. It will keep the lights and air-conditioner running.”
After gathering my receipt from the printer at her side, she places it in a white embossed envelope and hands it to me. “Normally, we would have an usher take you to your room, but with the late hour—”
“That’s fine. I'm sure we can find our way,” I interrupt, my voice high in anxiety.
It isn’t that I care about the hotel’s clerk opinion; it is that I'm unsure exactly what I’m doing inviting a male guest to my room at 4 AM. I’d like to plead innocence and pretend my motive is to solely thank Carey for the ride, but the excitement blazing in my tingling womb indicates otherwise.
After breathing out my nerves, I accept my room key from the hotel clerk and head to the elevator bank. My stomach churns for a moment when Carey shadows me, then it heats with excitement. Although he doesn’t utter a syllable, the energy crackling off him adds to the teeming mugginess consuming the elevator car. Carey has his brooding nature down pat, but there is something greater between us that has me wanting to jump into the air with excitement before begging him to leave.
I thought our extended drive to the hotel would be our most spine-tingling event tonight. It wasn’t. Our short ride in the elevator is even more electrifying than our earlier antics.
When the elevator dings, announcing it has arrived at my floor, my nerves get the better of me. “I think we should—” The remainder of my sentence entombs in my throat when I lift my eyes from the plaid carpet lining the elevator to Carey. His pupils are massive, inundating his haunted eyes, and a beading of sweat lines his forehead. He appears just as petrified as me. His edginess soothes the nerves twisting my stomach.
“—Limit our drinks to two since I have an early start tomorrow,” I add on, pretending I wasn’t about to demand that he accept my thanks for a ride with a handshake.
With his brows furrowed together, Carey nods his head before shadowing me down the elegant corridor. Paintings of the New York skyline line the hall, but I'm too immersed in maintaining my breathing to pay them any attention.
Even rattled, for every step I take, the throb between my legs grows. I’m not ashamed to admit, many months have gone by since I’ve had sex. For the most part, I’m perfectly happy with the lack of sexual contact. But there are times when I miss the feelings you can only achieve with a bed companion. Don’t get me wrong, sex toy technology has improved drastically the past six years, but nothing compares to being wrapped in a pair of strong arms, or the smell of sweat-slicked sheets. Although manufacturers have tried to bottle up that scent, they failed. Nothing comes close to the real thing.
As per the hotel clerk’s instruction, after pushing open my door, I place the swipe card into the electricity mechanism, then flick on the lights. I wait for the room to be fully illuminated by artificial light before entering. Dimly lit rooms are another weakness I haven’t conquered yet. The only room I’ll happily enter while dark is the dark room in my home office. If there was a way I could develop my photos in a lighted room, believe me, I’d do exactly that.
While placing my suitcase on the luggage stand in the middle of the room, I ask, “What’s your drink of choice?” A smile etches onto my mouth when my question comes out with only the slightest quiver.
When Carey continues his quiet stance, I spin on my heels to face him. He is standing in the hallway with his fists balled at his side and his handsome face contorted with confusion.
My uneasy steps toward him falter when he mutters, “I’m going to go,” while nudging his head to the elevator. His words are stiff and crammed with shame.
“Okay,” I reply, gently nodding my head. I only smothered my own doubts seconds ago, so I can’t argue bias at him harboring the same qualms.
Although the cloud of concern in his eyes adds strength to his admission he wants to leave, his feet remain planted on the ground as I saunter to him. My already slow pace slackens even more when I spot his zealous gaze running over my body. I nearly miss his perusal as it is concealed by his thick, luscious lashes. Even with my astuteness clouded by a dense haze of lust, I can’t miss the interest flourishing in his stormy eyes the closer I get to him, but not wanting to push him into doing anything against his wishes, I say, “Thanks for the lift.”
I attempt to thrust out my hand in offering, only to have one of the gold bracelets lining my wrist snag the lace on my dress. The thread caught in my bracelet is as fine as a strand of hair, but stronger than titanium. The more I struggle to get my wrist free, the firmer my arm becomes pinned to my body. Usually, this type of thing would have me rolling on the floor in a fit of laughter, but since it is happening in front of one of the most fascinating specimens I’ve ever encountered, the hilarity of the situation is lost on me.
When my efforts to untangle myself become tiresome, Carey silently offers his assistance. Although I’m tempted to take a pair of scissors to my $400 dress, just like Carey’s Camaro, my dress doesn’t deserve to cop the fury of my idiocy. So, with a nod of my head, I accept Carey’s offer.
When Carey clasps my wrist in his, I mumble, “The prettiness of my dress made me forget the no lace rules my bangles demand.” My words come out shaky, my voice incapable of hiding the thrashing of my heart from his simplest touch. The instant he touched me, the butterflies in my stomach cleared and potent yearning took their place.
The corners of Carey’s lips crimp at my attempt at candor before he drops his eyes to my snagged wrist. In silence, he weaves the tiny thread around the twisted design of my charm bracelet. I watch him eagerly, categorizing the way his lips twist and the top of his nose crinkles when he concentrates. He truly is a beautiful man: straight, defined nose, dark, trimmed hair, and alluringly beautiful eyes.
By the time my wrist is released from the death-clutch of my dress, I’ve absorbed every fine feature of his face in meticulous detail. Now I’m even more disappointed he wants to flee. I’ve never been so captivated by a man before. Don’t misconstrue my statement. Like all women my age, many intriguing men have graced my crush list the past fourteen plus years, but none have been worthy enough to be placed on the top of the list. None until now.
After tucking the felonious string of lace into my dress, Carey lifts his eyes to me. My breath catches halfway to my lungs when I come face to face with his fascinating gaze. The sparks of lust firing between us in the elevator car were nothing compared to the frenzy of emotions brewing between us now. It is so uncontrollable, I have no chance of extinguishing it.
Acting purely on the desires of my body, I lunge forward and press my lips onto Carey’s hard-lined mouth. I gasp a throaty moan when the softness of his mouth graces my lips. For a man whose lips spend most of their time frowning, his mouth is soft and scrumptious.
Doubt dampens my eagerness when Carey remains completely still, neither accepting or neglecting my daring advance. Deciding to either bring it all or go home crying, I run my tongue along the seam of his stern, shut lips. My pussy throbs as the flavor of his mouth engulfs my senses. He has a manly, virile taste that adds to his brutishly handsome appearance.
The fire raging in my womb combusts when Carey’s lips weakly crack open at the request of my tongue. Fighting the urge to do a jig of victory, I sweep my tongue into his mouth in a slow and devoted stroke. My pussy becomes wetter. The inside of his mouth tastes even more intoxicating than his lips.
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nbsp; Dizzy with desire, I band my arms around his neck and draw him in closer. My boldness ramps up the pace of our kiss, pushing it from a one-sided affair to a lust driven production. Carey’s fingers weave through my hair as his tongue delves into my mouth in a confident and controlled lick. I mimic the strokes of his tongue as he kisses me with the same measured discipline that rules his personality. His kiss is mind-spiraling and knee weakening, and it douses any panic roaring through my veins as we stumble clumsily into my room.
The ache between my legs cultivates as my fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt. My movements are frantic, wanting to ensure there is no opportunity for either of us to back out for a second time. Growing impatient at the small pearl buttons on his crisp white shirt, I fist the material in my hands and yank it open. My brutal force sends small buttons shooting in all directions. Carey smiles against my mouth when they clatter on the floor around his feet. Not wanting to miss the chance to see one of his rare heart-stopping grins, I detach my lips from his and pull back. He seizes the moment to drop his mouth to the curve of my neck. Goosebumps rush to the surface of my skin when the roughness of his five o’clock shadow scratches the delicate skin on my neck.
After giving myself a few moments to drink in his intoxicating scent, I continue with my mission to remove his clothes. Seconds later, his shirt becomes reacquainted with his buttons scattered on the floor. I gasp in greedy breaths when my eyes roam over his body. It is. . . oh my god. Seeing him in the flesh is mind-boggling. If I wasn’t so immersed in capturing every dip and plane carved in his magnificent torso and rippling six pack, I wouldn’t hesitate to pull out my camera to capture the magnificence of his body in time forever. That’s how awe-inspiring his body is.
