by Lane Hart
“Worst wake-up call of my life,” a deep, gravelly voice complains quietly.
I don’t have to turn around to know it’s the blond Viking I thought was a dream behind me. Why he’s here in the bathroom with me is a complete mystery.
I squeeze my eyes shut and take in several deep breaths, hoping the worst is over. When I can speak without barfing, I ask, “Who the fuck are you?”
“Conrad Erikson,” he responds simply.
“And why are you in my bathroom, Conrad Erikson?”
“It’s not your bathroom. It’s the hotel’s.”
“A hotel?” I repeat, squeezing my eyes closed tighter to fend off the piercing pain in my head as I try to remember how I got here.
The Viking showed up at Bob’s.
He punched Bob.
Then he brought me to a hotel room and refused when I asked him to eat my pussy.
Right. It’s all coming back to me now. Sort of.
At the sound of the toilet flushing, I open my eyes again and try to pull myself up to my feet. The Viking, also known as Conrad Erikson, places his hands on my waist to steady me, then lowers the lid on the toilet so I can turn around and sit down on it. That’s the first time I come face-to-face with the incredibly buff man wearing nothing but a white cotton tee and a snug pair of black boxer briefs that are now right at my eye level. His package is…massive. There’s the outline of his long cock and his pair of heavy –
“Stop that,” he snaps at me while grabbing my chin to raise my face up to his. Then the wet washcloth in his hands is wiping gently at my eyes, nose, and mouth like I’m a helpless child.
“Stop what?” I ask innocently while he works, trying to tilt my chin down to get another peek. When he jerks my chin up again, I raise a weak hand and touch his thigh hair before he jumps back out of reach, letting my face go at the same time.
“My dick is off-limits,” he informs me. His scruffy golden jaw tightens, lips frowning as his handsome face goes all stern again. “Stop looking at it and trying to touch it.”
“So you are in fact gay. Got it.”
“No, I’m not gay,” he replies calmly. “You’re a child. I’m not a… It was fucked-up for your professor to sleep with you.”
“How do you know about that?” I ask. “And I’m twenty. I haven’t been a child in over four years.”
His brow furrows as if he’s trying to figure out why I gave such a specific timeframe.
“How old are you?” I question while looking him up and down, even staring at his package again despite him telling me not to. “I’d guess twenty-one or twenty-two.”
“I’m twenty-four.” He makes it sound like he’s forty or something.
“Wow, you’re just four years older than me and you’re treating me like a little kid. What’s that about?”
“Maybe because you’re acting like a kid,” he responds. He walks over to the sink and throws some water on his face before grabbing a hand towel to dry it off. “Now, if you’re finished tossing your cookies, get out so I can take a shower.”
“Ah, I’m not sure if I’m done yet,” I lie as I lean against the back of the toilet seat. “I should probably stay in here just in case.”
“Fine,” he says, tossing his towel down on the counter. “I’ll wait.”
He walks out, leaving me alone rather than getting naked and showering in front of me. Most men can’t wait to pull out their dicks and wave it around in women’s faces.
And he still hasn’t told me what he’s doing here, or what I’m doing here. I’m still too confused to figure it out.
All I know is that I feel sweaty and nasty, in desperate need of a shower myself.
Stripping out of my pajamas that I don’t remember picking out or putting on, I turn on the shower, wait for the water to get warm, and then step under the hot stream.
Conrad
* * *
When the shower comes on, I’m relieved that Hannah’s up and moving. Once she’s out, I’ll be able to get my shower so we can leave and get breakfast before we have to head to the airport.
Then a thought hits me.
What if Hannah leaves while I’m in the shower?
Fuck. I didn’t think about that.
I should’ve just ignored her when she refused to leave the bathroom and taken my shower.
Now, I’m having serious doubts about leaving her alone in the hotel room when I can’t watch her.
My damn shyness could ruin everything.
And it’s not like I have anything about my body to hide. I’m tall and cut with ripped muscles, barely even a pinchable amount of fat to be found. I’m well-endowed, so there’s nothing to be worried about there.
No, the problem is that I’ve just never been naked in front of a woman I wasn’t fucking.
It seems like a slippery slope. I’ve seen Hannah undressed, and if she sees me naked, then one thing could lead to another…
No. Fuck that. I’m not going to touch her or let her touch me. Nothing is going to happen between us. In fact, in about twelve hours, I’ll be dropping her crazy ass off at rehab and be done with this bullshit favor.
So, as soon as I hear the water cut off, I walk right up to the bathroom door she left open with steam billowing out of it.
“Let me know when you’re decent so I can take a quick shower,” I call out.
“All clear!” she calls back, so I stroll inside, expecting to find her back in her pajamas. Instead, she’s got her foot propped up high on the counter as she dries off her bare leg with a small towel, long, soggy hair dripping down her back, not bothering to cover up any of her private parts in the process.
Of course I saw her completely naked last night, but at the time she was shitfaced drunk and didn’t know what she was doing.
Now, she’s probably still hungover but sober and invited me into the bathroom intentionally so that I would see all of her.
And I don’t look away. Not when she dries her other leg or her arms or her breasts. I just take in every gorgeous inch that’s in front of me and also reflecting in the mirror, doubling up the jiggly tits and perfect round ass. Although I don’t see it directly, thanks to the reflection in the mirror when her leg is raised, there’s a nice view of her glistening pussy lips.
The woman has a beautiful face and body that is insanely hot. But the way she flaunts herself is incredibly dangerous, not just to herself but to me.
I don’t have the time or luxury of thinking with my dick. Especially when it’s been almost a year since the last time I had the kind of sex I’ve always craved. Or any sex for that matter. Plain vanilla fucking just doesn’t do it for me anymore. I hate to admit it, but my dick is a sick bastard. I’m a sick bastard. That’s why I’ve stuck with just the fantasies in my head lately while fucking my hand. It’s safer for everyone that way.
“That looks like it hurts,” Hannah says, drawing my attention away from her ass and to the reflection of her face in the mirror. She’s drying her hair with her towel while looking at my cock again, now because it’s long and hard, forming quite a tent in my boxer briefs.
She’s right. My balls ache, needing some relief because it’s been days since I rubbed one out while watching the hard-core porn that I enjoy.
I turn away from Hannah and force myself to think of something awful, like the night we found Tessa in the storage facility where she was being held like an animal and then the creative ways we tortured one of the men who hurt her. It doesn’t take long for those thoughts to take the wind out of my cock’s sails.
By the time I’ve turned the shower back on so that it’s only producing cold water, I’m at half-mast. And once I take my tee and boxer briefs off to step under the icy stream, I’m under control again.
I focus on washing my hair and body, refusing to look over at Hannah, who is still meandering around in the bathroom. I know she’s watching me. No, gawking at me, but that’s fine. There’s nothing I’m ashamed of that she can see, and at least I know she isn�
��t making a run for it out of the hotel room.
After the quickest shower of my life, I open the door and Hannah hands me a towel, like we’re not two strangers who are naked and wet together, but like an odd couple.
“Thanks,” I tell her.
“No, thank you,” she replies while staring down at my dick, lips parted with interest like she’s imagining it in her mouth.
I stop myself there before my mind goes down that road.
“Get dressed,” I tell her, using the towel to shield my crotch from her.
“I don’t think a man has ever said those words to me,” Hannah replies, crowding me, standing too close and still too sexy in what is actually a pretty large bathroom.
“If you’re not ready by the time I have my clothes on, I’ll dress you again like I did last night,” I warn her.
“You put those pajamas on me?” she asks in surprise.
“I couldn’t bring you in the hotel naked or in nothing but that damn dress shirt you had on.”
“You still haven’t told me what I’m doing here,” she remarks, jutting out one of her hips. I have no idea where her towel has disappeared to. All I know is that it’s nowhere in sight, and she doesn’t seem to be inclined to cover up anytime soon.
“Get dressed and we’ll talk,” I say as I slip past her and out of the bathroom to find my clean clothes in my backpack and put them on, wrinkles and all.
Hannah follows me and of course watches, refusing to dress herself.
Once my fresh jeans and tee are on, I slide my arms through my cut. “If you’ll cooperate, we’ve got time to grab something to eat before we have to be at the airport. After losing everything in your stomach, you must be hungry.”
“Wait. Back up,” she says when she takes a seat on the foot of my unmade bed. “Why are we going to the airport?”
“Because that’s where the planes land and take off,” I answer.
“Okay, smart-ass,” she says, narrowing her blue eyes at me while I force mine to stay on her face and not the other tempting parts of her. “Where is the plane taking us?” Her gaze lowers to my cut, and she obviously reads the patches. “Myrtle Beach!” she exclaims, jumping to her feet, making her boobs bounce enticingly.
Fuck me. I’ve got to get some clothes on her.
“I’m not going back to Myrtle Beach!” she yells. “My father sent you, didn’t he?”
“Yep.”
“No!” she says with a shake of her head as she backs up until she runs into the television stand, grabbing her lower back as the sharp edge digs into her spine. “I can’t. I won’t. Fuck him and fuck you!”
With that declaration, she takes off to her side of the suite and straight to the door. She gets the chain undone and is turning the dead bolt when my arm snakes around her waist to scoop her up off the floor and pull her away before she runs out in the hall still naked.
“Put me down!” she shrieks loud enough for the hotel levels above and below us to hear, and then she’s fighting me. Her elbows land in my ribs and hands slap at my arm before her fingernails dig into my flesh. Small but feisty feet flail, her heels slamming into my shins. I get abused in several areas of my body, and rather than hate the pain, I actually like it.
To try and minimize the damage, though, I sit down in the chair on her side of the suite and let her squirm and beat the shit out of me, figuring she’ll give up or wear herself out at some point. The worst pain comes when her head slams back into mine, leaving a knot on my forehead, but thankfully I duck just in time and she misses my nose.
Eventually, after minutes or hours, her punches and kicks and scratches ease up. Her entire body slumps in defeat like she’s finally realized I’m not going to let her go. My dick perked up again from the first second I restrained her, and it gives a jerk when Hannah’s ass presses down on my lap and her breasts hang over my arm that’s still wrapped tightly around her waist.
Then I hear her sniffles and I feel like a piece of shit.
“You work…for…my father?” she asks.
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?” she huffs, sniffling some more and reaching up to wipe her damp cheeks with the heel of her palm. “He paid you to come drag me home?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, I’m not going,” she declares. And then, her breathing becomes faster and faster as she starts to hyperventilate. “I can’t! I won’t go!”
“Jesus, calm down. Just breathe,” I tell her.
“I can’t!” she cries out.
“Sure you can. In through your nose, out through your mouth,” I remind her, using my free hand to hold up her wet hair off the back of her neck so she can cool down. “You’re getting all worked up for nothing.”
“For nothing? That’s what you think?” she scoffs. “You have no idea what I’ve been through, what he did to me!”
I freeze, suddenly worried that the chief is a bigger piece of shit than we all thought. “What did he do?” I ask her softly.
She shakes her head but doesn’t respond while still gasping and sniffling.
“Did he beat you?”
“No.”
“Was he…did he molest you?”
“No, jeez!”
“Then what did he do that’s so bad?” I ask, and she just shakes her head again without giving me a verbal answer. “Look, you hate your dad. I get it. I hate him too,” I tell her. Relaxing my grip on her waist, my fingers drag across her stomach until it’s just resting on her hip in case she tries to bolt again.
“So then why would you do this to me?” she asks.
“I didn’t really have a choice,” I admit. “And don’t you miss your sister? What’s her name…”
“Emilia.”
“Emilia, right,” I say even though I had no clue who the chief’s youngest daughter was that he wanted me to use to lure Hannah back. “Don’t you want to see Emilia and your mom? You couldn’t have been happy living with Professor Pervert.”
“I was!” she declares before she squirms out of my lap until she’s standing. I keep my hands on her hips, preventing her from taking a step.
“Where are you going?”
“I just need some tissues, jeez!” she huffs, pushing my hands off her and finally sounding more like a college girl than the seductress she pretends to be when she stomps to the bathroom.
I keep my seat since it’s the best one to stop her from leaving, listening to her blow her nose.
When she comes out of the bathroom, still naked of course, she walks right over to the small corner kitchen. Reaching into the minifridge, she grabs a tiny bottle from a shelf on the door, opening it and guzzling it down. She grabs a second one and is sucking it down before I even realize what she’s drinking.
“Goddammit,” I mutter when I hurry over and jerk the empty bottle from her hand. Then we’re both scrambling to see who can get to the other two bottles the fastest, nearly ripping the refrigerator door off its hinges. Hannah grabs them by the narrow neck first, but I’m easily able to pry them from her fingers.
“No more alcohol,” I say, twisting the tops open and pouring each one down the kitchen sink.
“Why the hell not?” she questions me, digging around in the fridge to see if we missed any bottles. We didn’t.
“Because you’re not old enough to drink!” I remind her. “So you’re definitely too young to be drinking until you’re so drunk you don’t know where you are or who you’re with. What if I had been a rapist?” I snap at her.
“Then you would’ve actually fucked me instead of being such a cocktease,” she responds when she jumps up and sits on the small kitchen counter naked.
“Jesus, you are incredibly messed up,” I mutter as I shove my fingers through my still-damp hair. Guess that means her fight didn’t last nearly as long as I thought it did.
“No kidding,” she says with a chuckle.
“Could you please just put some clothes on so we can go eat something and make our flight?”
“No to the clothes and no to the flight,” she answers, then spreads her knees apart as far as they can go. “But I’ve got something you can eat right here, sexy.”
This isn’t a girl; this is a seriously deranged nympho. And I’ve had enough of her bullshit games. According to the alarm clock beside the bed, we’ve got thirty minutes before we need to be at the airport to allow three hours to get through security and find the terminal. Less than that and anything could go wrong. We could miss our flight.
Marching up to her, I grab her knees and push them together. When she tries to widen them, I hold them together harder. Looking her right in her pretty blue eyes, I tell her, “You’re a child. Not because of your age but because of how immature you’re being right now. I’m not going to fuck you or put my mouth on you, so stop acting like a needy little slut.”
She visibly flinches at my insult, but I’m past the point of caring. If she doesn’t want to be called out for her ridiculous and dangerous behavior, she needs to stop acting out.
“Now, are you going to finally put some fucking clothes on and act like an adult, or do you want me to hold you down and dress you like a toddler throwing a tantrum?”
Finally, there’s something other than the playful lust on her face. She’s pissed, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. I’m not even surprised when both of her hands shove into my chest, pushing me away. I take several steps backward, giving her space to jump down from the counter, which she does. Then she grabs the bag I packed her at the professor’s house and storms into the bathroom. The door slams shut, and I hear the lock turn.
I can handle her acting like a sullen teenager much better than the seductress.
In fact, I start to think I’m finally making progress.
But five, ten, twenty minutes go by and she doesn’t come out of the bathroom.
With only two minutes left before our absolute must-leave time, I go over and bang my fist on the door, annoyed, tired, and hungry. It’s not a great combination or one I’m familiar with.
“Hannah, we have to go!” I yell at her.
