Scanning the area, I notice a man in a suit about to board a taxi. I approach, wondering if I can ask where he’s headed and if I can share a ride.
The man is bubbling hot, and he knows it, but I try not to get caught up in that. I am too exhausted.
As the taxi driver loads his suitcase into the trunk, the man’s gaze slides to me. He lifts his brows expectantly and I open my mouth and quickly blurt, “Nolita. Going anywhere near?”
He steps back and purses his lips as if annoyed, but motions for me to board.
I bristle in defense, a New Yorker’s instant reaction to the hostility we face on a daily basis, but I hastily pass my suitcase to the driver and quickly hop inside the cab. The man slides in behind me and shuts the door while I tell the driver my address.
My defenses begin to drop once we’re on our way and fantasies of my hot tub return to my mind. I turn to thank the man, but he already has his phone to his ear. He speaks with a deep voice and his answers are a series of curt grunts.
He seems like a bit of an asshole. Like the type of man with expectations who isn’t used to hearing the word no.
During my years at the NYU dance academy, a lot of the male performers I ended up dancing with expected to go to bed with me. I became an expert at fielding them off. I even had a special move I used when they went in for the kill—I’d push my arm out, palm up, and quickly turn my head. I called it the “hell no.” It was enough to get the message across so I thankfully didn’t need to say it; the hand move was far more subtle.
Will I need to use the hand move with this guy?
Excellent question, Sara. Though something about him is making me think of a different kind of hand move. I shiver as I stroke my gaze up his hard body.
“Yes, and FedEx a copy to the hotel,” he barks.
I shift, and his gaze drops to my miniskirt.
I feel my brows rise in disbelief, but he’s too intent on staring at my thighs to notice. When he speaks into the receiver again, I feel as if he’s speaking to me. “I’m telling you just open it up, pull it out, and get it to me as soon as possible.”
I squirm in my seat.
His eyes lift and his lips curl at the corners.
I try not to audibly pant when his eyes trail downward again. I swear I see a glimmer of lust in his eyes, but his expression is unreadable.
“Thanks. And have Roberts call me when she gets in.”
He cuts the call and pockets his phone.
He glances at me in silence.
He looks like business, but underneath his suit is an appeal so raw I can only wonder how it would feel to claw my nails under that white button shirt, undo his tie, grab him by the collar, get that perfect black hair mussed, and feel his damn gorgeous hands on me.
He narrows his eyes when I lick my lips; then he looks away, out the window, and sighs, dragging a hand over his face. He curses under his breath, shaking his head and twisting his lips sardonically.
I start to wonder if I hallucinated the sexual looks between us when he curves his lips higher and knowingly says, “Come closer.”
I start and let out a small laugh. “Does that usually work for you?” I whisper.
“I don’t know. Does it?” He shoots me a lazy look, and his inky black eyes reveal a glimmer of mischief.
He sighs, tugs on his tie to loosen it a fraction, and leans back against the seat of the car. “Had a long day.” He kicks his feet out and looks at me as if expecting me to massage him or something.
“Yeah? And I had a long flight.”
Despite my better judgment, I’m running my eyes over his rather gorgeously wide, flat chest and his handsome boy-next-door face mixed with porn star smile and the elusiveness of some workaholic that clings to him like that damn hot black suit.
He sighs in exasperation. “Come closer,” he says again.
I’m debating whether to offer him a sassy comeback or shock the hell out of him when I do as he asks, but my phone rings, and I wonder if it’s my roommate confirming he’s finally vacated my apartment.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Is this Sara Davies?”
“Yes, this is Sara.”
“Sara, this is Carly. You know, the new girl? I was wondering if you could cover my shift for me tonight at the hotel.”
“I just got back into town, and I’m exhausted, and my shift doesn’t start until tomorrow—”
“Oh, thank you so much for doing this for me! I know it’s a lot to ask,” she squeaks as if I just agreed and hangs up.
Ugh.
I glower at my phone. I’m not ready to go back to work. And what about my bath? Ugh.
“Sara, huh.” He watches me as I tuck my phone back into my purse.
“Do you have something against my name?”
“Nope. Just pictured something more exotic.” He fiddles with his phone, tucks it back into his pocket, and says, “I want to fuck you in the back of this car, Sara.”
“Yeah? And I want to fuck up your filthy mouth with my fist.” I smirk, but my body clutches and shivers inside. I hate the idea that he might be able to see through my smart remark and intuitively know the effect he has on me.
I tap the glass and tell the driver, “Change of plans. Drop me off at the Four Seasons Hotel downtown.”
The stranger in the car next to me seems to bite back a smile as he reaches out to touch a bit of my loose dark hair. My heart begins to pound. I want him to touch more of me.
We ride like this, for minutes. Hours. The guy simply twirling a strand of my hair around his index finger. His long, thick, tanned index finger with the perfectly trimmed, really short nail.
I don’t know why. But maybe it’s because I know that we’re arriving very soon. Or maybe because I want to shock the hell out of him because the guy looks unshockable.
I slide down the seat, inching closer to him, and once our hips meet, I shift sideways and, ever so slowly, swing my leg out and straddle him. I hold my position, our eyes locked, considering the boldness of my move while something very hard presses prominently between my legs.
I swallow, bend my head, and whisper in his ear, “Maybe I do want to get fucked in the back of this car, too. Problem is… we’re about to arrive.”
I rock my hips against him, causing his erection to grow more pronounced. His hands possessively lock onto my ass, his fingers biting into my hips.
The car halts. We’ve reached my destination.
I swallow again, trying to cover my panting desperation for more.
“I hope that improved your day a little,” I taunt with a smile as I slide off him.
He laughs and watches me narrowly as I grab my carry-on.
“Thanks for the ride.”
“That’s my line,” he says, and shifts his position as he adjusts himself in his slacks and follows me out.
Wow. What a gentleman.
He heads to the back of the trunk and removes my suitcase. “That’s really not necessary. But thank you,” I tell him, taking my bag.
He grabs his own case, and my eyes widen when he pulls out a bill and pays the driver. I gape at him. “Umm, what are you—”
“Sara, thank goodness!” Carly interrupts, coming up behind us. “Here, I’ll bring this in for you.” She grabs my bag while eyeing the hot motherfucker I rode in with.
“Who is he?” she gushes, shooting a look past my shoulder as we shuffle inside.
“Nobody. And you’re going to owe me big time,” I growl under my breath.
As I settle in behind the concierge desk, my gaze follows his movements. I watch him check in at the VIP counter. Then he walks across the lobby toward me. When I realize where he is headed, my heart starts drumming crazily again.
The man is bubbling hot, and he knows it, but I try not to get caught up in that. I am too exhausted.
As the taxi driver loads his suitcase into the trunk, the man’s gaze slides to me. He lifts his brows expectantly and I open my mouth and quickly blurt, “Nolita. Going anywhere near?”
He steps back and purses his lips as if annoyed, but motions for me to board.
I bristle in defense, a New Yorker’s instant reaction to the hostility we face on a daily basis, but I hastily pass my suitcase to the driver and quickly hop inside the cab. The man slides in behind me and shuts the door while I tell the driver my address.
My defenses begin to drop once we’re on our way and fantasies of my hot tub return to my mind. I turn to thank the man, but he already has his phone to his ear. He speaks with a deep voice and his answers are a series of curt grunts.
He seems like a bit of an asshole. Like the type of man with expectations who isn’t used to hearing the word no.
During my years at the NYU dance academy, a lot of the male performers I ended up dancing with expected to go to bed with me. I became an expert at fielding them off. I even had a special move I used when they went in for the kill—I’d push my arm out, palm up, and quickly turn my head. I called it the “hell no.” It was enough to get the message across so I thankfully didn’t need to say it; the hand move was far more subtle.
Will I need to use the hand move with this guy?
Excellent question, Sara. Though something about him is making me think of a different kind of hand move. I shiver as I stroke my gaze up his hard body.
“Yes, and FedEx a copy to the hotel,” he barks.
I shift, and his gaze drops to my miniskirt.
I feel my brows rise in disbelief, but he’s too intent on staring at my thighs to notice. When he speaks into the receiver again, I feel as if he’s speaking to me. “I’m telling you just open it up, pull it out, and get it to me as soon as possible.”
I squirm in my seat.
His eyes lift and his lips curl at the corners.
I try not to audibly pant when his eyes trail downward again. I swear I see a glimmer of lust in his eyes, but his expression is unreadable.
“Thanks. And have Roberts call me when she gets in.”
He cuts the call and pockets his phone.
He glances at me in silence.
He looks like business, but underneath his suit is an appeal so raw I can only wonder how it would feel to claw my nails under that white button shirt, undo his tie, grab him by the collar, get that perfect black hair mussed, and feel his damn gorgeous hands on me.
He narrows his eyes when I lick my lips; then he looks away, out the window, and sighs, dragging a hand over his face. He curses under his breath, shaking his head and twisting his lips sardonically.
I start to wonder if I hallucinated the sexual looks between us when he curves his lips higher and knowingly says, “Come closer.”
I start and let out a small laugh. “Does that usually work for you?” I whisper.
“I don’t know. Does it?” He shoots me a lazy look, and his inky black eyes reveal a glimmer of mischief.
He sighs, tugs on his tie to loosen it a fraction, and leans back against the seat of the car. “Had a long day.” He kicks his feet out and looks at me as if expecting me to massage him or something.
“Yeah? And I had a long flight.”
Despite my better judgment, I’m running my eyes over his rather gorgeously wide, flat chest and his handsome boy-next-door face mixed with porn star smile and the elusiveness of some workaholic that clings to him like that damn hot black suit.
He sighs in exasperation. “Come closer,” he says again.
I’m debating whether to offer him a sassy comeback or shock the hell out of him when I do as he asks, but my phone rings, and I wonder if it’s my roommate confirming he’s finally vacated my apartment.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Is this Sara Davies?”
“Yes, this is Sara.”
“Sara, this is Carly. You know, the new girl? I was wondering if you could cover my shift for me tonight at the hotel.”
“I just got back into town, and I’m exhausted, and my shift doesn’t start until tomorrow—”
“Oh, thank you so much for doing this for me! I know it’s a lot to ask,” she squeaks as if I just agreed and hangs up.
Ugh.
I glower at my phone. I’m not ready to go back to work. And what about my bath? Ugh.
“Sara, huh.” He watches me as I tuck my phone back into my purse.
“Do you have something against my name?”
“Nope. Just pictured something more exotic.” He fiddles with his phone, tucks it back into his pocket, and says, “I want to fuck you in the back of this car, Sara.”
“Yeah? And I want to fuck up your filthy mouth with my fist.” I smirk, but my body clutches and shivers inside. I hate the idea that he might be able to see through my smart remark and intuitively know the effect he has on me.
I tap the glass and tell the driver, “Change of plans. Drop me off at the Four Seasons Hotel downtown.”
The stranger in the car next to me seems to bite back a smile as he reaches out to touch a bit of my loose dark hair. My heart begins to pound. I want him to touch more of me.
We ride like this, for minutes. Hours. The guy simply twirling a strand of my hair around his index finger. His long, thick, tanned index finger with the perfectly trimmed, really short nail.
I don’t know why. But maybe it’s because I know that we’re arriving very soon. Or maybe because I want to shock the hell out of him because the guy looks unshockable.
I slide down the seat, inching closer to him, and once our hips meet, I shift sideways and, ever so slowly, swing my leg out and straddle him. I hold my position, our eyes locked, considering the boldness of my move while something very hard presses prominently between my legs.
I swallow, bend my head, and whisper in his ear, “Maybe I do want to get fucked in the back of this car, too. Problem is… we’re about to arrive.”
I rock my hips against him, causing his erection to grow more pronounced. His hands possessively lock onto my ass, his fingers biting into my hips.
The car halts. We’ve reached my destination.
I swallow again, trying to cover my panting desperation for more.
“I hope that improved your day a little,” I taunt with a smile as I slide off him.
He laughs and watches me narrowly as I grab my carry-on.
“Thanks for the ride.”
“That’s my line,” he says, and shifts his position as he adjusts himself in his slacks and follows me out.
Wow. What a gentleman.
He heads to the back of the trunk and removes my suitcase. “That’s really not necessary. But thank you,” I tell him, taking my bag.
He grabs his own case, and my eyes widen when he pulls out a bill and pays the driver. I gape at him. “Umm, what are you—”
“Sara, thank goodness!” Carly interrupts, coming up behind us. “Here, I’ll bring this in for you.” She grabs my bag while eyeing the hot motherfucker I rode in with.
“Who is he?” she gushes, shooting a look past my shoulder as we shuffle inside.
“Nobody. And you’re going to owe me big time,” I growl under my breath.
As I settle in behind the concierge desk, my gaze follows his movements. I watch him check in at the VIP counter. Then he walks across the lobby toward me. When I realize where he is headed, my heart starts drumming crazily again.
