At nearly seven p.m., Kathryn came to terms with the truth. I’m out of my damn mind. A few short weeks ago, her secret rendezvous seemed eons away. A blink later, and her trusted confidant Paco was escorting her into the palatial presidential suite of the Denver Four Seasons Hotel.
The grandeur of the suite had her questioning too many decisions in her life. Career choice. Casual wardrobe selection. The adolescent statement of a ponytail high on her head. The ridiculous amount of trust she had in a suave Puerto Rican charmer who promised seduction and sanity on a silver platter.
Hence, why she now sat on the edge of a plush bed that looked way too pretty for butt prints. Once he’d left, she’d slid on the soft satin blindfold as she’d been instructed. Her simple light-blue blouse was offset by a classic black skirt, which let an errant breeze cool her thighs and whisper against her lacy panties.
Even in her lightly padded bra, her nipples were doing their damnedest to bust free from the chill. Apprehensive, she tried not to fidget as the minutes dragged out, letting too many thoughts bombard her mind.
What will my Dom be like? Or the Dom. Obviously, he’s not my Dom. I don’t even know his name.
As she started to shiver, she found her patience wearing thin.
I should just leave. Paco said I could leave anytime before . . . or during. During what?
A determined sigh blew past her lips as she tugged a corner of the comforter free to cover her lap.
Okay, fine. I’m not leaving. She kicked off the heels that squeezed a little tighter than they did in the store less than an hour ago, cementing her stay.
She’d almost forgiven her Latino benefactor for putting the kibosh on the minibar, insisting that this experience had to be one hundred percent sober. Without a cocktail to take the edge off, she barely kept her freak-out under control.
Wondering why she sat waiting wasn’t useful.
I know exactly why I’m here.