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He kissed along her neck. “Is this where you insist you’re not this kind of girl?” His question caressed her skin.
“I’m definitely this kind of girl.” Reagan tilted her head, to give him a better angle. “If you’re looking for a weak protest wrapped in morality, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“I’m not worried about being disappointed.” He drew his hands up her sides, thumbs on her ribs and then brushing the bottom of her breasts.
She arched her back into his touch, and her nipples hardened, aching for attention. Voices drifted in from the hallway, louder than they should be. Neither she nor her sexy stranger had closed the door. Anyone could walk in on them. The realization pulsed between her legs.
He yanked her shirt over her head and traveled his mouth her collarbone and down the middle of her chest. When he kissed along the top of her breast, she dragged her nails down his back, trying to pull him closer. Needing more.
A laugh caused her to jerk her head toward the exit.
“Worried about getting caught?” he asked between licks over her skin.
She was terrified, but that made the arousal more intense. “Hoping they want to watch.” She found his erection and traced the impressive outline through his slacks.
He pressed against her hand, gyrating his hips each time she stroked. What would it feel like, to have him buried inside her? He pushed one breast from its cup and lowered his head to her nipple.
When he flicked out his tongue, she whimpered and shifted closer. He nipped at the swollen bud and she groaned. She swore for a moment that the sound outside vanished. It returned, full-volume, and her heart started up again.
With a quick flick, he undid the button on her pants, and dipped his hand under the elastic of her panties. He continued to suck her nipple, as he stroked along her slit, then dipped toward her opening and slid two fingers inside.
She bucked her hips, and he pulled out to move back up. He found her clit, and she gasped. The attention on two different fronts drew her close to climax, pleasure building inside.
She crashed into orgasm, grinding against his hand, until his touch was too much and she jerked away.
He brought his mouth down on hers, their lips crushing together as he hooked his thumbs in her waistband. The fervor of the moment raced through her, making her forget the wobble in her legs. He shoved her jeans and panties to the ground, then spun her toward the wall.
Fingers knotted in her hair, he tugged her head back. “I need to fuck you.” He nipped her earlobe and her neck.
She wiggled her ass against him. She heard the tear of foil followed by the sound of a zipper, and seconds later, he yanked her hips to him, glided the head of his cock along her slit, and plunged inside her.
“God. You feel good.” Did she say that out loud? Fire tinged her cheeks. She’d never been a dirty talker before.
“It helps that you’re so wet.” He withdrew to the tip, before thrusting again. “Fuck, you’re tight.” With one hand on her stomach and the other on her hip, he pulled her into his torso, while he kept a steady rhythm, slamming inside her and hitting just the right spot.
Orgasm built again. She bit her tongue, to keep from screaming, as ecstasy crashed over her. She clenched around his cock, pressing back into him, and floating into the clouds as the moment drew on.
His grunts and short, hard thrusts told her he was close too. He ground against her as he came, gripping her tight, and pounding for several seconds before he slowed.
Her thoughts swam, blissfully clear. As the endorphins faded, her legs wobbled, and the voices outside surged back to tease her.
Wow. What a rush.
Reagan rested her forehead against the wall, content to let the sound of them catching their breath be the conversation. She should cover herself before someone walked in on them. As soon as her limbs felt like moving.
“What are your plans for the rest of the night?” His question sent shivers of conflict down her spine.
She liked hearing him talk. She really liked the idea of a round two in bed. She had zero interest in forming an attachment, ever and especially to someone who picked her up at a tradeshow hundreds of miles from home. “I, uh...” if she was going to turn him down, she’d rather put some distance between them, than be half-dressed and way too comfortable leaning back into him.
The air kicked on, and cold rushed over her, raising goosebumps in its wake. That added to the topic of conversation seemed like a good reason to tug on her shirt and pull up her pants. She nudged him back and stepped away from him, to dress.
He let her go without resistance. “Don’t misunderstand. I know what this is,” he said.
She met his gaze. “No names. No numbers?”
“Right.” He stared back, unflinching. “But my night’s open, and I enjoy your company more than mingling with a bunch of salesmen who aren’t telling me the whole story. My proposal is this—we’ll order dinner, test out the giant tub, and see what else we can get up to before we go our separate ways in the morning.”
“I have to admit that sounds like a decent arrangement.”
He gripped her waist and pulled her close. The heat of his body chased away the chill of the room and sank into her bones. He trailed his nose along her neck. “What do you say we head upstairs and see where the night goes from there?”
He was offering to buy her dinner, keep her company, plus more of what had the potential to be incredible sex.
She was good with that. Better than she should be. “Five seconds. Or ten.” She turned on her phone long enough to send her roommate a text that said Met a hottie. Call 911 if you don’t hear from me by morning. Reagan clicked send, powered off the device, and looked at Suit-Guy. “I’m in.”
When they got back to his room, they skipped the tub in favor of something quicker, and spent their time in the shower, getting clean then filthy. She had to put something on, to keep from flashing the porter who delivered their meal, her mysterious-but-sexy Suit-Guy draped his shirt over her shoulders. The way he looked at her, as though she were the main course, made her pulse race.
They tested out his jetted tub in what became a drawn-out tease session, fucked in bed, and fell to the mattress tangled around each other.
Definitely not what she expected when she started her day, but an evening she’d keep fond memories of and revisit often—no doubt—for a long time.
When she woke up the next morning, she was alone in the room. As she cast her gaze around, an unfamiliar stone sank in her gut. It wasn’t just that he was gone, but so were all of his things. There were no suitcases. She scrambled to her feet and checked the closet.
Empty.
Like the counter in the bathroom. Her clothes were folded on a chair, her purse on top, with her phone and wallet untouched inside. At least he didn’t rob her.
Something caught Reagan’s eye. A note scribbled on hotel stationary sat next to the TV.
Alice,
Her blood ran cold, and she sank to the mattress before her shaking legs gave out on her. Only Wayne called her that.
Had a blast last night. Sorry to run before you woke up. I was late. Check out of the room when you’re finished.
Hatter
PS-Turn on your phone.
If she was freaked out by his knowing her nickname, his name turned her skin to ice. What the fuck did she step into?
She grabbed her clothes and yanked them on with shaking hands. The rip in the leg of her jeans tore when she accidentally jammed her foot through the worn fabric. Fuck fuck fuck. Tension surged inside. She shoved her bra in her purse and pulled her shirt on.
As she walked into the hallway, she turned on her phone. The more distance she put between her and his room, the more her pulse slowed. It was probably a stupid thing to get all strung out over, but the note left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Wayne hadn’t left her any more messages—which surprised her—but there was a voicemail from her roommate. As she stepped onto the elevator and pushed the button for her floor, she let the message play.
Mindy’s voice drilled into her thoughts. “Reagan, I need you to call me. I don’t want to do this over the phone, but you need to know. Professor Dickinson is dead.”
Reagan let out a half-sob, half-gasp, and her shaky legs buckled. She slumped back against the wall of the car. Terror, grief, and nausea raced through her, stealing the strength from her limbs, and Wayne’s pleading echoed in her head.
It was a coincidence. It had to be. This wasn’t related to his paranoia last night.
It didn’t matter how long she mentally shouted the insistence. She didn’t believe it.