I also came to write an article, so I concentrate on that, forcing all thoughts of Landon and his mixed signals from my mind. Tony hands me over to the hotel manager, a passionate looking Frenchman called Claude Devin. “I’m to show you around and tell you everything you need to know,” he tells me in a lilting, sexy accent. “I know everything about this place. I worked here when I was younger, when it was still run by the Sinclairs. Then I went back to France. Mr. Court lured me back with the promise of running the finest hotel in San Francisco, and he was perfectly right.”
He keeps talking all morning, peppering information about the hotel with gossip from the old era as he shows me around the facilities, from the world class gym, to the spa, the bar, meeting rooms, and t
he restaurants, all to be run by world renowned chefs. There are two ballrooms, conference rooms, a presidential suite that puts the luxurious suite where I’m staying with Landon to shame, along with indoor and outdoor pools.
“It will be the jewel of San Francisco when it opens,” Claude promises. “Court has kept all that was good about the old hotel and brought in everything no one else could have known it lacked.”
By lunchtime, Landon is still in his meeting. Claude shows me to one of the furnished offices where I can set up my laptop and start to piece my notes together. I have to send a progress sheet to Mark tomorrow, so I really can’t slack off.
Claude leaves me to work, going back to his own office, after assuring me that he’ll let Landon know where I am as soon as the meeting is over.
The sound of the door opening interrupts my work, and I look up to see Landon entering the room. Hours of meetings haven’t done anything to lessen the potency of his attraction.
“How’re you getting on?” he asks.
“Okay. Claude was very helpful.”
“Good.” He nods. “We’ll go out to lunch. Afterward, if you’re done with Claude, you can return to the Rosemont. I’m going to be here for a while.”
“That’s fine.” I get up, intending to pack up my stuff, but I stop, unable to repress the question that’s been gnawing at me since last night. “Did you change your mind about this trip?” I hold his gaze. “Did you decide that you don’t want to fuck me anymore?”
His expression doesn’t change, his silence seeming to confirm my fears. He turns back to the door, and I almost think that he’s going to leave. Then as I watch, he turns a button in the door handle, locking the door and turning back to face me.
For some reason, my heart is pounding, but I stay silent as he comes to stand behind me. My blood is rushing hotly through my veins, my whole body eager and anticipating. As if from a distance, I hear the noise as he pulls my chair out of his way.
My whole back feels heated, as if I’m being seared by being so close to him. I stiffen as he presses a hand flat against my stomach, pulling me back to mold my body against his.
I gasp at the contact, feeling his arousal, hard and thick against my back. He leans forward, his breath teasing my ear and neck. “Does this feel like I don’t want to fuck you?”
“No.” My voice is a whisper.
Still holding me against his rock hard body, he uses his other hand to undo the buttons of my top, one by one, until it’s hanging open, along with my jacket. He pulls it out of the waistband of my pants and then reaches up to undo the clasp of my bra.
“I want you so much it fucking hurts,” he whispers at my ear, as his hand finds my breasts under the loose bra. He pinches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger and I groan, loud.
“I can hardly keep my mind on anything else,” he continues. “I’ve never wanted anyone so much.”
I know what he means. I feel as if my body has only just been awakened. “But last night…” I manage to ask through the haze of my arousal. “Why...?”
“Why did I stay away? Why did I try to give you a chance to change your mind? I have no fucking idea. I must have been crazy.” The hand on my stomach slides down to my pants, undoing the clasp with one sure flick of his fingers. Then those same fingers are sliding into my panties, over the wet slickness between my legs.
My hips buck, rubbing against his fingers. Releasing my breast, he uses that hand to pull down my pants, then abandons his ministrations between my thighs so he can push my panties down over my hips. Then his fingers find me again, stroking the swollen mass of aroused nerves that my clit has become, while from behind, he inserts two fingers inside my wet pulsing core.
“Oh God!” I cry out as he starts to fuck me with his fingers, fast, giving no room for anything else but the sensation of his touch and the maddening sensation of him teasing my clit. I’m going mad, I think, as pleasure overtakes me, or else I’m dying. I cry out, loudly, past the point of caring who hears, as my hips buck uncontrollably.
“Landon!” I scream his name, helpless against the coming orgasm, my brain dying with each stroke of his fingers. “Oh fuck! Landon!”
“Let it go,” he whispers against my ear, rubbing harder against my clit, the same moment he presses his fingers against the bundle of nerves inside me. I let out a harsh scream and collapse forward on the table, spent, as my body trembles with the aftermath of my orgasm.
My body is slick with sweat, making strands of my hair stick to my face and neck. I try to catch my breath, almost impossible as Landon continues to stroke my clit.
He reaches between us to loosen the waistband of his pants, and soon I can feel his cock, warm and hard against my butt. I rub myself against him, eliciting a low growl from him.
“Are you on the pill?”
I nod, impatient to feel him inside me. “Yes,”
“I’m clean Rachel, and I want to fuck you like this, with my skin against yours. I want to feel your heat. I want to come inside you.” The finger on my clit moves lower, to press against the wet opening to my body.