Victor’s fingers glide through mine and entwine them, making me feel so tiny as his hand almost engulfs mine. As the elevator ceases at the tip-top level, Victor guides me out and straight into a suite.
Throat tight, the credo of “not kissing on the first date” weighs heavily on the tip of my tongue. Who am I kidding? This will be my first and last one-night stand.IfVictor tames the alpha in him, well, prunes it just a little. I step into the silver-veined marble living room. His fingers slip from mine.
Since I’ve never visited a man’s hotel room, my first thought is to seek out the lights. Turn them off. Ignoring my discomfort, I take in the vivid surroundings—a posh white room with shiny, gleaming ornaments. Downtown nightlights stream through the windows, catching the opulent embellishments in a trillion twinkling lights.
Victor commands a seat in the middle of the living room. He governs the single, oversized leather chair. The type of chair that keeps you warm even with the wrong blanket. They engulf you, making you feel cozy on a snowy night. Perfect for getting lost in a book. It isthattype of chair.
With a husky timbre, he demands, “Undress.”
C’mon, Luxxie, this should be a bucket list goal. Thinksexythoughts.
Thenithappens.
My hazel eyes are locked down by his. Before his powerful lips can utter the same request, he catches me with his spell.
Fervent eyes give a soul to the sudden thrill driving through my veins, wings to my guileless mind, flight to the embers of arousal burning in the pit of my stomach. This must be hypnosis. Mouth slightly ajar, my fingertips clasp for my zipper. Only the titillating sound of it unfastening breaks through the silence. Trailing down to my lower back, I arch my tailbone enough to finish. His hungry eyes zoom in on the apple shape of my ass. Quickly, I unshoulder one strap, then the other.
“Do it again,” Victor orders. That damn British accent sends a river flowing.
“Wha . . .”
A tense mouth threatens me from further inquiry. I loop the straps back on my shoulders, craving the best fuck of my life. I’m confident it’s at the tip of his fingers, mouth, and dick.
Victor has turned me into a hedonist, obsessed on every aspect, all over the mindless act of stripping. My hand grazes my shoulder as I slide off one silk string and then the other. There’s no haste this time. Air caresses my bare skin in ways I dream Victor will. My hands become paint strokes brushing the material over each side of my hip.
The dress pools on the floor as I stare at Victor, craving his approval. In response, his jaw releases from its gritted position. His eyes trace the edges of my silhouette with maddening patience. He’s pleased. I’m walking on the jagged shards of anticipation.
Luxxie, do not rush. He will punish you.
One foot after the other, I step away from the dress. He was right. It did nothing for me.
“Come here.” This command reaches out and pulls me in.
Wearing only a hot pink panty and bra set, I saunter over. Slowly Victor leans forward in his seat. My heart stops. His fingers skim my thong. He reaches around, my ass cheeks cupped so lusciously in his palms.
“Ohhh.” I give a shaky breath. I turn to the side, instinctively feeling that’s my calling. Instead of pulling my thong down, Victor teases the material to rub against my clit. I slip my hands over his while struggling to control the crest of passion.
“Ple-please touch me,” I mew as intense waves of pleasure shoots throughout my body.
Victor makes no move to submit to my request. I suck in a tensed breath. My hand reaches to caress the angle of his jaw line.
“No.”
I flinch back. Instantly, I’m the low self-esteem girl who abhors her tedious freckles. His hands curl around my throat in a mildly possessive touch that sends a light tremor down my spine. That shiver expands like an earthquake at my center when his gaze drinks me in. Sliding his fingers lower, agonizingly slow, he draws circles over the swells of my breasts.
My value increases with every trace along my curves.
Fingertips stroke my hips with a feather-light touch, intensifying my worth again.
Through his eyes, I assess my worth. Priceless. Victor lets out an explosive breath. “You are bloody, fucking gorgeous.”
The declaration causes a power exchange.
A little less of me for a lot more of him.
Like a violinist, Victor’s fingertips graze over each freckle on my trim waistline. His fingers continue strumming the cords that send thrills and vibrations crashing throughout my body as he draws me in for a lingering kiss. Passion surges up inside of me, and I whimper when his mouth pulls a fraction away.
He whispers, “Cinnamon,” and I can only wonder if he’s comparing it to my freckles. A tiny smile plasters across my lips. I am so fucked.