That’s just it. I’m not a bloodynormallad, though.
Firstly, I don’t murder on a whim. The desire to do so is too great. Secondly, I’ve my reasons not to spare a life.
But I spared Luxury from the modus operandi.
The wanker who breezes off after sex.
Since I’ve set my eyes on Luxury, I’ve ignored my inner demons, drawn to the freckled beauty. I could count every single one. Taste them. I find myself smiling at the unfeasible notion.
At this precise moment, I decide Whitson will not die on my watch. Killing Dr. Whitson would’ve been as easy as sniping him through an open window. SavingbothWhistons’ lives after the requester has grown weary of waiting, now that’s a challenge I welcome.
10
LUXURY
Day Six
The man who reinvented sex put me to sleep last night. Unfortunately, he didn’t chase away the nightmares. It didn’t really matter, though, when the dick was that good.
Now, one of Victor’s black button-ups floats over the plumpest bend in my thighs. I interlace each silk button.Maybe I’ll steal his shirt, have something to remember him by. Proof this was real.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if he has another color since black embodies my father’s roses only. Additionally, the color adds a funk to my mood.
Lux, forget his clothing preferences and your desire to dream of this night eons from now. At least walk away knowing something a bit more tangible about the guy.
Where does he live? The Hotel Delacroix starts at two grand per night. Which I only know because Aliyah checked for her first anniversary with Tommy. But she only considered the junior suites. Which begs the question, how much is this place?
With my luck, Victor lives in Hudson Yards with his doting wife and a toddler who speaks three foreign languages.
Lux, that’s highly impossible. This room is too expensive for one night of—This room is so not available for one night! Girl, asking for one night is probably like asking for two hours at the Budget Inn.
“You have questions.” His tone sounds so confident, a statement of fact as opposed to an inquiry.
That’s different.
Questions may teem from my mind, but I know one thing for sure. He’s insistent. He could’ve ordered me tospeak.
So far this morning, he tenderly washed me in the shower, then his eyes devoured me as I applied the hotel’s signature lotion.
The power exchange has been a pleasant delight from interacting with men my age who are video game connoisseurs. For the time being, I’ll take the following debauchery tactics: Grab me by the hair. Lead me like a lamb to the slaughter.
I like this. Perhaps a little too much.
I find my voice. “Kind of.”I have a thousand questions, emotions, cravings.My gaze flickers over Victor’s washboard abdominals, and another question comes to mind.
How does he have time for workandto look so tasty?
I clear my throat. “So, how long are you staying in New York, Dr. Finch?”Please don’t say you live around the corner in an open marriage with a multilingual wife and kid.
A burly shoulder lifts. “Not sure.”
“Well, you strike me as the type who is always certain. Especially last night.” I blush, body overwhelmed by ripples of pleasure, even though he hasn’t given a straight answer. Inside, I already selfishly want to claim his dick for life. Pet it. Kiss it. Suck it. Own it for life.
I may be young, but I have a few friends who went to college as a means of freedom and for experimentation. They sharedeveryjuicy detail, and I’ll be damned if any story was as titillating as last night. The second Victor leaves town, I’m jumping into my grungy yellow-polka dot pajamas for a few weeks tops. Who am I kidding? Sex like that, I’ll be in mourning for a year! “Where do you come from?”
“I came from . . . Saudi Arabia.” An amused glint flickers in his eye as he slides into tailored slacks. It’s the only playful thing about Victor. Next, another crisp shirt will remove my view of his ripped body. But he doesn’t put on the black button-up.
As if my curiosity was satisfied, Victor sits.