Page 23 of The Promise Of You

“What do you want to know?”

“You have experience with women, right.”

“What do you want to know, sweet Clover?”

I take a deep breath. Not the kind I need to take before I get in an elevator, but close. “On a scale of one to ten… where do you put me?”

His hand sifts through my hair. “I don’t grade women, Clover. That’s disrespectful.”

I roll my eyes. He would say that. But come on. “I mean, not saying you give them grades, but… some people are better in bed than others.”

“Right. What do you want to know?”

He said we should be truly ourselves tonight, and that’s why we’re doing the no names, no numbers things. So I put myself out there. I hope he doesn’t make fun of me. “Where—where do I need to improve? Like, could you show me some tricks? Or whatever.”

His arm around me tightens, and I lift my face to his.

Something dangerous passes through his gaze.

“You know, for—”

“Yeah, I think I know what you mean.” He dips his head to kiss my temple and doesn’t say a thing.

Then he lifts me in his arms and takes me to the bathroom. He runs a warm shower, and we both step in. He washes me and lets me lather his whole, beautiful body. He’s careful not to get my hair wet because I said I don’t want to deal with the whole drying part of it.

Also I could keep his smell on me a little longer, but I don’t tell him that.

And then he fists my still-dry hair so he can kiss me long and hard this time, and he presses me against the tile, and he lifts one of my hands above my head, like he did in the elevator. I hike one leg around his hips, and his hand shoots out of the shower to grab a condom. Before I have time to fully revel on how prepared he is, he’s pumping in and out of me. My raw insides clamor for more, my legs shake, my toes curl, my scalp tingles. As I scream and fall apart in his arms, and while he’s still fucking me against the tile, I wonder how it is that each orgasm is stronger than the previous.

You’d think I’d be out of orgasms for a while.

After he comes and dries us and gets us back to bed, I say, “I get why you only do one nights. It’s better and better each time. I’d end up just wanting to have sex with you all day. Wouldn’t get any work done.”

He chuckles and pulls me into his side and sets his alarm. The pale gray light of dawn is seeping through the curtains.

He closes his eyes and plays with my hair for a while. Then he says, “You’re off the charts, Clover. Totally off the charts. I’m not saying that to make you feel good.”

I kiss his cheek and settle into him and wait for his breathing to steady. Then when I’m confident he’s deeply asleep, I slowly worm my way away from him so we don’t have to say goodbye. Then I get dressed, and I leave him forever.

seven

Chloe

One week later

Why didn’t I push back? Beg him? Stalk him? Try to find out from the desk clerk who the man in room 2037 was? I could have done so many things.

Instead I kept my promise to him.

The days that followed our night in the elevator, I went through the conference like a zombie, my thoughts full of the feel of his strong arms around me. Of his deep green eyes, full of so much care. Of his voice carrying me through the night.

I took notes in sterile, windowless rooms, exchanged business cards, all the time peeling my eyes in hopes that he would be here too.

He wasn’t, or I didn’t see him.

After the conference I stayed in Boston a few more days.

I stayed at the same hotel. Lingered at the same bar. The bartender’s wound was healing nicely. And the bartender had no idea who my mysterious stranger was. Or if he did, he hid it well.

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