Page 501 of The Sinner: James

“Okay. I’m here,” I say, climbing out of the limo and swinging my eyes to the imposing building. “Stay with me a little longer. Okay?” I murmur.

“Yes. I will… How’s the weather?” Eve asks.

“The weather is nice,” I say, swiveling my head and taking in the streets, the people strolling up and down, and the sea sprinkled with lights.

“It’s warm and breezy,” I say, still grappling with a strange feeling.

Tense, I move away from the car.

The bellboy picks up my suitcase before the doorman greets me warmly in the lobby.

Smiling, I walk past them and make a beeline for the elevator.

“He should be in his suite,” I murmur, trying to ignore my nerves.

I press the button on the panel and count the seconds as the elevator slides up.

There’s some background noise and then Eve’s voice.

“I have to get back to work,” she says. “My lunch break is over.”

“I’m almost there.”

I take a few more steps, and the door of his hotel suite enters my line of sight.

“Finally, I’m here,” I mutter nervously, unable to explain the odd feeling I’m wrestling with.

“Good.”

A smile lines her voice.

“I’m knocking on the door,” I say, doing just that.

A male voice rings behind the door.

“He’s here,” I say, giddy. “I gotta go,” I add excitedly.

“Okay. Okay. Let me know how it goes,” she says with the same brand of enthusiasm she used when she clapped her hands in the past.

“Okay... Bye. Bye.” I say, rushed before hanging up, slipping my phone into my pocket and letting my trench fall open enough to flash my sheer bra and panties, thigh–high stockings, high heels, and delicate garners.

The door slides open, and the man’s dark hair comes into view first.

He looks down while opening the door and has a towel wrapped around his waist as if he’s just walked out of the shower with a few beads of water on his shoulders and his hair.

Behind him, the room is pretty dim.

Excitement surges through my veins briefly as things get set in motion and unfold quickly, impossible to stop.

My arms shoot up and curl around his neck, my breasts lining his bare chest, my hips pressed flush against his bumpy package.

Judging by how fast he gets hard and twitches, he's glad to see me, yet his arms wrap around me at a slower pace than I envisioned, showing reluctance more than anything else.

“Hey, baby,” I say, pressing my lips against his lips.

He smells good, his breath is minty, and his skin is warm.

And then, out of the fuzziness of my memory, bolts out a shred of stark awareness.

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