Page 6 of Scarlet Secrets

DEMYAN

Of all thefucking things I figured today would throw at me—and it’s been a whole damn lot—a naked little blonde in my bathtub wasn’t on that bingo card.

She sips the whiskey, her nose wrinkling with each swallow like she’s not used to it the way I drink it.

So, I place an order with room service. Vodka and caviar blini with all the trimmings and a bottle of Krug. I then motion for her to sit, slightly disappointed in the dress. It’s creased and is clearly made for office work. She’s the blonde I noticed when I went to the bar much earlier. She and her stunning friend had been there, and I… well, let’s just fucking say I had balls to crush into dust.

Something I don’t like to do over the phone, but in this case…

Fucking Aleksandr. Fucking amateur. Thinking he can take my spot, thinking he can waltz in and… I take a swallow of the whiskey.

It was a long evening.

Balls were crushed.

After my evening appointment and not, unfortunately, Aleksandr’s.

I’m not even here for business. Not this weekend.

“I really should go,” she says, gripping her glass like it’s the holy grail. “I’m keeping you and I need to get?—”

“Sit. Drink. Stay. You claim you’re here on a business trip, but I say you’re an escort.” I look her up and down, the image of those soft, gorgeous tits with the cherry-red nipples and rose petal areolae still sparking and throbbing in my head.

All of her really, from that perfect fucking pussy, bare, closed lips, small lips, the kind I could suck on and—With effort I drag myself up from the gutter, one I’d like to explore with her.

But she’s angelic. The damp blonde halo of hair, and the big hazel eyes add to that thought. As does the blush she wears like it’s makeup, lighting her cheeks, the column of her throat.

The woman’s not overly tall, not to me, and she’s a little on the thin side. Her legs are long, though. And the way her hands flutter when not holding the glass, I’d say she’s not sure why she said she’d stay for a drink.

I’m glad she has, though. Not that I wanted company tonight, or thought I wanted it. But she’s like an unexpected refreshing breeze, the kind of thing on a stinking hot, humid New York summer day a man likes to bask in.

And fuck, I’m losing what’s left of my goddamn mind.

“Maybe,” she says, trying again, “I should go. I feel like I’m holding you up. I saw the tux.”

Damn, but the blush deepens.

“Fishing?”

“I forgot my rod.”

The wordsI’ve got it right here,Lyubimaya, sit on my tongue and I swallow it down. I don’t mind crudeness. It hasits place. But not with her. I’m not planning on fucking her. Just having some fun.

Unwinding.

Still, my mouth twitches and I top off my drink, holding the bottle of Japanese whiskey to her. She shakes her head and sets down her drink and stands.

I take a sip. Her hips are nicely rounded. I’d been distracted when she was naked in my bathroom, but now I notice. Not wide, but with a curve and a small waist. Exquisite—that’s the word. From her quiet prettiness to the boring dress and bare feet, like she’s part woodland fairy, part desk jockey.

Fuck. “I’m not sure I should let you go,” I say, keeping my tone light. “I’m still getting to the bottom of your being here.”

“I told you?—”

“That you’re the world’s most unusual lady of the night.”

Her lips press together, but the light dances in her eyes.

So I go further. “Tell me, is the B and E your special brand, or was tonight your first time?”

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