Page 65 of Wrong Place Perfect Time

Dripping wet and naked, I make my way to the door. I’m sure it’ll be nothing, but I still need Jasmine to follow at least one or two rules.

For a while, at least.

Just as ordered, there is one empty hallway and a cart full of food.

I wheel it in while Jasmine jokes she could only find one robe, announcing I’ll have to go naked or just have a skimpy hotel towel around my waist.

She hands me the tissue-sized towel, which has me smiling.

I shrug, figuring if she wants to watch me eat naked, I can indulge her.

Sitting opposite me on the lounge chair with the coffee table between us, I decide to add my own conditions if she wants to play that way.

“Open,” I growl at her with a smile, showing teeth she knows by now I’m not afraid to use on her.

She gives me an innocent look, but my eyes follow the line of her crossed thighs, and I tell her what I want.

“If I’m naked, you’re showing me what else I can have while I eat,” I inform her, and I make sure not to lift the lids on any food until she does as she’s told.

With a sassy little smirk, she teases me.

Lifting a little of her robe at a time, has me barking at her how much higher she needs to go until I’m satisfied.

Only when I can see all that’s mine am I satisfied, and I tell her so.

“Now, let’s eatthis,” I exclaim, heaping a plate with food for her. “I’m starving. It’ll be dinner time before we have breakfast at this rate.”

I eat, and I watch her eat.

She enjoys her idea of the perfect view of me eating, and I’m the same.

This is what I’ve waited for, and this is what I like. Just the two of us, doing what comes naturally and not having to give a shit about anything else.

I could watch her do anything all day, but sitting just the way she is, with her perfect little pink pussy winking at me as she chews?

I’m in heaven and keep eating long after she’s done.

But she doesn’t seem to mind watching me eat either.

When I’m done, I stack up all the plates and napkins, ready to wheel it all back out into the corridor to be collected.

My hand’s on the door handle, and I’m primed to unlatch it and swing it open when a voice from the corridor makes me freeze to the spot.

I lift my hand in reflex, signaling absolute silence, but I’m pretty sure Jasmine isn’t paying attention.

It sounds like she’s gone to freshen up after eating.

The sounds of the faucet running from the bathroom tell me her location.

I slowly press my ear to the door, certain I must be imagining things.

A quick look through the peephole has me almost gasping.

It can’t be.

“You two. I told you, wait by the fucking elevator. I don’t want you clowns ruining it like you did last time.”

Part of me wants to swing the door open, to accuse him of following me.

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