Page 12 of Room 13: Bred By the Bears

Chantilly: Girl ???? WTF are you? I’ve been texting like the mama of a thirteen-year-old at her first boy-girl party. Why are you ignoring me? It’s not like I don’t know what you did with those men. I need the details. Seriously. Take the dick out ya mouth, your coochie, between them boobies wherever you are presently being fucked, stop.

Chantilly: THIS IS A WELLNESS CHECK

Chantilly: You are on my SHIT LIST

Chantilly: Give me a least a thumbs up emoji so I know you’re actually alive

Me: ????

Chantilly practically stalkedme with her demand to call her. But I didn’t know what to say. How to put into words the transcendent experience the four of us had shared. It was more than just hot sex. Which obviously, it was hotter than an August day with no air conditioning. But it felt oddly connected. Like any minute detail I’d neglected to mention turned me on, they already knew and provided it to me on a silver platter.

Chantilly:She’s alive! Jesus woman. Why are you ignoring me.

Me: I’m processing. And right now I’m working.

Me: I will call you later.

I’d hadsome hot sex over the years visiting Club Sin. Not just the one in New Orleans, but all the others as well. I’d had some amazing partners and I never walked away from a scene without some level of satisfaction. But what I’d felt the past two days was bone deep. It hummed.

Throw in the fact that the man who sat across from me, in a preppy windowpane suit, a lazily buttoned shirt that on anyone else would look haphazard but on him looked oozingly self-confident, was Trygg, the famous sculptor? Well butter my bread and call me dinner. Fuck. The way he’d eaten me Ihadbeen dinner. And I wanted to be again. I knew that now. While he sat across from me, looking so fucking professional and businesslike. No hint that he was tortured by the memories of what we’d done together. Meanwhile, I feared I had a giant wet spot on the back of my dress from how desperately my pussy clenched in remembrances of him, his friends, and their pleasure inducing cocks all over my body.

We’d taken a tour of the hotel. I’d showed them my plans, color samples, fabric swatches and other bits of inspiration in each space. I’d expected Ryker—Trygg—whichever I should refer to him as—to take notes, or hum in agreement, provide insight. Something to show he vibed with my vision. But he hadn’t said a word. Though every time I looked up from my portfolio, he was looking at me. No looking is the wrong word. He tracked me like a lion would track a gazelle. I felt his gaze like liquid heat insinuating itself into my blood stream with each rapid beat of my heart.

I’d had to excuse myself from his presence for five damn minutes just to give my body a second to collect itself into something respectable and not this molten, lust-fueled, being I didn’t recognize. The cool water from the tap did nothing to dampen the heat I felt. My reflection looked back at me from the art deco mirror that hung in the reception restroom. I didn’t look any different. Not a hair out of place in my high ponytail. My dress didn’t have a single wrinkle, no tell-tale wet spot showing how turned on I was, not even my peaked nipples showed through the cushion of my bra. On the outside, I looked pulled together and professional. The exact look I intended to exude. But on the inside? I didn’t have enough words in my vocabulary to describe how upside down I felt.

I dipped my head toward the sink a second time, collecting a few drops of water in my hand to press against my neck. The next time I came up to look at myself in the mirror, there he was. Ryker. Silent. Those juniper-colored eyes of his glowering at me from over my shoulder.

“You’ve been naughty.”

His deep, masculine voice in such a beautifully feminine space felt off. Out of place. Like just from sound alone, he would trigger some alarm that would state he was an interloper in a place he wasn’t supposed to be.

The cool marble of the sink surround was the only thing keeping me standing. One sentence and my legs felt incapable of holding me up. He stepped toward me, and my body froze. As if in that split second it had weighed and measured the options and simply gave up, knowing there was no point in trying to fight the inevitable.

“Or is it Chantilly who is the naughty one?”

He crowded behind me. The press of his muscular back hot against the thin cotton of my dress. His fingers joined mine against the cold marble of the sink. Covering mine. Holding them in place while his nose traversed the length of my neck. I tried valiantly to force air into my lungs. I saw my body heave with the effort of filling up those useless sacks with the atmosphere around us. Even so, I felt dizzy. Lightheaded. Choking on the brute sexuality that invaded the space and sucked all the air from the room. His teeth against my neck shocked my body into functioning again. Air feeling normal in my lungs once again, and with it, a rush of hormones flooded my brain.

“I…” My mouth felt too dry. Words refused to form against my lips and tongue. Despite the directive from my brain, the rest of my body seemed incapable of complying.

“What a lucky coincidence we meet like this.” He continued, ignoring the fact I couldn’t speak. “I feel as if I’ve won the lottery today.”

His fingers flexed against my own, leaving a gentle trail of pleasure as he tickled up them to my wrist, and further up my arm. We both watched his hand in the mirror as it made its way to my shoulder, before descending in between the panels of my dress to the bra beneath.

“Color?” he whispered against my ear, nipping it between his teeth before releasing it.

What color was I? Colorless. Full of desire that hit so fast and so hot, I was white hot with need so fierce I was prepared to get very unprofessional four steps from where Mr. Le Mer and Obsidian chatted about Régence consoles and Renaissance divans.

“They’re on the other side of the door.”

The sentence whooshed out in a rush of air. As if speaking the words stole every ounce of my energy.

“And Obi will keep Le Mer occupied for as long as this takes. He knows where I went and what we’re doing.”

He pinched my nipple, the sharp bite doing exactly the opposite of its assumed intent.

“I asked you a question.”

My ass ground against Ryker’s groin in response to that pinch. I would not be fucked in a hotel bathroom with my current client in hearing distance. No matter how desperately my body wanted to do exactly that.

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