Page 22 of Forgotten Deeds

“My wife and I need a room for the night. Next to a stairway exit,” Darius tells her.

“Let me check what we have available,” she says in a much more professional tone now she knows he and I are married; not that I care one way or the other, I remind myself. Typing on her computer, she announces, “There’s one room that fits your criteria. Price is—”

“We’ll take it,” Darius says, paying with cash.

He pockets the key, and leads me to the gift shop where I grab the essentials, plus some clothes. Placing the items on the counter, he joins me with some things of his own—and a mermaid doll with a rainbow tail.

“I know what you’re doing,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.

“And what am I doing?” he challenges before handing over cash to the clerk.

Carrying the bags, he holds open the elevator door for me, and I step inside. He joins me, pressing the button.

“Darius,” I start.

“Yes, wifey?”

“Don’t call me that,” I snap.

“What would you have me call you?”

“Stranger,” I answer without hesitation.

He shakes his head with a smile. “Would a stranger know what your pretty pussy looks like? How your body shudders and arches so beautifully when you come?” he says, grabbing my chin and tilting my head so he can see my eyes. “What were you thinking of, aggeloudhi mou, when you touched your pink vibrator to that pretty clit of yours the other night?”

Struggling out of his hold, I say in disbelief, “Oh my God, were you watching me?”

“I’ll fix your blinds,” he promises.

The elevator door opens, and he silently takes my hand, leading me down the hall to the last room next to the stairwell. He’s busy scanning the key card, and I take off running toward the emergency exit—because fuck yes, this is an emergency!

Cursing softly, he’s already caught up to me before I can make it down the first step. “Stop that,” he chastises as he picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder, giving my ass a firm smack.

I’m terrified of this psycho, and yet my pussy is tingling. My God, there is something seriously wrong with me.

He carries me inside the room and locks the door. Gripping me by the hips, he holds me up as he skims his nose along the crotch of my shorts, inhaling deeply.

I take it back; there’s something seriously wrong with him!

“Now I can put a smell to the memory,” he explains before placing me on my wobbly feet.

“Oh my God, this is so fucked up!” I exclaim, stumbling back from him. “How long have you been spying on me?”

“I was curious about you after I found you hiding in the alley,” he admits.

“Curiosity is one thing; stalking’s another,” I say, crossing my arms.

He shrugs, sitting my backpack down on the coffee table. “I had to make sure you kept your mouth shut.”

“If that is true, then what’s the excuse for watching me alone in my bedroom?” I point out.

“It was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. How could I not watch you?” he implores.

My cheeks heat, and desperately needing a distraction, I take in our accommodations. There’s a sitting area with a couch and television. Bathroom with a nice shower. I peek my head in the bedroom—one bed. I return to the sitting area and remove a couch cushion, relieved to discover it has a pull-out mattress. “I’ll sleep out here.”

“Of course you won’t,” he says, like it’s the silliest thing he’s ever heard. “You’ll take the bedroom.”

“You’re too big for this bed,” I comment.

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