Page 9 of The Contract
“Shocking,” I say, though of course it isn’t.
“I know, right? But she seems happy. He paid for my trip here and put me up in this posh hotel, so I say live and let live.” She giggles again, tonguing the straw of her drink suggestively. Then she pulls out her phone to show me the scores of photos she took of the Eiffel Tower.
I’m already bored. The sound of her voice grates on me and all I can think about is Brooklyn’s face, the citrus scent of her shampoo, the heat of her breath in my ear, and what it felt like to come inside her on our wedding night, over and over again.
Fuck, I want the old Luka back. The one who only cared about a woman’s bra size, and how quickly I could get her into bed.
“You said you have a room here?” I murmur, and lean a little closer.
“I do,” she says, eyes sparking with interest. “Are you interested in aprivate tour?”
“Nothing would make me happier right now.”
As I down the last of my whiskey, her eyebrows flick up. She’s noticed my wedding ring. I don’t mention it, and neither does she.
I stand up and take her hand, pulling her to her feet. Her breasts are beautifully pushed together, creating a deep line of cleavage that I could bury my face in while pulling the straps of her dress all the way down to expose her tits and wrap my mouth around her nipples.
The image flashes through my mind…yet nothing happens. There’s no spark. My cock seems oblivious to the dirty thoughts in my head. What the fuck? This woman is full and ripe, dark and luscious. Ready to be spread out under me. Instead, my mind is straying to Brooklyn walking toward me in her wedding gown, her radiant beauty rendering everyone speechless.
Enough.
“Lead the way,” I tell her.
She winks and tugs me away from the table. “I thought you’d never ask.”
I’m in a daze as we stumble across the hotel lobby. I never rush into proposing sex this fast. I like the chase, the seduction. I love the moment I know I’ve won a woman over and she’s pliable and willing in my arms. But I don’t care about any of that right now.
As soon as the elevator doors close behind us, I have her against the wall, her hands pinned lightly in mine as I take her mouth.
She shimmies her hips against me as I swipe my tongue along hers. She tastes…different. Too sweet. Like daiquiri and lip gloss. Her lips are sloppy against mine, not moving perfectly in time with my rhythm. It’s wrong. It’s all wrong.
Frustrated, I cup her breast and squeeze, listening to her moan as I kiss her with everything I’ve got.
The car opens and we spill out into the hall. She pulls her keycard from her pocket and leads me to her room. With a wicked grin, she spins and presses against the doorframe, reaching for me with one hand while she slides the card into the door slot with the other.
I kiss her again.
And not a fucking thing happens to my cock. Nothing. No zing of anticipation, no pulsing need. No immediate hard-on.
With a sigh, I pull away and run a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. I just remembered something I need to do.”
She brushes my excuse off by grabbing my crotch and giving it a squeeze. “What could possibly be more interesting than this?”
Pushing away from her, I smooth my shirt and set my jaw. “My wife.”
Without looking back, I leave her standing at the door and walk back to the elevator. She doesn’t try to stop me. Or maybe she does, but I’m already so deft at ignoring her that I don’t notice. I feel lighter as I ride back down to the lobby.
Fucking that woman would have been the wrong thing to do. Apparently, my cock agreed. But I’m still not ready to go back to my room and face Brooklyn. In fact, I quite enjoyed the look of hurt jealousy on her face when I’d left earlier. Let her simmer a while longer.
The lobby is nearly empty when I find a plush sofa in a private nook and settle back into the brocade covered cushions. It’s comfortable, and I slouch down as fatigue takes hold of my brain. The alcohol is taking full effect now, making me content and warm, and before I know it, I’m drifting off.
When I wake up some time later, I’m disoriented—but a hell of a lot more sober. I’m also feeling hungover, and I’m pleased to find there’s red lipstick smeared on my collar. That’ll show Brooklyn. And I’ve got a hard-on with her name all over it.
A plan begins to form in my mind. I have no regrets.
I know exactly what I’m going to do.
Brooklyn
