11. Brooke
My eyes flick open, and for a moment, I don’t know where I am. But as the murkiness of sleep fades, the events of last night and early this morning come flooding back to me.
Sex and a lot of it.
I turn my head to look at the stranger sleeping next to me. He’s out cold, his glorious naked body relaxed and deeply tanned amid the white sheets. He’s on his back, and all of him is on display. The six-pack. The inked chest. The thick cock that gave me one mind-blowing orgasm after another. It’s resting on his muscular thigh, and its size is as impressive to the eye as it was inside me.
I look at the clock on the nightstand. 4:32 a.m.
I’m sore from all the things we did last night, but that doesn’t stop me from wondering if I should wake him up by taking his cock in my mouth and making him moan those deep, rumbling moans he makes when he’s about to come.
But I decide against it. Everything about him screams he’s no good for me. And if the events of the last week have taught me one thing, it’s to trust my instincts.
I wanted one night to forget, and I got it. Now it’s time to face the cold reality of a new day and my new life.
Careful not to make a noise, I slide out of the bed, gather my clothes that I’d retrieved from the rooftop a few hours ago, and disappear into the giant marble bathroom to dress.
When I walk back into the bedroom, he hasn’t moved. He’s out like a light. Yet something tells me if I were to make the slightest noise, he would bolt upright and be instantly alert. I don’t think too many people would ever be able to get the jump on this guy. He seems too aware of his surroundings, unwaveringly observant of everything going on around him.
I don’t want him to wake up, so I hold my breath and creep quietly through the penthouse toward the elevator doors behind the vast kitchen. I wince at the ding the doors make as they open, and I step inside the elevator.
Certain Lev would’ve heard the doors and will appear any second, I suck in a deep breath and pray for them to close quickly. I don’t want the awkward morning after conversation.
When the doors finally close, I exhale roughly and relax my shoulders.
Passing by the reception desk, I don’t make eye contact with the doorman and keep walking. It’s not until I step onto the street and into the cold, early-morning light that I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I let it go and hail a cab, grateful to find one so quickly.
But as the cab makes its way through the pre-dawn streets toward my hotel, I recall how Lev called me Miss Masters, and an uneasy feeling shivers down my spine.
Because I never told him my last name.