Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Maya
Astream of sunlight breaks through the crack in my curtains and hits me right in the face. I knew I should've brought my sleep mask. Half of my pillows are on the ground and my left leg is tangled in the sheets. I slept horribly.
It could have been my room, which was clean but looked like it hadn’t been updated in decades and came complete with paisley wallpaper and a hammock chair hanging from the ceiling.
It could have been the nonexistent water pressure or the two-ply sheets which resembled toilet paper.
My hotel falls quite a few stars short of what I'm guessing is available at the Chatham Bars Inn.
More likely, however, was that I was still a bit shaken from yesterday.
After checking into my room, I called Denise back and told her all the juicy details, from showing up woefully underdressed, to being scolded by some blonde bimbo that must've been Adam's girlfriend.
And that dick had the nerve to flirt with me!
After she was sufficiently appalled when she heard about “Ms. Plan B”, and even threatened to drive up just to “beat her ass”, we laughed about the state of my room until she had to leave for her kickboxing class.
According to her, it sounded like Scatman Crothers’ room in “The Shining”.
All it needed was a poster of Cleopatra Jones over the bed and a lava lamp.
I did leave a few things about yesterday out, though, like how hot Adam was, or how even though he didn’t shake my hand, he stared at me the whole time.
He seemed to be silently sizing me up. For what, I don’t know.
If I hadn’t felt so out of my depth, I might've snuck a few glances myself.
I snuggle deeper into the bed, trying to convince myself the sheets aren't scratchy and the pillows aren't lumpy.
Thinking about him now, his good looks were almost dangerous.
Dark hair just long enough to brush his eyebrows and fall around his ears.
Deep, nearly black eyes that made me nervous with their close scrutiny.
A full, sensual mouth I could see even through his frown.
Shoulders broad enough to be a comic book hero.
And the rest of him? Well, he clearly spends his free time in the gym or running instead of making blackberry cobbler like me.
I could see his muscles subtly flex beneath his clothes as he walked (more like stalked) towards me, his well-defined abs apparent even under his dress shirt.
I felt like he was crowding me just by standing next to me, looming a good six inches taller than my 5 foot 5 frame.
Men who look like Adam don’t usually spare me a second glance, so his quiet, undivided attention had been unsettling.
If he’d been just a little less good looking, I would guess he was into me.
But that doesn’t happen anywhere except my private fantasies.
Fantasies where those midnight eyes promise pleasure as they rake up and down my body.
He sprinkles light kisses on my lips, my cheeks, my neck, then across my chest, giving a bite to each nipple before soothing them with a warm, wet suck.
I notice what I’m doing, my hand cupping my aching breast thinking of him.
A peek at the bedside radio tells me I have time for a “sneaky tweak” before checkout.
I won’t be able to canvas effectively if I’m too worked up.
I lay back and imagine Adam going lower still, his delicious mouth cracking into a mischievous grin as he reaches my round tummy, hooking both thumbs into the sides of my panties.
Justin, my ex, never went down on me. He always said eating out was for men with no stroke game.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that meant he should be eating me out daily.
He was an accountant, specializing in due diligence for mergers and acquisitions.
Despite never forgetting my birthday and bringing me flowers once a month like clockwork, he had all the sex appeal of a guidance counselor.
I wasn’t broken up when his work had taken him overseas.
Maybe if my g-spot had been a tax error, he would have found it.
Something tells me Adam doesn’t have that issue. I kick the tangled sheets off and imagine him inhaling deeply between my thighs to smell my essence, nuzzling my clit with his nose before biting down through the fabric. Wow! Thank goodness that mouth can do more than frown at me.
I haven’t been this wet maybe ever, my fingers sliding around with ease as I spread the juices flowing from my feminine folds.
I’m close now, breathless as I imagine him tugging my panties down, firmly kissing my mound before placing a tentative lick against my womanhood.
I jerk up in pleasure and his grin turns positively wicked.
He pushes my legs wider, his lips inches from my dripping pussy, and finally…
Buzz buzz buzz…buzz buzz buzz.
Seriously?! Can’t a lady have a few minutes to blow off some steam before starting her day? I yank my hand out of my panties and check the display on the offending mobile device.
Adam (Champagne Flutes)
What the hell? He's never called before! I blush as if he could somehow know what I was doing just seconds ago, and wipe my hand on the sheets before answering.
“H-Hello? Mr. Park?” He laughs a low, sexy laugh.
“I thought I asked you to call me 'Adam'. Did I catch you in the middle of something? You seem a little out of breath.” If my skin were any lighter, I’d be bright red all over from blushing so hard. I clear my throat and try to sound put together. Surely I can manage that for a quick client call.
“Um, no, no! I was just…packing up since I’m about to check out of my hotel.”
There’s a pause and I wonder if the call got disconnected.
“Hello? Did I lose you?”
“No, I’m still here," he says tentatively. "I’m just surprised you’re still in the area. I thought you'd be back in the city by now.”
“Driving at night isn’t my favorite, so I decided to stay and check out a few venues in the area.”
More silence. Why did he call if he wasn't going to talk?
“So…Was there a problem with the flutes?” I ask, eager to wrap up the world's most awkward conversation.
“The favors were a hit. I, uh…I was actually calling to apologize for my rudeness yesterday. I’m normally more charming, I promise.”
I’m even more confused now, because Adam sounds downright nervous. And this is the first time a client has ever called to apologize, though I also don’t normally give out my phone number. I'm not sure how to respond.
“Uh, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“No, it’s not fine,” he says more firmly. “That’s why I called."
"OK…Well…Apology accepted," I say. I can hear movement, like he's shifting in his chair.
"I was hoping…since you're still around…maybe I could make it up to you with a coffee before you head out?...Or lunch? If you have time.” He clears his throat, obviously nervous now. Could this be the return of "Flirty Adam"? I don't answer right away, and he quickly backpedals.
“It’s no big deal, really. I just know my Mom would have my butt if she knew I didn’t at least offer after you drove all this way.” That gets a chuckle out of me and I soften towards this chivalrous near-stranger.
“Ok," I reply. "I guess I have to eat.”
We set a time and a place before disconnecting. What do I wear to breakfast with the leading man in one of my steamiest fantasies?