Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
"Name?"
The man behind the desk wore a suit jacket and a nametag that said Carl.
He looked at me like I was some dog shit he just stepped in.
Couldn't quite blame him. The place had shiny marble floors in the lobby and big ass chandeliers hangin' from the high ceilings, crystals or diamonds or some shit reflectin' the fadin' sunlight that came through giant glass windows.
Just like the cloth napkin place, we stuck out like sore thumbs in the marble lobby place.
"Lancaster. Brody."
Calvin leaned in to whisper over my shoulder. "You forgot to say the comma part." Then, in her most mocking tone, said, "Lancaster comma Brody." She signed off by pushing her invisible glasses up her nose.
"You're a brat."
We finished checkin' in and rode the elevator to the seventeenth floor in silence. I held the door and she walked through. I followed her down the hall, slid the key card, pushed the door open, and stood back.
She stopped just inside the doorway.
The suite had one wall that was almost entirely glass—floor to ceiling, corner to corner. Beyond it, Bozeman spread out below and the valley opened up and the mountains came up out of it sudden and enormous.
She stood there for a moment. Then she walked to the windows and said it matter-of-fact, the way she said most things that cost her something.
"I've never stayed in a hotel before."
Never been on a date. Never stayed in a hotel.
Easy to please, this one. If you knew where to look.
I crossed the room to her. She turned before I got there. I tipped her face up, and I kissed her—not slow, not soft, nothin' like the kiss at the axe bar.
This kiss was a promise. A fuckin' declaration. The kind that said I'm about to take you apart in this hotel room and I'm not gonna rush a single second of it.
Her fingers curled into the front of my shirt—her tell. Always grabbin' on when her body got ahead of her brain. I broke the kiss just long enough to pull my shirt over my head, and Calvin's eyes dropped to my chest with a hunger that had my cock strainin' against my jeans.
"Strip," I said.
Her brow arched. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." I took a step back and crossed my arms. "Strip. Slow."
The corner of her mouth twitched. It was another little tell she had before she decided whether to fight me or fuck me.
Tonight, she was choosin' both. She grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head in one fluid motion, tossin' it aside without ceremony.
No bra underneath. Hadn't been wearin' one all damn day—again—which had been a special kind of torture I was about to collect on.
Her tits were perfect. Full and round with dark nipples already peaked hard in the cool air of the suite. My mouth watered.
She popped the button on her pants next, wiggled them down her hips with a deliberate sway that had me clenchin' my fists to stop from lunging for her. Black lace underneath. Of fuckin' course.
"Those too."
She hooked her thumbs in the waistband and slid them down her thighs, steppin' out and kickin' 'em toward me with her bare foot like a dare.
And there she was, in all her fuckin' glory.
Naked in front of a wall of glass with the Bozeman skyline spread out behind her, mountains catchin' the last of the daylight.
Like someone had commissioned a painting just for me.
One with dark hair, tattooed arms, a body that could bring a man to his knees—and frequently did.
I closed the distance between us. She tilted her chin up, expectin' a kiss. Instead, I gripped her hips, turned her around, and walked her forward until her chest pressed flat against the glass.
She gasped—sharp, surprised—and her hands flew up, palms flat against the window. Her tits pressed against the cool surface, and I watched from over her shoulder as they flattened and spread, nipples dragging against the glass when she squirmed.
Jesus fucking Christ.
The visual alone nearly ended me.
"Brody—" Her breath fogged the glass.
I pressed my front to her back, lettin' her feel every inch of what she did to me through the denim of my jeans. One hand slid up her side, between her and the glass until I palmed her breast, kneading slow, while the other traced the curve of her hip, her ass, the heat between her thighs.
"Can't decide what I wanna fuck first," I murmured against her ear.
My hand drifted lower, fingers teasin' through her slick center.
She was soaked. "These tits." I squeezed the one in my hand and she whimpered.
"Your sweet pussy." I dragged two fingers through her folds, circlin' her clit once before pullin' away.
Her hips chased my hand. "Or this tight little ass. "
I punctuated that last one by slidin' my hand back and draggin' one slick finger over the puckered ring of muscle between her cheeks. Her whole body shuddered against mine, and a sound tore outta her that fogged the window all over again.
"All of the above," she panted, pressin' her forehead to the glass. "I don't care. Just—fuck, Brody—pick one, and stop teasin' me."
"Mmm." I kissed the spot just below her ear, the one that always made her knees threaten to buckle. "Thought you liked bein' in charge."
"Not tonight." The words came out small and raw and honest in a way that hit me somewhere deep. "Tonight I just want you."
Well, fuck. If that didn't crack my chest right open.
I turned her around, framin' her face in my hands. Her eyes were dark, glazed, a little desperate. I kissed her forehead. Her nose. Her bottom lip. Soft, soft, soft—in complete contrast to how fuckin' hard I was.
Then I dropped to my knees.
Her back hit the glass again as I hitched one of her legs over my shoulder. The view from here—Calvin lookin' down at me, chest heavin', the city lightin' up behind her as the sun dropped—was somethin' I'd carry with me for the rest of my goddamn life.
"Hold on to somethin'," I told her.
"There's nothing to—"
I buried my mouth in her pussy and she screamed.
Her palms slapped against the glass behind her, fingertips scrapin' uselessly for a grip that didn't exist. The sound of it—that frantic slide of skin on glass—mixed with the noises comin' outta her mouth and I was harder than I'd ever been in my entire fuckin' life.
I licked her in long, flat strokes, entrance to clit, feelin' her thighs tremble around my head.
When I sealed my lips around her clit and sucked, her hips jerked forward so hard she damn near took us both to the floor.
I gripped her ass in both hands, holdin' her steady, holdin' her right where I wanted her.
"Oh, fuck, Brody. Right there."
I didn't tease. Didn't edge. Gave her exactly what she needed because she'd asked—really asked, without her armor on.
I wasn't about to waste a second of that.
Two fingers slid inside her and curled, findin' that spot that made her voice go up an octave, and I worked her with my mouth and my hands in a rhythm I'd learned by heart.
Her fingers found my hair. Pulled hard enough to sting.
"I'm gonna—" Her fingers found my hair, pulled hard enough to sting. I groaned against her, the vibration doin' what it always did, and she came apart. "Fuck, I'm coming."
Her body locked up, thighs clenchin' around my head, back archin' off the glass so hard her tits bounced. I felt every pulse of her orgasm against my tongue, my fingers, and I didn't let up until she was gasping, shoving weakly at my forehead.
"Stop. Too much. Fuck."
I pulled back just enough to press my lips to the inside of her thigh, breathin' hard. My chin was slick. My dick was about to stage a revolt.
I looked up at her from my knees. She was a goddamn wreck. Flushed from her chest to her cheeks, hair stuck to her damp skin, eyes glassy.
I stood, unfastened my jeans, and shoved them down. My cock sprang free—angry, red and leakin' at the tip. Her eyes dropped, and she licked her lips on instinct. But tonight, I had somethin' else in mind.
"On your knees."
She went down without a fight. That alone told me how far gone she was.
"Squeeze 'em together for me, baby."
Calvin pressed her tits together with both hands, creatin' the perfect channel that had me groanin' before I'd even touched it.
I gripped myself, using the mess of her arousal still coatin' my hand to slick my cock as I stroked myself twice.
Then, like I'd been dreamin' for months, I slid my cock between her tits.
Fuck. Fuck.
The press of soft, warm flesh around my shaft felt like heaven. So good, I worried I might come on the spot. Her skin was damp with sweat, smooth, and the friction had my eyes rollin' back in my head.
"Look at me," she said from below, throwin' my own line back at me. I forced my eyes open and met hers—dark and wild and watchin' me with the kind of focus that made my balls tighten.
On every upstroke, the head of my cock peeked out from the top of her cleavage, and her tongue darted out to catch it. Just the tip. Just enough to send jolts of electricity down my spine.
"Fuck, Calvin." My voice didn't sound like mine anymore. Rough and wrecked and stripped down to nothin'. "You feel so fuckin' good."
She squeezed tighter. Tilted her chin down so the next time I thrust up, she took the head of my cock into her mouth and sucked. Hard. My quads burned from the crouch I'd been in and my vision went white at the edges.
"Baby, I'm close already."
She pulled off with a pop, tits still pressed around my shaft, and looked up at me with those dangerous fuckin' eyes. "Do it. Come on my tits, boy scout."
The words detonated somethin' at the base of my spine. I grabbed my dick and stroked—once, twice—and fell apart with a groan that started in my chest and came out soundin' like her name.
The first rope hit her chin, the second her lips, the third across her cheek.
She closed her eyes and let me paint her, her mouth slightly open and lashes dark against flushed cheeks.
The sight of her was so goddamn filthy and so goddamn beautiful at the same time that my cock jerked one more time, spillin' the last of it across her collarbone.
I stood there, chest heavin', starin' down at her like she'd just rearranged the entire geography of my brain.
She opened her eyes.
"You missed my tits," she said flatly.
A laugh exploded out of me, the kind that came from somewhere deep and unguarded, the kind I couldn't fake if I tried. I pulled her to her feet and kissed her, tastin' myself on her lips, not givin' a single fuck.
"Shower," I murmured against her mouth. "Then I'm orderin' you room service."
I scooped her up and carried her toward the bathroom, and she let me, which was its own kind of miracle.
Her arms wound around my neck and her forehead dropped to my shoulder and for a second, just one, I felt her exhale against my skin like she was settin' somethin' down she'd been holdin' for a long, long time.
The bathroom had one of those big glass-walled showers with enough room for four people. The rainfall showerhead seemed excessive until I was standin' under it with her, steam risin' around us, her back against my chest and my arms around her middle.
"Hey, Brody?"
"Yeah?"
"This was a good date."
I pressed my lips to her wet hair and smiled against it.
"First of many, viper."
She hummed. Didn't argue. Didn't deflect.
And I held onto that harder than I probably should've.