Chapter 4
FOUR
Davis
Colt: You were supposed to be back in the office as of this morning.
Me: Few more days. I got some good shit for you. Check your email in an hour.
I knew he was gonna be pissed, but after I ran into Noelle again last night, I brought her back to the hotel to patch up her arm and we wound up fucking like rabbits past sun up. My entire hotel suite needs a whole goddamn sanitation team to come in at this point.
Colt: Tomorrow.
Colt: We need you back.
One of the benefits of being a co-owner in the company is that I really can’t get fired – a fact I like to remind my best friend of on a regular basis, especially when I want him to partake in some of my favorite hobbies, like staying out until four in the morning getting absolutely shitfaced drunk.
It’s only worked once or twice since we started this thing, but I don’t pass up an opportunity, just in case.
I begrudgingly pull out my laptop and draft up a quick batch of emails about the notes I’ve taken so far so I can send it off to Colt, Logan and the rest of the necessary parties and tell myself I worked today.
“Eric?” Noelle’s voice rings out from the bathroom. “What are you doing today?”
Nothing, until nightfall.
“Was thinking about heading to the beach,” I lie.
“Cool.” She slips out of the bathroom in a towel and walks over to me. I grab her firmly by the throat and pull her to my lips, kissing her hard. “Wanna do something crazy with me instead?”
“What’s that, Sugar?” I ask.
“You wouldn’t have asked if you weren’t into it,” she teases. “You’ll see.”
Her lips meet mine again and she slides her tongue into my mouth, toying with the metal jewelry.
“Ten second head start,” I growl, palming my swelling cock.
She bites her lower lip with a smile, eyes locked on mine, but she doesn’t move.
“Ten...nine...eight...seven…” I arch a brow at her in warning, the challenge in her perfect fucking eyes sending a bolt of heat shooting through my body. “Six...five…four…”
She bolts, quick as fucking lightning, and my dick twitches in my boxers as I keep counting aloud, watching her scurry around the suite like a little fox, agile and careful to dodge the obstacles around her, holding her towel in place and checking over her shoulder to make sure I’m still seated.
I follow my own rules, keeping my ass planted...until I hit one.
Then I take off running.
The chair falls behind me from the force of my movement and I jump over the bed like a fucking animal, heading for the door after her.
A lion hunting his fox.
She swerves around the large coffee table at the center of the suite and I climb over top of it, not wanting to waste a second of time, with pressure in my cock so heavy it’s throbbing.
“Not fast enough!” I taunt her, and she lets out a panicked shriek, zig-zagging for the opposite side of the suite.
Her small size and agility give her an advantage in weaving through the more densely-packed areas of the suite, but my size gives me an advantage over her overall, making it easy to catch up to her once she reaches the empty space in the kitchenette, headed right for the door.
I throw an arm around her waist with a grunt, lifting her off of the ground, and she squeals as her arms and legs flail out in front of her, but I hold onto her tight and lower her down to the floor right where we stand, keeping her ass in the air.
As she squirms in my arm, giggles flying out of her mouth, I free my cock from my boxers and throw the bottom of her towel up to reveal the perfect cushion of her ass.
“You lost,” I growl, taking a handful of her ass in my hand before bending down to bite at her flesh, earning a yelp. “Now that pretty pussy is mine.”
I hold tightly to her hips and push my cock inside of her, making her cry out and throw her head forward, resting her face on the ground while I drive into her over and over again.
Noelle’s hand moves to claw at mine as I nuzzle into the crook of her neck and bite down on her soft skin. She makes me feel fucking feral.
She lets out a powerful moan as I tear the towel away from her to reach for her tit, taking a fistful of it and squeezing.
“Faster,” she pants, and I pick up the pace, rocking my hips faster against hers. “Yes, right there!”
I move my hand to grab her hair and yank on it, pulling her head backward. “Whose pussy is this?” I demand.
“Yours!” She cries. “Fuck, it’s yours!”
A smile pulls at the side of my mouth and I use both hands to grip onto her hips, grunting as I drive even deeper into her. Her body tenses and shakes around me, her hands smacking onto the ground in front of her while the orgasm crashes through her.
A few thrusts later and I’m riding the wave of my own orgasm, holding onto her for dear life while I unload into her with a moan.
I can’t place it; I’m not the guy that hooks up with the same woman over and over again. I’m not the guy that wants to get to know a woman he’s hooked up with. And I’m definitely not the guy that hopes to run into the same woman...but here I am.
·
“So, what do you do for a living?” Noelle asks, walking hand in hand with me down the street.
I’m holding her fucking hand.
I don’t even recognize myself right now.
“Honestly,” I chuckle, “I have no idea what my actual job title is. Started out as a small-time investor with a buddy of mine, now we have kind of a main hub I guess, where we run a few businesses from.”
That buddy of mine taught me everything I know.
He was already a year or two into the investing game by the time I’d saved enough to join him.
He taught me where to put the money, how to tell if something would be lucrative or if it was destined to flop, and once we’d both put a couple hundred thousand into it, we sold everything at its peak and each made our first few million, then used that to start our own company.
“That’s really cool,” she responds. “Do you like it?”
“I love it. I got to send myself on a two-week long vacation,” I laugh. “Just ‘cause I felt like it. What do you do?”
“We’re here,” she sings, pulling me into the door of a quiet tattoo shop.
The bell above the door dings with our entry, alerting everyone inside to our presence.
The faint smell of disinfectant hangs in the air as we walk toward the front desk.
A handful of people are laid out on tables getting tattooed, the machines buzzing as they puncture and pour the ink into the patrons’ skin.
A couple of them look particularly uncomfortable, but the artists don’t seem to mind it; instead, they work effortlessly around the uncomfortable squirming of their clients, like it’s second nature to them.
“Here,” she says, shoving a thick book at me. “Pick one for me.”
“What?”
“Pick a tattoo for me. I’ll get whatever you choose,” she insists.
A wicked grin spreads across my face. “What if I told them to just put my name on you?”
“You couldn’t even tell them to have a good day,” she chortles. “I think I’m safe.”
Rolling my eyes, I flip through the damn book, scanning page after page of different designs, until I finally settle on one – an outline of a stetson, sprinkled with small, cartoonish flowers. I point to the design as I had the book back to her.
“Show them your purse and tell ‘em to make the flowers match,” I tell her, smirking.
She approaches the desk, book in hand, and shows them the design, explaining something in Spanish at a speed that makes my fucking head spin. She points to me a couple of times, following by pointing to different areas of her body.
Turning to me, she says, “They’ll take us back now.”
“Us?” I gape. “Uh-uh. No us.”
“Oh, so you can have your tongue - and your nipples - run through with a fat needle, but you can’t take a little kitten scratch?” She challenges. “And here I thought you were the big, bad wolf.”
Alright, that’s it. You can say a lot of things about me – I’m a player, I’m an asshole, I need to grow up – but you can’t call me a goddamn chicken.
With a snarl, I move in long strides to catch up with her, leaning to whisper in her ear, “Your ass is mine, later.”
Noelle digs through her bag with a giggle, pulling out a piece of fabric, then she stands on the tips of her toes to tie it around my head, covering my eyes.
What the hell?
“No peeking,” she tells me with a pat to my ass. “Now take your shirt off and lay down. I’ll see you when we’re finished.”
Oh, great. Now I’m left to fend for myself.
For some un-fucking-known reason, I do as instructed and lay down on the table after peeling off my t-shirt.
I’m suddenly reminded of my twenty-fifth birthday – man, that night was a damn good time.
I had glitter stuck to me for a week. That night was worth the antibiotics.
I feel something cold slide over my skin, just over my left pec, and less than two minutes later, I hear the loud buzzing of the tattoo machine. Within seconds, the scraping starts against my skin. It’s not too unpleasant, I’ve definitely felt worse things in my life.
For someone without a speck of ink on her skin – trust me, I’ve seen every millimeter of it - Noelle sure described it well; it is exactly like being scratched by a really pissed off cat.
As the machine comes to a stop, my skin is sprayed down with a soothing liquid and wiped dry with something that feels like a paper towel.
That part is more uncomfortable than the actual tattooing process itself.
The artist gives my leg a couple pats, indicating that he’s finished, and I remove my makeshift blindfold, blinking away the bright overhead lights as my eyes adjust to the lighting in the room.
“Finished,” he tells me, then points to a mirror at the other side of his station. “You can look.”
I slide off of the table and walk to the mirror to take a look at what the fuck I just let happen to me. For all I know, she had the guy put a soft dick on my chest, complete with three long, crusty pubes. I get in close to the mirror to really check it out.
It’s a lip print, like someone kissed my chest wearing bright pink lipstick, and small script lines the bottom of the lower lip, reading ‘sugar.’
“Want to keep this?”
I turn to find the tattoo artist holding a piece of paper with the exact same marking on it. “Uh, yeah, actually,” I tell him as I reach for it and shove it into my pocket. “Thanks, man.”
He slaps a clear adhesive bandage over the ink as Noelle approaches, pulling the right side of her shorts down to reveal her own tattoo, sitting at her hip.
My jaw tightens and I can’t help the wicked fucking grin that spreads across my face seeing her body permanently marked with something I decided she would wear.
Something that, for all intents and purposes, represents me.
With one hand gripped hard on her waist, I reach into my pocket for a wad of cash with the other and hand it to the person working the front desk, my eyes locked on Noelle’s.
We barely make it two minutes before I’m dragging her into the space between two buildings and fucking her hard against the wall, her ankles hooked over my shoulders.
I hardly know a thing about this woman, other than her name and the fact that her left eyebrow twitches just a little when she comes, and I’m practically addicted to her.
As I withdraw from her, I hold her firmly by the throat and drag the tip of my tongue from her chin to the tip of her nose, then press a bruising kiss to her lips.
“Do you really leave tomorrow?” She probes as she pulls her shorts back into place, unphased by my cum dripping down her thigh.
“I really do.” I brace my hands on the wall above her head, trapping her beneath me while I look down at her. “Meet me at the hotel and you can fly out with me.”
“You know, I have to go home at some point, too,” she teases.
“Think about it, Sugar.”
I nip at her lower lip, pulling it between my teeth and biting down just enough to make her buckle and whine. Her arms wrap around me, tracing up the plane of my back.
“Fine,” she finally caves, “I’ll think about it.”
·
I wake up at four, like I always do, and I start to pack my shit and clean up some of the mess in the suite.
For as little time as I spent here, I sure managed to tear the place apart.
I stop to scroll through the thread of texts Colt sent me yesterday, while I was ignoring my phone.
Most of it is boring business-related shit I can deal with when I get home and can talk to the demo team in person.
Colt: Coming back tomorrow, for certain?
Oops. I probably shouldn’t have missed that one. I type out a quick response, hoping he’s not already too pissed that he didn’t hear back.
Me: Yeah. Plane takes off at eight.
I think for a second with my thumbs hovering over the phone’s keyboard before I continue.
If there’s one person who won’t judge me for whatever the hell is happening here, it’s my best friend.
If anything, he’ll choke on his fucking coffee over the fact that I’ve actually been sort of, almost seeing someone.
He might actually have a coronary. Fuck it.
Me: I might have a guest. Met someone.
A long while passes before my phone dings again, indicating a text.
Colt: For work?
Me: A woman.
Colt: Holy shit.
Yeah, my fucking thoughts exactly, old man.
I check the time, now five eleven in the morning, and still no sign of Noelle. I realized, a little too late, that I never grabbed her number. All I told her was that I had to leave here by six at the latest, so get here any time before then.
My eyes flit between my watch and the door for an hour, waiting for any sign of her, and I damn near jump out of my seat when a knock sounds on the other side of the door. I casually brush a hand through my hair and stride toward the door to pull it open.
A woman dressed in a white uniform, rolling cart filled with cleaning products at her side, stands in the doorway.
“Housekeeping,” she announces.
Shit, I’m late. I pull up my wrist and check my watch again – it’s almost six thirty.
Apologizing to the poor woman for getting in the way of her just trying to do her job, I grab my bags and head down the hall toward the lobby, trying to shove down the bitter taste of disappointment filling my mouth.