The Wrong Gentleman

Landon

A hotel room said a lot about a person. About their wealth and how they liked to spend their money. About their tastes and habits. I’d say Skylar was careful with her money but still enjoyed her comforts. Other than that, signs of Skylar in the room were fleeting and that made her intriguing to me. Everything was neat and ordered. Clothes put away, her book—a romance—and a clock the only things by the double bed. The toiletries in the bathroom lined up. Nothing was out of place. From what she said, she’d arrived a couple of days ago—plenty of time for a person to settle in and get messy if that was who she was.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’d done a stint in the armed forces.

“You didn’t say where you were staying,” she said, kicking off her shoes.

“Just on the other side of the port.” I didn’t mention that it was the hotel where we’d had drinks. That would give too much away.

I took off my suit jacket and placed it on the back of the chair before taking a seat on the bed where I could watch her relax before she came closer.

She glanced at me from the corner of her eye and took off her earrings. I didn’t get to witness them much, but I liked women’s routines. They were so different from a man’s. The way they removed jewelry, undressed. The stuff they put on their face and then took off.

“You want a drink? Water?” she asked, reattaching the clasp on the necklace she’d just taken off.

I shook my head. “I like to watch you. Undress for me.”

Heat colored her cheeks. Skylar was so confident on first impression that she didn’t seem to be the kind of woman who blushed. Perhaps that was why her reaction felt so much like a victory.

Every time I thought I had her pegged, had figured out what type of girl Skylar was, she showed me something contradictory. I’d only known her a few hours, but she was like some beguiling puzzle, that the more I examined, the more determined I was to solve.

She turned away and reached for the side of her black dress. The grating of the zip drove the blood right to my cock, and I had to hold in a groan. Keeping her back to me, she let her dress drop and stepped out of the fabric.

Jesus, even in the dim, half-light, the sight of her curves in just a few scraps of lace was more than I could have imagined. Her waist provided a delicious, narrow center of the hourglass, her hips and breasts generously providing the counterbalance.

She glanced at me from over her shoulder. Was she still shy?

“Come here,” I said.

She turned and took her time. The way she seemed to think about and consider every move was entirely arousing. Was she a tease or was she genuinely weighing up the options and deciding for herself what she most wanted to do?

I didn’t rush her, and she finally walked toward me, her hips gently swaying as she put one foot in front of the other. She stood as close to me as she could without touching me. From this angle, every part of her I wanted was on display.

I ran my knuckles up her inner thigh to the edge of her underwear, then nestled deeper. She was going to need to hold on to something, keep herself steady as I broke through her barriers and claimed her body. Any distance she put between us would tumble away as I made her come.

I dipped two fingers under the lace and found her hot and wet. She tipped her head to the side and blinked lazily.

I let my fingers explore, and as I did, it was as if her heat spread from her body to mine and my blood began to simmer in my veins. I grabbed her arse with my free hand to hold her in place. She gasped, her eyes widening, as my fingers dug into her flesh.

I nodded, my fingers working faster, deeper, more rhythmically.

“God,” she choked.

Her pulse tripped against my fingers and she became increasingly unsteady, but despite her protests, I kept working my hand and her hips began to tilt in time.

“Oh God,” she said again, her knees buckling.

I held her steady and kept going—I knew what would make her feel good. She might think I was just some deckhand. Some guy she just met who would never come close to satisfying her.

She was wrong.

“Hold on,” I said. I might not know this woman, might not have her figured out quite yet, but I could tell she was close. My hand was covered in wetness. Her body screamed its desperation to let go despite her reticence.

“Hold on,” I growled, louder this time, pushing two fingers into her.

She screamed and fell forward, bracing herself against my shoulders.

Her silence finally shattered, I basked in every moan every yes every oh God as my erection pressed against the fabric of my trousers, desperate to replace my hand. Fuck, she looked beautiful like this—finally out of control, her criteria ripped to shreds, coming on my hand.