I hear the unmistakable sound of my smartphone's ringtone as it jars me awake. I get that some people are annoyed by those of us who choose music to alert us to a new call, as opposed to those boring old chimes and buzzers.
My ring tone happens to be one of my most favorite things in life and since it's my phone, it's actually no one else's business.
I rub my hand over my face trying to stir the sleep from my eyes. It takes me all of a half second when I open my eyes to realize that this is not my bedroom. This is actually at least four times the size of my bedroom and when I'm at home, I never, ever sleep completely in the nude like I am right now.
"You're awake."
I also never hear a voice like that in my bedroom unless I'm touching myself while I’m thinking about Gabriel Foster.
Gabriel Foster. Did he eat me out over and over again last night or was that a dream?
I sit up and turn sharply to my left just as my phone falls silent.
"You have excellent taste in ringtones, Isla." His voice is deep and has that growl to it that is distinctive. "Bach, is it?"
"No." I shake my head trying to release myself from this dream. "It's not Bach. It's Vivaldi. You can hear the vulnerability in the notes. That's why I love it so much."
What? What the fuck am I doing right now? My tits are on full display and I'm in a strange bed going over the finer points of my favorite composition.
"You slept soundly." He steps right into my line of sight. "It's near seven now. I'll need to leave for a meeting soon."
I adjust the soft white sheet that is covering me so it shields my breasts from not only his gaze, but the chill in the room. He's dressed in a different suit than he was last night. That one was dark blue. This one is grey. He's shaved, showered and looks ready to take on his day.
My eyes fall to the bed as memories of what happened last night flood me. He'd licked me near the window until I came. Then he'd turned me around. He'd kissed me softly before he untied my wrists, and carried me to his bed. After he brought me to another orgasm with his mouth, he'd gotten on the bed next to me, his face hovering above mine while he ran his index finger over my lips. I'd stared into his eyes until I must have drifted off to sleep.
I had begged him to fuck me in the other room. I'd wanted it so much that any sense of self composure I had disappeared in direct relation to my rising need to feel his cock inside of me.
I heard the sound of his belt loosening and his zipper being drawn down but it stopped there.
He had stalled when I whimpered about wanting his cock and as he fell to his knees to lick me again, I'd felt a rush of embarrassment wash over me.
It's happened before.
This isn't the first time I've told a man I like to be tied up only to have him give in to that before conveniently losing my number.
I should apologize for being so wanting. No, I should get my ass out of his bed so I can get to the boutique. I don't have to do anything beyond looking at the undisturbed pillow next to me to know that he didn't sleep in this bed with me.
He owns Foster Enterprises. The company revolves around his schedule. His rush to leave to get to a meeting is nothing more than a polite 'fuck you, Isla,' and no, not in a good, or satisfying, way.
"The door will lock automatically behind you." He casts his eyes down at the watch on his wrist. "I've left the number for my driver, Charles, on a card by your purse. Call him when you're ready to leave and he'll come up to escort you down to the car."
"I'll do that," I say quietly. "I'll need to leave soon. I have to be at work at nine."
He lowers himself to the edge of the bed so when he sits, he's facing me directly. "I enjoyed last night. You're a remarkable young woman."
Thanks? Is that what I'm supposed to say now?
"I'm running late." He leans forward to brush his lips across my forehead. "I apologize for leaving but it's an important matter."
I nod as he stands, pivots on his heel and walks out of the bedroom. It doesn't matter if it's important or not. The only thing that matters is that I lost all respect for myself when I walked into this apartment last night.
***
"Can I help you?" I grip the towel closer to my body.
The woman who sauntered into the washroom while I was mid shower shakes her head faintly from side-to-side before she turns back to her task at hand which apparently involves replacing Mr. Foster's toothbrush in a glass. She pulls a new, wrapped one from her pocket before she throws the used one in the trash.
"Why are you here?" I can hear the panic in my own voice even though I know she's likely here to clean his apartment. That makes sense save for the uniform and name tag she's wearing.