Fortuity (Transcend 3)

My stomach growls again, and he jumps back.

“Told you, I’m hungry.” I step away and grab a granola bar from the food basket above the mini bar.

“That’s extra. They’ll charge my room for that.”

I roll my eyes. “You paid fifty dollars for a ten-dollar sandwich and fries, but I’ll pay you back.”

He reaches forward, hooks his finger through the belt loop of my ripped denim shorts and pulls me between his legs again. “Want to go somewhere with me?” He lifts his gaze to mine.

“After my sandwich?” I mumble over my bite of granola bar. “Don’t you have to be back in…” I glance at my watch “…less than ninety minutes?”

“It’s my last day. We’ll leave at five.”

“Where are we going? I haven’t really seen much of Chicago yet.”

He unbuttons my shorts and pulls down the zipper. “It’s a surprise.” His hands slide up my bare legs until his thumb finds the crotch of my panties and slips underneath it.

My chewing slows to accommodate the surge in my pulse and the heavy breathing that comes with it. He teases me, all the while kissing along my hip bone and running his tongue to just below my navel.

Two knocks at the door ruin the moment. But … food!

Nate stands, looming over me for a few seconds as I start to zip and button my shorts.

“Leave it.” He instructs with a stern look and challenging lift of his eyebrow before answering the door. “Thanks.” He slips the guy a tip and delivers my food. “Steve … do we need to talk about him? Or did we cover everything? There was the elevator scene with his hands on your hips, not sure where you two were headed, but I have to wonder if it was to the same room, given your state that night. Then I find you cozied up to him in the sports bar today with him making a suggestive proposition for the week.”

I take a bite of the sandwich, searching his face for signs of true jealousy. There are none. He sits back down on the bed with such a nonchalant expression and posture, like he doesn’t really give a shit but it’s just something to check off a list.

Instead of answering right away, I take another bite and study the fries. I shouldn’t have them. They’re not good for me. The ultimate comfort food. However, I don’t need comfort food with Nathaniel Hunt shirtless on the bed.

Dropping the sandwich on the plate, I open one of the bottled waters, that’s not free, and drink part of it. “Steve went to my high school. He married the sister of the bride.” I screw the cap back onto the water. “They’re divorced now, but he was still invited to the wedding because their daughter was the flower girl. He spotted me at the bar Friday. Bought me too many glasses of wine. Felt the need to steady my wobbly gait as he walked me to the elevators and again when a crowd, including yourself, packed into it just after us. Then I saw you, chased you, obsessed about you, nearly orgasmed just from your proximity when you cornered me in the elevator yesterday, went to the wedding, thought about you the whole time, and the rest is history. Except today he saw me waiting in a long line for lunch and offered me a seat to join him and get some food in my belly a little sooner. You showed up, pissed all over me like your property, and here we are. I think that about covers everything.”

The sexiest grin slides up his face. I shrug off my T-shirt and shimmy out of my shorts that are already unfastened. Then I climb onto his lap, straddling him.

“You have less than an hour, Professor Hunt. What can you do with me in less than an hour?”

His hands slide up my back, easily unhooking my bra. “A lot.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Nate texts me around four o’clock. I like that we’re texting now. It’s not as romantic as handwritten letters, but this is the age of instant gratification, and although I didn’t grow up with it like Gabe’s and Morgan’s generation, I still have a fond appreciation for it.

Have your suitcase packed by 5.

I respond.

I’m booked through the week. Non-refundable.

I’ll pay for your lost days.

It’s my first time in Chicago. I haven’t seen much of it.

His response is instant.

You have an hour. Get to seeing shit and be ready by 5.

I send him three more texts, but he doesn’t respond … to the first two.

Why so bossy?

Where are we going?

I contemplate sending the last text. What if someone can see his phone?

You’re the only man who has given me more than one orgasm during sex. Is it your vast knowledge … your eleven years of studying anatomy?