“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 somethingIdecided she would wear.
Something that, for all intents and purposes, representsme.
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’llthinkabout 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.
