He doesn’t, and within the next minute, we’re walking hand in hand down the sidewalk. I’m more than a little drunk and wobbling on my heels, but Bishop’s support is strong as he guides me down streets and alleyways until we come out in front of Millennium Park. Once we finally stop in front of my hotel, I feel like Bishop is an old friend I can trust with anything—or almost anything.
“Come upstairs?” I hum against his lips.
His embrace tightens around me for a moment, and a soft growl escapes his throat. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard, and right now, all I can think about are his hands on my skin and his lips trailing kisses along mine.
“Does this make usfriendsnow?” I can hear the amusement in his question.
“Maybe.” I flirt, then pull away to enter the hotel.
Bishop’s fingers are locked with mine as we pass through the lobby. Once we’re in the elevator and the doors close, he presses me against the wall with his body, and his hands are cupping my cheeks as he kisses me like he’s never kissed me before. He steals the breath from my lungs when he slips one hand under thestrap of my little black Zara dress, and he moves it aside to plant soft kisses along the line of my shoulder and collarbone. He’s romancing me, and whether he’s still here in the morning or not doesn’t matter to me, because right now, here with him, feels so very right.
When the elevator dings at the top floor, we exit with our lips attached. I walk backward down the hallway as I fumble for my room key in my bag without breaking contact with this gorgeous man. He finally releases me from his all-consuming kisses and helps me dig through my bag until the little white keycard is located. I swipe it at the lock, and a tiny green light illuminates the box. Bishop grasps the handle and shoves, backing me into the hotel room as his greedy hands find my body again.
Every piece of me feels on fire. Bishop is not a man I would have dated before. I still wouldn’t choose him because he’s just not boyfriend material—the way his hands move across my body and his lips demand all of my attention is indication enough that he’s had a lot of practice pleasuring a woman. Even the way he dresses makes him look like a player. But something about him is so fun, I’ve forgotten all my sense and why I’m even here in the first place in the pursuit of the attention he’s paying me at this moment.
“Can I undress you?” he asks like a proper gentleman.
I nod, eyes transfixed on his.
“Good girl.” He grins, then dips his head to suck at the tender skin of my neck. A groan falls from my lips, and I succumb to him totally. I’ve long forgotten my alternative plans for the night—a bottle of wine and my binoculars at the window—in favor of my own pleasure. I feel like a slut, but I like the feeling.
My life with Dean had always been so measured, so aware of appearances, as we cultivated his reputation as the top-sellingresidential real estate agent in LA County. But here, I am lost, and I don’t ever want to be found.
The next moments move like a blur as Bishop strips me of my dress and then pushes my back against the window and drops to his knees. His firm grip holds my thighs in place before his mouth descends on me, sliding against the tender folds of my flesh until I’m shivering and quaking. Dean never did this—never put my pleasure before his own. Our sex life could best be described as robotic, when it even happened at all.
Bishop’s hands are rough, his fingertips digging into my thighs as he focuses his attention on the one zone that makes my knees shake. Moments later, my limbs are heavy and my mind is drunk with endorphins as Bishop lays me back on the bed then strips himself of his black T-shirt and lowers himself over me. He cages me with his lips, moving softly before his movements become more intense, rawer. I’m reminded of the way Dean used to handle me—rough, like he hadn’t had me in years. I liked it at first, but then our moments of intimacy became quick and few and far between, and my interest in him at all waned. I’d thrown myself into making Mia Starr then, but here now, with Bishop’s hot body pressed to mine, I can’t even begin to care about everything I’ve built. I just want to please him and keep him pleasing me.
I just want to be his.
Thoughts of revenge are replaced by all the different positions this man could take me in. I imagine how much fun we’d have, and then I think about staying in Chicago with Bishop and Dean and Jesika and what a fucked-up little extended family we’d be. It brings a wry smile to my face that doesn’t go unnoticed by Bishop. He flips me over in bed and then lands a swift spank on my right ass cheek.
“Ow!” I grimace and rub the burn.
“Tell me what made you smile.”
“No,” I say before thinking.
He growls, yanks on my hair, and pulls me back against his body. It hurts. Like,reallyhurts. Tears burn my eyelids, but still, I refuse to tell him what insane idea had me nearly giggling.
“Be a good girl, or I’ll spank you again.”
I almost choke on my tongue before realizing that another spanking by this man actually doesn’t sound half bad. I can still feel the sting from the first, and I’m finding I kind of like it.
“No,” I say firmly.
His grip tightens in my hair, and he turns my neck to expose my lips to him. He bites at my full bottom lip hard enough to leave a painful bruise, before he pulls away and smacks my right ass cheek again. It burns more this time because he’s landed the second smack in the same spot as the first.
“Tell me or else.”
I grit my teeth, wondering if I should gamble on a third spank. An idea flits into my head, and I speak before I can think twice. “I was thinking I might have to extend my stay in Chicago a few days.”
“Mm.” His tongue darts out and licks his lip before he leans in and kisses me roughly. “Good girl.”
His hands are between my thighs then, working at bringing me more pleasure.
“You deserve a reward. What do you want?”
My mind hums with the possibilities before I finally settle on the one that keeps popping up.
