She shook her head. "Nope. I don't think I've ever been to a really nice hotel, period. The nicest place I ever stayed at was a hostel in Berlin. It had a tiny balcony, and I only had to share it with two other people."
"Well, prepare to have your mind blown, and other things as soon as we get to the room." I pulled up in front of the tall, narrow brick building with the ornate detailing that was my first hotel in Harrogate. Actually it was my very first hotel ever.
As the valet unloaded her bags onto a cart, I asked, "Could you take Ms. Loring's stuff to the presidential suite? She's going to be staying with us over the next week. She's in charge of the Art Zurich Expo bid. Please make sure she has anything she needs."
I greeted the hotel manager and answered a few of his questions. Then I turned back to Hazel.
"Let me give you the grand tour." We started in the bar. "Originally, this building was a hotel in the very late eighteen hundreds. It was the first building in Harrogate to have electricity. It was designed in the elaborate beaux arts style, and we managed to salvage the majority of the original wood and millwork, and," I said, walking into the large atrium, "this chandelier."
"Wow!" Hazel gushed, admiring the sparkling crystals. "It's beautiful!"
"I love hotels—the luxury, the anonymity," I said. "It feels like you can be anyone in a hotel."
"Look at these friezes," she said, gesturing to the colorful paintings on the plaster as I led her up the curved grand staircase.
The elevator pinged at the top of the stairs. "We installed elevators in a look identical to the originals," I explained. "We reused all the paneling and old hardware but brought them up to code. They even have operators. People come here just for this moment," I said, sweeping my hand out. "It's like the staircase scene inTitanic."
I chatted with the operator while we rode the elevator up. When we arrived on the twelfth floor, Hazel kept pausing on the way to the presidential suite to admire the paintings.
"I told you I liked art."
"Yes, but these are old masters style paintings," Hazel said, inspecting one. "For some reason, I thought you were more into contemporary art."
"I can't very well put up a Basquiat painting in the Corentin Hotel, can I?"
"Are you worried about people stealing them?"
I shrugged. "That's why I have elevator operators."
The presidential suite was one of my favorite suites in any of my hotels. It had a sitting room, a fireplace, and a balcony that looked over a solarium in the back of the hotel.
Hazel explored while I instructed the valet on where to place her bags. She was texting someone when I walked back into the sitting room after tipping the valet.
"You can't still be working."
"There's always an emergency," she said.
"You're too stressed out," I told her, taking her phone and tipping her head back, kissing her deeply. "You know," I said softly. "There's a really good remedy for stress."
"Oh yeah?" she breathed as my hands slid under her skirt.
"Better to demonstrate, don't you think?"
I leaned her back on the couch. She took off her shirt and undid her bra. I licked and sucked each nipple until it was rock-hard as my hand pushed up under her skirt. "It's called finger painting, and a lot of executives use it as a way to both destress and get into a more creative headspace."
Hazel's eyes were half closed as my fingers played in the slickness between her legs. I slowly pulled down her panties. I leaned over and kissed her, my tongue tracing the inside of her mouth as my fingers made the same pattern in her pussy, hot against my hand.
"I need to fuck you again," I murmured against her mouth as she ground against my hand. I kissed her tits, letting her nipples roll in my mouth.
She had one leg on the ground, the other on the couch. Her legs were splayed, revealing the warm dark-pink flesh. She moaned as I bent down to lick her pussy, lingering on her clit, making her hiss then moan.
"I want you so bad," I told her as she whimpered. "I'm going to fuck you so hard."
I rolled a condom on my aching-hard cock. Hazel was still slick from earlier and tight when I entered her. I let my hand tangle gently in her hair. She gasped as I fucked her. With every thrust, she let out this whimper that drove me crazy. Her nails dug in my back, her legs wrapped around me, coaxing me deeper. I knew she was close, by the way she trembled. She came, sending me over the edge. I came in her, breathing hard.
Smoothing the loose tendrils of hair out of her face, I planted little kisses along Hazel's temple to her jaw then to her mouth.
"You were right," she said after her breathing returned to normal. "It is nicer to be fucked in a luxury hotel."
