Truth. “Any plans for tonight?”
“Nope. You?”
“No,” I say wistfully, taking down the rest of my drink. His thumb stops moving, but he keeps his hand on mine.
“I—”
“Do you?—”
We both laugh softly. “You go first,” he tells me.
I get flustered. Why? I don’t know. I’m a grown woman. I shouldn’t be flustered. Instead, I just blurt out what’s on my mind. “You’re not, ahem, attached, are you? Like a girlfriend or wife?”
A smirk plays at the corner of his mouth. “Not attached. Single as can be. What about you?”
“Same. No attachments.” Good. I will never be the other woman.
“Want to get out of here?” he asks boldly. I thought he’d never ask.
“Yes, please.”
Signaling the bartender, he closes out our tab. And don’t think I didn’t notice he picked up my tab, too. “Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome, come on,” he says, helping me off the barstool. Hand on my lower back, he walks me to the elevator and presses the button. “Your room or mine?” he asks softly.
“Yours,” I say. I have to fly out in the morning. I don’t want any awkward goodbyes.
“Done,” he replies, punching the button for his floor.
The ride to the tenth floor is short and we’re alone in the elevator. “Gabe, I?—”
“Hold that thought,” he says under his breath, the elevator doors swishing open.
An elderly couple is waiting to board. But, thankfully, it’s his floor so we step off, still holding hands. Rounding the corner, we make it to his door in short order. “Last chance,” he says, waiting to open the door.
“Yes.”
“Good answer.”
As soon as we’re inside his room, we tear at each other’s clothes. His full lips meld to mine and soon, he’s stripped me out of my suit jacket. “Gabe,” I whisper against his lips, the tips of my fingernails running over the stubble on his face.
“Mmm,” he hums, his hands unbuttoning my silk blouse.
Not to be outdone, I unbutton his dress shirt, pulling it free of his dress pants, revealing his tight, toned abs and sculpted, tattooed chest. Running my fingers over his muscles, I discover he has an eight pack. He’s so chiseled, his abs feel like an old- fashioned washing board. I knew he was in good shape, but damn! He’s ripped and tattooed!
“Layla,” he hums, pushing me against the door, his lips now venturing down the column of my throat.
I throw my head back. “Gabe,” I moan softly, giving him better access. He blazes a path down my throat, stopping when he gets to my collarbone.
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
He continues his path to my breasts and pushes my blouse off my shoulders and, quick as can be, rids me of my bra, leaving me standing there, my nipples pebbled from the A/C in the room. Even in heels, Gabe’s taller than me, so he places a large hand at my lower back, arching my spine, making my breasts just out. He sucks a nipple into his mouth and my knees almost buckle. It’s been a long time since someone has played with my nipples. I’ve missed it.
“Mmm, Gabe,” I groan, my hands skimming over his short, bristly dark hair on his head. It’s practically a buzzcut. But it suits him. Pressing him to me, I spur him on. I like my nipples to be played with and Gabe knows how to do it right. Gabe sucks and licks and flicks them, then lightly bites down. I shudder from the pleasure. Kissing back up my neck, he takes my lips once more. As he does, I push his shirt off his shoulders, my hands going to the button on his pants. I’m about to unbutton them, when he snakes a hand around my wrists.
“Not yet,” he breathes near my ear. My wrists, now held by one of his hands, are raised above my head.
