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She had walked the three wet streets that separated the restaurant from the posh and very, very expensive hotel. She had never been inside it before, although this was her city where she had lived all her life.After minutes of hesitation she had walked through the brass and glass revolving doors. She knew she must look shabby in her rain soaked coat and dripping hair. But she had decided not to follow the door full circle and back out again. She had decided to walk across the shining marble floor to the night reception. She had asked the pimple faced receptionist the suite number of miss Angelique Jonckers. And then she had walked over to the elevator.The cotton candy muzak drifted on air-conditioned wings around her head. She shivered inside her wet coat. Then she watched as the metal doors sighed open. The dark hallway yawned in her face. Hundreds of feet of deep dark red rug stretched under rows of dimmed spotlights.She stood and stared. Then her finger stabbed the zero floor. “Well, well,” he started to taunt, but I smacked my palm against his mouth.“If you want inside you’ll shut your mouth and just fuck me.”I didn’t have to tell him twice. He dragged me off to his bedroom. I wasn’t shocked by his black silk sheets; he seemed the type. He ripped off my shirt and tore my bra down.The rest was outrageously wonderful, as I’ve already mentioned.Once we were done, and after he made his solemn promise (or threat?) of us meeting again, he looked over at me. “I’d have you suck my cock,” he murmured lazily, “but I’d probably come too fast—the idea of you bobbing up and down on my cock makes me shake—and then I wouldn’t be able to fuck you again.”I gulped.“It’s a shame,” he said casually, leaning over my body and staring hard into my eyes. “I should really take advantage, with this being our last time and all.”I hated how he said that. It was sarcastic and just so Patrick. I wasn’t sure why he was suddenly so interested in fucking me, and I didn’t want to start.
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