π Title: Her Hotel Rules
She always booked the same cheap hotel, far from the places where someone might know her name. The check-in clerk never asked questions anymore — he just handed her the key and avoided her eyes.
Tonight, she made him wait in the hallway. He stood there, leaning on the faded wallpaper, listening to the soft rustle of her dress hitting the carpet inside. He could already feel himself harden at the thought of her bare skin against the scratchy sheets.
When she finally cracked the door open, she didn’t smile. She never did at first. She liked control — liked to see him stand there, wanting, wondering if she’d change her mind. She tugged him inside by his tie, her perfume hitting him like a slap — sweet and heavy, clinging to his throat when she pushed him against the door.
She didn’t speak. She never did at first. Her fingers worked his shirt buttons open, one by one, nails grazing his chest just enough to leave tiny scratches he’d trace tomorrow when he lay alone, waiting for her to call again.
She turned, letting him watch as she slipped her dress the rest of the way off — no bra, just that thin scrap of lace she wore to remind him who was in charge. She crawled onto the bed, spread her knees wide enough for him to see exactly what he was here for.
He dropped to his knees at the foot of the bed. That was the rule — he started on his knees, every time. His mouth found her thigh first, the taste of her skin driving him half mad as he kissed higher and higher. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, forcing him to taste the proof that she’d been ready for him long before he knocked on her door.
She didn’t moan pretty — she swore under her breath when his tongue hit that perfect spot, hips jerking up to grind against his mouth until her thighs trembled. She pushed his face deeper, used him like her personal toy, head thrown back against the pillows as she spilled across his tongue.
When she pulled him up by the hair, he thought maybe he’d earned it — the right to slide inside her, to take what he wanted. But she flipped him onto his back instead, straddling him with that dark, dangerous smile that said he’d get only what she allowed.
And when she sank down on him, slow and tight and perfect, he realized he’d beg her every week for the rest of his life if she let him.
Comments
Post a Comment