The Hotel Elevator

The hotel lobby was quiet that evening, the marble floors gleaming beneath soft golden light. I had just checked in, suitcase rolling behind me, when the elevator doors slid open.

She stepped inside first.

A woman in a fitted black dress that hugged her curves as though it had been made for her. The slit ran high on her thigh, revealing smooth skin with each step. Her perfume drifted toward me, warm and intoxicating.

I followed her in, pressing my floor number. The doors closed, sealing us in the mirrored box.

Our eyes met in the reflection. Hers were bold, teasing, like she already knew the effect she was having on me. She leaned against the railing, one hand smoothing down her dress. The slit parted, and I caught more of her leg than I should have.

“You here on business?” she asked, her voice silky, almost playful.

“Something like that,” I replied, though my thoughts were far from business.

She smiled knowingly, then pressed the button to stop the elevator. The soft jolt made my pulse race.

“Do you know what I like about hotels?” she whispered, stepping closer. “Strangers who will never forget each other.”

Her lips touched mine before I could answer. It was hot, hungry, reckless. The mirrored walls reflected our bodies as I pressed her against them, my hands tracing the lines of her curves through the fabric of her dress. She gasped, tilting her head back, her nails grazing my skin as she pulled me closer.

The slit in her dress fell open completely now, her thigh wrapping around me. I slid my hand beneath the fabric, discovering the heat of her bare skin. She moaned into my mouth, her breath shaky, desperate, as if the walls themselves were urging us on.

The hum of the elevator became our rhythm—slow at first, then harder, faster, until every sound of her pleasure echoed in the mirrored box. The risk, the urgency, the impossibility of stopping made it intoxicating.

Her lips clung to mine as release overtook us, bodies trembling together in the forbidden space. The mirrored walls showed us every angle, every movement—two strangers turned wild lovers in a place meant for silence.

When it was over, she adjusted her dress with a sly smile, pressed the button again, and the elevator resumed its steady climb.

At her floor, the doors slid open. She stepped out, turned, and gave me a final glance—eyes glinting with satisfaction, lips curved in a secret smile.

“Enjoy your stay,” she whispered, before the doors closed.

I was left breathless, my reflection in the mirror proof that it hadn’t been a dream.

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