A/N: This is a one-shot, I swear! Just a little diddy I dreamed up when trying to write the next chapter for Behind the Music (which I've just sent to my awesome beta chiisai-kitty so it should be up any day now because she's so good and fast like that). For I have no immediate plans to extend this. It's just a one-story stand kind of thing and we both know it!
These characters do not belong to me; I can't even check them out.
...
EPOV
Maybe you're on vacation. Maybe you missed the last flight. Maybe you're here for a wedding. Maybe you're here with your wife, or maybe you're here with your mistress.
No matter how varied your reasons are, my job is always the same: to take care of you.
That means calling you a cab at three in the morning or reserving seats for you fifteen minutes before the show starts or writing down your ridiculously, embarrassingly large room service order that I know is just for one person.
My service comes with a price, however. Standard fees, added drinks and meals, outgoing calls, and—of course—tips, and lots of them. And the number that comes up on the screen might be higher than advertised online or in the brochures.
One thing's for certain: you get what you paid for. And for you, that means the best service, the best ingredients, the best view, and, as always, the best discretion. Because what you're really paying for is to live out your wildest, darkest fantasies—if only for the night.
And after eight years of working at the Landscape Hotel, with two of those as the deputy manager, I've seen a lot of fantasies come true.
But not mine.
I used to wish to be able to be a guest at this luxurious hotel, like all of the people I've come across—to order all the room service I can't eat, to sleep all day in the king-sized bed with 900-thread count Egyptian sheets, and to watch all of the pay-per-view my eyes can handle. And, most of all, to have the money to pay for that without worrying.
Like most dreams, that all changed the first time I saw her. Not that she, or anybody else, knew that at the time.
At first, I told myself I remembered it so well because she walked in during the first week of my new position as deputy manager.
After all, there were three weddings that week for three days in a row, and that meant a lot of work for everyone on staff, from the chefs and bakers in the kitchen making all the chicken/fish dishes and those beautiful wedding cakes to the maids who had to clean after the mess the drunk and disheveled guests left the morning after. As deputy manager, and a new one at that, I really learned a lot that week.
Like how to fall in love. With a complete stranger.
It was a beautiful day outside when she first walked in, and the light was shining so beautifully on her long golden hair I idly thought she had found a way to bring the sun in with her. She just radiated that kind of cheerfulness, from the way she beamed at the doorman and thanked the bellhop who brought in her small navy suitcase to how she glided to the front desk.
My head wasn't the only one that turned when she walked by.
I forget what I was doing then; I can only remember that whatever it was, it was far away from the front desk, and long enough that by the time I was finished with it she was stepping on the elevator. The door closed as I walked by, and we made eye contact for the first time.
She looked away after a second. I looked away after the elevator doors slid shut and the head receptionist, Pam, called my name.
This was Pam's third year at the hotel, and she was the person I was the closest to here. I chased her around when she first started working—she was a failed model, after all—but had to stop when she told me she was like the woman version of me and straight as a circle.
Somehow I knew she wasn't calling me over to ask how my day was.
"Eric," she said, her elbows resting on the front desk she was standing behind. When I turned and met her eye, she winked and waved me over.
"Noticed her, did you?" she murmured, shooting a meaningful glance my way once I was standing in front of her.
When I tried to protest, she cut me off. "Don't even try, Northman. I saw it, and I saw her. Believe me, I noticed her too. You'd have to be blind not to."
"Mmm," I said, trying to sneak a peek at the registration screen.
Unless Pam hit the 'enter' button immediately after making the transaction, I would have been able to see all the important details on the monitor. Details like name, room number. One or two beds. That sort of thing.
Unfortunately, I had forgotten Pam is Satan in a skirt, so of course she had already hit the damn button.
"Whatcha looking for? Huh?" she said in an annoying sing-songy voice.
"Make fun of me all you want, Pam. But come on, who is she?"
I would have expected her to draw this out for as long as possible, but she gave in after a few painful moments.
"Sookie Stackhouse. Just flew in from New Orleans and has the accent to prove it. She's in the Magnolia Suite on the tenth floor."
Damn it. The Magnolia Suite is a pretty big place for just one person to stay.
But she—Sookie—had been wearing designer clothes. As a senior staff member of a five-star hotel, you had to know these things. It was practically a job requirement to remember the initials of all of those big brands—CC, LV, YSL. And none of those were on Sookie's purse or luggage or, hell, sunglasses.
But her leather jacket and boots were of the finest Italian quality, her jeans were dark raw denim, and her hair was perfectly blonde. And thankfully her sunglasses weren't those big bug-eyed designer ones all of the fashionable ladies had been modeling—they were classic brown aviators, and they looked sexy as hell without the rhinestones or logos.
"Did she say if a Mr. Stackhouse was joining her later?" I asked, grimace in check.
"No, she did not," Pam answered. She raised a knowing eyebrow at me.
"Step aside," I said, and nudged her hip with mine. She agreed, and within seconds I had pulled up the screen with the details about Ms. Sookie Stackhouse's stay.
Sookie Stackhouse. Here for one day, one night. Check-in Tuesday at 4 p.m. and check-out Wednesday at 10 a.m. Magnolia Suite, reserved as of two weeks ago. American Express credit card.
No Mr. Stackhouse.
Pam's expertly manicured maroon fingernails purposefully tapped the counter top, and I looked up just in time to see Barry the bellhop press the elevator button, his other hand clutching the gold cart holding Ms. Stackhouse's luggage.
Without saying anything to Pam, I strode over to where our youngest bellhop was impatiently waiting.
"I've got this, thanks," I said, stopping right next to him.
He looked up at me in surprise. Deputy managers never took bags up to guests, especially guests who'd never stayed at the hotel before.
"Thanks," I firmly repeated, and he finally got the message.
"Yes, of course, sir," he mumbled before wandering back to the door.
"Go get 'em, tiger," Pam whooped from the desk.
I'd admonish her for unprofessionalism, but there was no one around and I wasn't in a position to judge.
Of course four other people got in the elevator with me, and of course every single one of them got off on different floors below floor ten.
But I got there finally, and walked own the long hallway to the Magnolia Suite. I felt like my heartbeat was matched up with my footsteps, and I have a notoriously fast pace even when I'm pushing a cart with a deceptively heavy suitcase.
This was like any other guest, I reminded myself, and my heart rate. Customary check of my custom-fitted black suit for any lint, customary check to make sure the button on my suit was buttoned, customary check to see if I had any bad breath, customary smoothing of my short blond hair.
Customary three quick knocks on the door. Customary nervous waiting to see if the person on the other side would open it.
"Just a minute," I heard her call out. Her voice was pretty, even on the other side of the door. She didn't sound like money, like most guests did here.
A few seconds later and the turn of the lock had me staring at her beautiful face. I barely had time to admire it downstairs, and I barely had time for it now without seeming creepy.
Bright blue eyes. Blonde hair. A smooth, sculpted tan face. Plump pink lips. All of these features I had seen on countless other women, but hers were the only ones that were real, and priceless. And completely gorgeous.
All in all, I thought she was in her mid to late twenties, a little younger than I was. But that hardly mattered.
She didn't seem to notice my staring, or maybe she was too polite to acknowledge it. She did seem surprised to see me instead of young Barry, but she quickly recovered.
"Oh, thank you, sir. That was so fast! I didn't even have time to take off my shoes. Here, come on in," she said, managing to talk and smile at the same time.
Of course I noticed the 'sir.' After all, I was used to saying it to people, but unaccustomed to people saying it to me.
She drew the door back farther and stepped back to let me in. I expertly picked up her suitcase and walked into her room, stopping in the living room to turn back and ask here where she wanted it.
"The bedroom, if you please."
"It is no trouble, miss," I replied, making sure to smile at her before making my way into the room.
She wasn't kidding—she really didn't even have time to unpack her purse or take off her shoes. The whole suite looked as clean as it had five hours ago when house cleaning inspected it.
"My, you seem to be having no trouble lugging that thing! After doing it all day today, I must admit that I'm impressed," she said, walking behind me.
I waited until I put the suitcase on the floor before replying, "I'll let you in on a little secret, miss. The trick is to walk in front of the person whose bag you're carrying, so she can't see the pained faces you're making as you're lugging it around."
Honest to God, she winked before conspiratorially whispering, "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me."
"Thank you, miss."
"It's Sookie. Sookie Stackhouse," she said, and offered me her hand.
"Eric Northman, deputy manager. A pleasure to meet you," I replied, shaking her hand. It was smaller, and softer, than mine, that was certain. And it also seemed to be electric, judging from the shock I received upon touching her skin.
"How de do. Pleasure's all mine."
I was glad she didn't ask why the deputy manager of a five-star hotel brought up her luggage like a first-year bellhop. If she had, I probably would have made up something about personally seeing all of the people who rent suites from us, but I'm glad she didn't.
We shook hands longer than what was accustomed, and I remember breaking away first. Don't scare her off, I ordered myself.
"I just love this view," she said all of a sudden, gesturing towards the glass doors opening up to the balcony. It was overlooking Central Park, which was beautiful at any time of day, but now that it was sunset it looked breathtaking.
"Yes, as do I. This is my favorite side of the hotel," I said.
I wanted to take back my words and erase them once I realized what I had said. Favorite side of the hotel? Could you BE any more of a jabbering idiot?
"When I made my reservation I asked for the room with the prettiest view. I must say, I'm very pleased with it," she said conversationally, not mentioning my faux pas.
"The sunset is gorgeous from here. It's supposed to set in about an hour or so," I told her.
"I'll have to keep an eye out for it—but that shouldn't be too hard to do, don't you think?"
We stared out the window for some time.
"Is there anything else I can do for you?" I asked politely.
It's a common line in the hotel business, and a line at that. It's short but packs a lot of meaning. Whenever I say it to a particularly attractive woman, like Sookie Stackhouse, I always feel like I'm in a porno.
Because in some cases this is where the action starts. Cue the 'bow chicka wow wow.'
Yes, I've slept with guests, and as the eyes and ears of this hotel I know for a fact I'm not the only one. And all of the times for me, it started like this. Different rooms, different women, different times of day. Same end result: sex.
For me, they always have to initiate it, and they always do.
"Fuck me," is the common answer. Sometimes they'll say, "Is there anything I can do for you?" and sidle up to me.
Sometimes they just take off their clothes. That's okay too.
But before all this, there's always a moment. A should-I, will-she moment that's the longest in the world.
Benjamin Franklin once said, "Nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at without result," but I'd urge him to see how it feels to do what I've just done. Because when it works, it feels fucking great.
Sookie looked up at me, eyes widened. I noticed she hadn't moved the whole time I said it.
I really thought she was going to take me up on my offer.
When I prompted her with a polite, "Sookie?" she kind of came out of it, even shaking her head a little.
"Oh, gosh, sorry I'm so spacey. Long day. But, no, thank you, Eric," she replied, blushing.
She looked so adorably frazzled and little nervous, I thought as she tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and smiled at me. What a timid little thing.
"If I may be so bold, Sookie, you look like you could use a drink. Our bar is one of the finest in the city. Long Shadow, our bartender, makes every drink you could ever dream of."
"Tell me, Eric, does this Long Shadow make a plain-Jane gin and tonic?" she asked. "Because that's the only drink I'm going to dream of later."
What was happening later?
I smiled. "Of course, and it's a very good gin and tonic at that." And he doesn't make it for plain-Janes, since you obviously are not one of them.
She nodded twice, slowly. "Maybe I will. Thank you."
"Of course. I'll be downstairs at the front desk all night, in case you need me."
"All night? Like, literally all night?" she asked, eyes widened.
"Yes." Another way of asking if there was anyone waiting up for me, Sookie?
She paused, thinking of a response. "Good to know," she settled with.
That sounded very promising?
"Until next time, then," I said, and walked towards the door. "And if you need anything, I'm right downstairs." I smiled back at her one last time before turning on my heel and walking out of the suite.
There. All done. I was perfectly polite, and perfectly professional. Which is to say, I was perfectly boring. No impact. No lasting memory. No Sookie.
I wondered if it was her mysteriousness that attracted me to her. I didn't know about her likes and dislikes, her family, her job, her friends, her taste in music and books and movies. If I didn't know, then I couldn't be disappointed.
I tried to tell myself that her elusiveness was what was driving me crazy. That had to be why.
Plus, I thought, it was only my first week on the job, and I had more important things to think about than the hot blonde on the tenth floor. More important, but not more welcomed, things.
Pam was helping a guest at the front desk when I went downstairs, so I escaped her ribbing once I was back in the lobby. And with the third and final wedding taking place in four hours it was back to work for me.
Once everything was in place and the toasts were made and the dances danced and the cake cut and eaten, I had time to rest. And by rest, I mean arrange the rooms for the tipsiest or horniest members of the wedding who obviously hadn't planned on meeting that special somebody or drinking that last drink. There were a lot of those people.
That's why I didn't notice that Sookie had left the hotel until I saw her walking through the front doors at a little after midnight that night. She was wearing a short black dress and bright purple heels and her hair was even curlier and bouncier than before. I was relieved to see that her shiny pink lip gloss wasn't smeared all over her chin and there wasn't a single hair out of place.
Huh.
There was no one in the lobby—it was a Tuesday night in March, after all—and Pam was off duty, with an unknowing and uninterested replacement, Thalia, not paying attention to either of us the way Pam would have been doing.
I was leaning against the barrister of the grand staircase, admiring the bounce in Sookie's step. But she surprised the hell out of me when she strode over to where I was, instead of the elevator like I had assumed she'd be walking towards.
"Good evening, Sookie," I courteously greeted once she stopped in front of me. Polite and professional. Polite and professional. Polite and—
"I think you mean, good morning, Sookie," she teased, smiling at me. In her heels, she was still a lot shorter than my 6'4", and I noticed this because she was closer to me than she had been before. It was enough to make me feel protective.
"Right. My mistake," I acknowledged with a bow of my head and a quirk of my lips.
She grinned and didn't say anything.
"How did you enjoy this particularly warm New York city night?" I asked, thinking of the questions I would have liked to have asked her—who did you get dressed up for? Where did you go? What did you do? When did you leave? Why are you coming back now?
"Warm? This is downright freezing where I'm from!" she giggled.
She didn't inadvertently reveal the answers to the questions I thought of.
"And where might that be?" I asked politely, smiling. Never mind that I already know the answer to that particular question.
"Originally, a little town you've never heard of called Bon Temps in Louisiana. But now I'm based in New Orleans," she answered.
"Good times," I translated. Huh.
Sookie didn't, and probably would never, know this, but French wasn't the only language I could speak. She didn't know I was also fluent in Swedish, Spanish, Russian, and knew a little bit of Chinese and Arabic—and, of course, English, my second language.
I had first come to New York from Sweden as an idealistic young man, hoping to get a job as a translator at the UN. I was always good with languages growing up, and wanted to make a living out of it. But I had to take a job as a bellhop at this very hotel when I arrived in the city and couldn't find any other jobs that paid as well as that one did. Then I quickly moved up the ranks and fell in love with this hotel and all of the crazy people in it, both those who paid to live here and who were paid to work here. I never regretted my career switch, especially because this one let me speak to people all over the world, which was always what I really wanted to do.
"Oui, monsieur," she replied, not revealing how she knew French either.
Conversation kind of stopped after that.
"You're lucky, though. Where I'm from, this is boiling hot," I joked, trying to pick the talking up again.
The whole time, my brain was screaming at me: "No, no, no! You can't reveal personal information to a paying guest without them asking! You can't joke and flirt and be cute to a paying guest!"
"Oh yeah? Where's that?"
So she was interested, then. Or extremely polite, which isn't exactly a bad thing.
"Sweden."
She didn't get that sparkling, wide-eyed look that most people—all right, most women—got when I told them I was from Sweden. Instead, she nodded her head and replied, "Okay. You win."
"Not in the winter," I joked, and she smiled.
"I always thought Sweden was this kind of place in fairy tales when I was younger. It seemed so magical back then—the snow, the freezing cold, the varying length of the day. I used to dream about going there on hot August days," she said, very conversationally.
"You know, that's what I dream about now," I replied, bringing her attention back to me.
"It works sometimes, doesn't it? If you close your eyes real tight and think real hard?" she said, crossing her arms. I allowed myself two seconds of boob time before it was back to her face.
Two seconds wasn't nearly as much time as her breasts deserved.
"Sometimes, when the air conditioning is just right," I agreed.
We grinned at each other, for I had run out of possible conversation topics and I feared she had done the same.
"Bar still open?" she asked, looking towards the bar. It was technically opened but deserted; Long Shadow was just polishing some glasses, his back to us.
"Yes it is," I replied, looking down at her. "Still want that plain-Jane gin and tonic?"
"Only if you make it for me," she boldly said, lifting her head up to face mine as she winked at me.
I blinked.
Was this her starting it?
"You do know how to make a gin and tonic, right?" she asked teasingly.
"I'll have you know I make the best gin and tonic in the city, just not for plain-Janes," I replied, caught up to speed now that my brain processed that Sookie wanted to drink with me.
"Prove it."
I held my arm out for her, and she took it after staring at it for a moment. Once she did, her hand burning through the arm of my suit jacket, I guided us towards the bar—slowly, so she'd be on my arm longer. And yes, I flexed. Twice.
Long Shadow turned around once he heard our footsteps, and he didn't stop looking at us even when I stopped at the bar and Sookie sat down on the very high bar stool. She crossed her legs, making the hemline of her already short dress recede higher up her thigh to reveal tanned skin, and I watched every second of it.
"I'll take it from here, thanks Long Shadow," I said smoothly, tearing my eyes away from Sookie's legs to stare him down.
He threw me a questioning look, but after I just raised an eyebrow he got the message. "Yes, Eric. I take it I can go home now?"
Bastard. His shift ended in two hours. "Sure. See you tomorrow," I said cheerfully, smile plastered on my face.
He nodded at me and walked away from the counter. I quickly took his place and smirked at Sookie, who was watching me now instead of typing on her phone like she had been the whole time Long Shadow was here. When I knew I had her attention, I took off my suit jacket and rolled up my sleeves.
"Uh oh. Sleeves are coming up," she teased.
"You know what that means, right?"
"Uh, the lighting behind the bar's too hot and you don't want to sweat in front of me?"
I laughed—I wouldn't mind sweating in front of her, or on her, or under her. "No. That means magic's going to happen."
She narrowed her eyes at me. "Magic, huh?"
"Just wait till you taste my gin and tonic."
I pulled out a bottle of Tanqueray gin and the bottle of club soda, as well as two glasses.
"That's a little cocky," Sookie remarked, leaning up on the table and pressing her breasts towards me.
I stole a glance at them and then made my way up to her face, where I saw she was staring right at me.
"Is that because you think I got a glass out for me or because I brought another out for you since you're going to like my drink so much?" I replied, measuring out the liquids.
I thought that'd stump her but it didn't, not even for a second. "Don't be coy, Eric. We both know the second one's for you."
Feisty. I grinned. "Like I said, I make a good gin and tonic."
Finished, I placed her glass in front of her and then picked up my own. "Cheers," I said, holding my drink out in front of me. She lifted hers up and clinked it with mine, her eyes never leaving my face as she took a long sip.
"So?" I prompted her.
"All right. You're all talk and all game. This is a pretty damn good drink."
"Thank you."
"Little stiff though, don't you think?" she said after a second taste.
I shrugged, and swirled the ice in my glass. "I happen to like my drinks like I don't like my women."
She smirked. "That's funny. I like my drinks like I like my men."
I laughed. "Is that right? And how do you like your men?"
"How do you like your women?" she challenged.
"Like you," I answered simply.
There. I'd gone ahead and said it. You'd think, with the way my heart was pounding underneath my cool-guy façade, that I'd just told her I loved her for the first time or I asked her to marry me. And while this was a big step in our, what, eight-hour relationship, it was still a big step. She had technically initiated it, but mine was a bigger move. I could get fired for this or she could sue me for sexual harassment, if I had completely misread her.
But I didn't.
Sookie took a sip from her glass and licked her lips, knowing she had my attention. "We're in luck, then. I happen to like my men like you," she replied after a moment.
"Good for us," I managed to say. I took a long swig of my drink and Sookie did the same.
"Indeed."
She cleared her throat. "I've been meaning to talk to you about something."
I leaned towards her, very interested in what she'd say. "And what would that be?"
She leaned towards me. "There's something wrong with my room."
I did my best to put on an apologetic face. "I'm sorry to hear that. Is it anything specific, or just the room in general?"
"It's my bed, you see. There's a problem with it," she replied, almost in a whisper.
"What's wrong with your bed?" My voice was barely above hers.
She paused, almost for dramatic effect. "You're not in it."
I swallowed. Hard. "I can fix that, I think."
"I was hoping you could say that."
We looked at each other.
"And when would be the best time for me to help you with your problem?" I finally said.
"As soon as I finish my drink."
I tipped mine back and finished it instantly. Sookie just laughed and took her time, savoring each sip and the way she knew she was driving me mad with impatience.
When she reached for her wallet, I leaned all the way across the countertop that I wasn't already over and placed my hand on hers, stopping her. "It's on the house."
That got a steamy look from her. She took her hand out of her purse, and I put mine back on the table. After a moment she murmured, "Well, if that's settled then…"
I took her glasses and shoved them behind the bar without even cleaning them. "Let's take care of your bed then."
"Why don't I go up now and check up on it, and then you follow me and come in five minutes?" she said, standing up.
"That sounds agreeable to me."
"Great. Here's your tip," she said. Before walking away she put something on the table, but I didn't immediately look down because I was watching her ass in that tight dress.
There were four condoms on the table when I looked down. Sookie had tipped me in condoms.
Scooping up my tip and my jacket, I quickly walked over to the front desk, where Thalia was nonchalantly flipping through a magazine. She looked up when I stood in front of her.
"Thalia, there's something I need to take care of, so I'll need you to be in charge for a couple hours. If there's a fire or a murder, call me, but other than that, you're on your own. Got it?"
"Whatever you say," she said, smirking. She knew what I was going to be doing, because I'd caught her doing it a month ago with an actor on a new hit sitcom.
With that, I got into the elevator, stuffing the condoms in my pocket and putting my jacket on. It was stupid, though, since I knew I'd be taking it off the moment I got into Sookie's room.
I decided to use my all-access key card when I finally stood in front of the Magnolia Suite Sookie was staying in. I thought I'd be able to surprise her, but I ended up being the one who was surprised when I walked into the bedroom to see Sookie lying naked on the bed, her clothes in a pile on the floor.
She lifted her head up from the pillow. "It's about time."
My only response was to walk over to the bed, shrugging of my suit jacket and throwing it on the floor. There's always dry-cleaning in the hotel, and I had packed a new suit, tie, and shirt for the next morning.
"Well I'm here now," I replied, unbuttoning my shirt and throwing it on top of the jacket. Sookie sat up, cross-legged, and watched me.
I slowly removed my undershirt and went for my belt.
"I want to do that," Sookie whispered, edging towards the side of the bed.
"You should have thought about that before you undressed while I was downstairs," I chided, removing the belt.
Now it was the button, and the zipper. Pants were gone now, and I kicked off my shoes and socks too.
None of my actions were missed by Sookie, not because she was inches away from me but because she was watching me intently, like she'd be quizzed later. And now that I was mostly undressed, she was staring at the tent in my boxers with a look that could only be described as "hungry."
Recognizing an opportunity when I saw it, I slowly slid my boxers down, kicking them away. She licked her lips.
That was a turn on. She was a turn on. This whole thing was a turn on. She was forbidden fruit, yet here I was, naked as Adam and just as willing.
I kneeled on the bed and Sookie straightened even more, angling her face to reach mine. My hand cupped the back of her head as I laid her down on the bed and covered her body with mine. Our bare skin touched before our lips did, but that was quickly remedied.
I brought my lips to Sookie's and kissed hard, harder than what was expected for a first kiss. It wasn't sweet, like a first kiss with a girlfriend, or hesitant, like a first kiss with a date. It was exactly the first kiss to be had with a one night stand, with lots of teeth and tongue and absolutely no embarrassment.
She tasted like the gin and tonic she had just finished, as I imagined I tasted. She was a good kisser, particularly with the reactions she could get out of me with just her tongue.
I could tell the exact moment when she felt my hardness pressing against her hip, because then her kisses became more feverish, her hands fisting in my hair as she tilted her head. If she kept that up, there's no way I would last, so I broke away from her lips. She moaned, especially when I moved down her neck and sucked on her neck, marking her. I sucked at the hollow of her throat, smiling as I blew lightly, raising goose bumps on her skin.
Her skin was smooth and tasted a little like the perfume she must have sprayed hours before, but I didn't mind the slight burn it made when it tasted like citrus and flowers. Her hands, which had been rubbing up and down my back earlier, now scratched my skin, using nails to dig in.
She was marking me as I was marking her.
When I had enough of torturing both of us with just licking and sucking on her neck and collarbone, I allowed myself to travel lower, to her breasts. Of course I had stared at them from both near and afar, clothed and naked, but they were even better now that my mouth and hands were on them. Her breasts were bigger than a handful for me, even with my large hands, and they felt amazing when I cupped both of them and when I later rested my face in between them, listening to how hard Sookie's heart was beating.
I lowered my face, kissing all around her breasts before finally taking one sensitive nipple into my mouth. I teased it with my tongue, relishing the sweet taste of her skin, and was nearly undone when I heard her moan my name.
Replacing my hands with my mouth allowed my fingers to ghost down even more of Sookie's body. I moved my weight so I could slowly bring one hand down her curves, slowly, and run my fingertips down over her hip, teasing the sensitive skin. I cupped the back of her thigh and brought up so her foot was lying flat on top of the bed, and I did the same with her other leg, taking my time. My hands ran across the top of her thighs and down to her center, which was hot and waiting for me.
I lightly bit on her nipple as my finger slid into her, and she arched her back off the bed. Soon she was clutching the sheets and moaning, breathing heavily into my mouth as I kissed her. My tongue penetrated her mouth the same time as my fingers did her lower lips, and it was almost too much for both of us.
I'd been so busy with work I hadn't had much time to go out and get laid, and I didn't want to spoil this opportunity with Sookie too soon.
"I want to be inside you when you come," I said hoarsely, and Sookie whimpered when I got off of the bed and crouched on the floor, trying to find my jacket where I had so carelessly thrown it on the floor.
"Eric, hurry," she urged from the bed.
I obeyed, tearing the foil and putting the condom on before aligning myself with her center. I knew I was big, and I made sure Sookie was more than aroused I entered slowly, testingly.
I closed my eyes once I was all the way inside her. She felt near orgasmic herself, hot and tight and clenching. I wished I knew her better so the damn condom wasn't necessary, but I wasn't willing to risk that no matter how good she felt.
Her hands found the small of my back, pulling me closer as she wrapped her legs around my hips. I was still for a long moment, wanting to prolong this feeling that I knew would drive me over the edge soon.
Once we both adjusted, we started moving in rhythm we were both familiar with but not with each other, the sound of skin slapping skin and our heavy breathing taking up the whole room. Her hands traveled to my ass and squeezed hard, nails in deep, and I accidentally bit down hard on her collar bone in reaction. My hands were gripping her hips so hard I was sure I would leave bruises the next morning, but now wasn't the time to care about that.
I knew I was reaching climax, but I didn't want to finish before she did. Rubbing her clitoris seemed to do the trick, and soon she was done, her face scrunched up as she cried out my name. I continued pumping as she rode her orgasm, and then, without even thinking, I screamed hers as I finished, little bursts of light exploding behind my closed eyes.
I rested my weight on my elbows as I tried to regroup, and rolled over once my breathing steadied. Sookie's face was sweaty and her hair looked wild, but she looked sated even with her eyes closed. I took the moment to memorize the way her body looked, especially since we were above the covers and the lights were dimmed; not many of the women I'd been with would have ever let us go above covers, but Sookie didn't seem to care. I certainly didn't.
When she opened her eyes, she smiled at me. "There are still three condoms left, you know."
"Believe me, I know," I replied, swooping down for a kiss.
…
First we ran out of condoms, and then we ran out of energy. The bed and its sheets were hot and sticky, but Sookie mustn't have minded because she fell asleep, her head resting on my chest. I wished I could fall asleep with her too, but I knew it'd been hours since I actually thought about the hotel and that wasn't good. Shifts were ending soon—though mine was still going to last for six more hours—and people would be looking for me.
I didn't want to leave, but I finally did. My clothes were wrinkled, but luckily I had brought a change of clothes into work with me, as I always did when I worked an overnight. And I didn't run into anyone when I took the elevator to the staff section of the hotel. I showered, shaved, and brushed my teeth, ready for the new day.
I straightened my purple and navy striped tie and fastened the gold cufflinks in my suit. It was one of my favorites—a custom-fitted navy one that, when paired with the tie and my light blue dress shirt, made me look and feel like a million dollars.
It should be stated that it is of the upmost importance to look good on the job, regardless of any Southern blondes staying in that hotel.
Even though I'd be seeing her today, regrettably for the last time. Probably for the last time.
That didn't stop me from looking her up in our system to see if she'd arranged for a wake-up call; she had, at eight o'clock. Fuck—that's when I had a conference call with a publicist of an Oscar-winning actress who was checking in next week and had a long list of demands. There goes my grand plan of waking Sookie up with room service breakfast in bed.
I wasn't sure what she liked, so I ordered a fruit salad, pancakes, and eggs, since they all were breakfast foods. Coffee and mimosas were added, and I arranged for Louis, the head chef, to make the order our sweetheart special, which was just an additional vase of roses and a glass of champagne—usually it came with two, for the lovers, but this morning it'd just have to be for the one. If I couldn't be there, I wanted Sookie to think of me. Instead of her wakeup call at eight, that'd be when her room service was delivered—at my expense, I made sure.
I didn't see Sookie until nine o'clock that morning. She walked in looking amazing, but exhausted, in a pair of dark skinny jeans, scuffed up grey boots, and a black shirt. She had her same purse as before, but she was also carrying a khaki backpack with her, and a black duffel bag.
No wonder her suitcase felt so heavy.
As I watched her hoist her purse over her shoulder, that same protective feeling I discovered while standing over her kicked in, and I found myself at her side, asking if I could help her with her bags.
Part of her hair was covering her face, but I could see her one visible eye grow big with surprise when she saw me. She broke out into a grin soon afterwards.
"Sure, yeah, that'd be great. Here, Eric," she replied, and handed me the duffel bag.
"It's no problem." But, damn, this girl knew how to pack. Whatever was stuffed in here was heavy and hard.
Her hair was curly—she showered?—and her face was makeup free, but even with the bags under her eyes I thought she looked lovely.
"Thank you for breakfast. It was heavenly," she murmured as I walked behind her, my hand brushing her ass, as I made my way behind the counter to check her out.
"I wanted to give you breakfast in bed, but I had a meeting," I said.
"Stupid meeting."
I watched her, head down, as she filled out the paperwork. When she was done, she quickly looked around the room and leaned over the counter.
"There's an important matter of personal business in the bathroom of the Magnolia Suite that I highly recommend you see to before anyone else," she murmured low enough and close enough that I was the only one who would hear it. Her warm breath caressed me as much as her words had, and then stopped as soon as she walked away without giving me any chance to respond.
What the fuck was in there? I was in the elevator within the next five seconds.
Svetlana, a maid, was just making her way into the room when I rounded the corner. "A guest left something in there and I need to get it. You can have the room in five minutes, I promise," I told her, and she dutifully walked over to the next room.
Sookie's room was spotless—bed made, nothing on the floor, no leftover toiletries cluttering the sink. Which let me see exactly what she had left behind as a present for me.
It was a Polaroid picture of the window with the sunset from last night, the one we had discussed. The photo taken from just inside the room, like on her bed. In the photo, the room was kind of dark and hazy, which made the sunset stick out even more. It took up almost the entire picture except for a vertical blob on the left side that kind of looked like—
I almost dropped the picture the second I realized what that shape was. It was her body, all of it. I was staring at a naked, smirking Sookie.
That little minx, was my first thought.
Of course, my second thought was, did she leave yet?
After I carefully tucked the photo in my breast pocket, I rushed downstairs as soon as I could, but she was gone.
It wasn't until then that I had the good fortune to think to flip the card over. "Until next time?" was written in her all-caps, black ink handwriting. No number or anything.
Well, until next time then?
...