She looked around the cozy, dimly lit and almost empty lobby; out of vigilance more than curiosity.

Though, there was something she was curious about — for a snob like him, to choose a hotel below five stars was intriguing, to say the least.

Lost in thought, she didn't even notice she wasn't wearing her jacket anymore; not until she rested her elbows on the reception desk counter and felt her fingertips slid over the pleasant softness of cashmere when she accidentally brushed her sleeve. She clenched her teeth, torn between telling him what she thought about his treating her like a dolly to dress up how he liked, and the thought that she actually liked the coat and was happy to leave it on. It worried her, though, that she didn't even notice it till now. It'd been like this ever since she woke up; her mind would suddenly slow down now and then, wandering all over the place and nowhere in particular, like she hadn't slept in days.

And she slept eleven hours last night, he told her.

She turned left, her eyes drawn to the outline of his tall, broad-armed silhouette, her core muscles tightening at the memory of what was underneath all that black cashmere, how it felt to be crushed in those arms, full of him, so deliriously full that it turned her into a puppet in his hands, defenseless as nothing, no amount of booze or drugs had ever made her before. And she wasn't a stranger to losing a bit of control every now and then, but this — it scared the shit out of her. Though, not as badly as how much she fucking loved it.

Which was fine, as long as it was just that. No matter how unearthly, impossibly mind-blowing — anything solely physical was safe ground. She never had problems with keeping feelings out of her sexual life; even less so since she met Amy and all her emotional needs she never even realized existed were catered to, so fully there was no space left for anything more than occasional one-night stands. And those were safe, meant nothing, just carnal release.

One-night stand. It was all it was going to be. Several hours. Tomorrow, she would be out of here.

This was just going to be one night.

The first and the last one.

She took another glance around the lobby, her eyes falling on a man at the table by the window and the woman joining him; the man rose from his chair as the woman introduced herself, they shook hands and sat down. The woman's bright blonde hair were slicked back in a high-rise pony tail, and the man's gaze roamed between her eyes and chest in a way that gave him away; not just that he was dying to bury his face there, but that he'd done it times and times before.

She propped herself firmer against the counter as a sudden head-spin made her eyes shut.

"I'm going to get some water," she said and headed towards the dispenser; and rolled her eyes at the stupid flutter washing over her chest when he was right there at her side, handing her the cup, asking how she was feeling, the concern in his eyes when he did. And the fact that she wasn't used to having people care for her was one thing, but the fact that it was him doing it was no less confusing than the sudden realization that he must have spent the whole night at her hospital bed. It came back to her now; a glimpse she caught of him asleep in the armchair when she drifted awake for a moment, sometime after sunrise.

Well, it didn't mean anything and didn't deserve dwelling on; neither did the fact they were about to spend another night together; no matter how much it made her pulse race.

"A suite for two?" the petite, dark-eyed receptionist asked, her voice sounding like it was her he was going to share the suite with.

Irked by the girl's sickeningly sweet smile and annoyed at herself for a sudden urge to grab her by the throat and pin her to the wall behind her, she inhaled, slow and deep, willing her face not to display any of what went through her mind right now.

"Make it two," the rich, deep sound of his voice made all her thoughts disperse. "You don't mind, baby, do you? We shouldn't sleep together before the wedding," he said, barely sparing her a glance before fixing his gaze on the now fluttery-eyed, blushing receptionist, his grin deepening when he saw his words made just the impact he was obviously aiming at. God, she ached to punch him flat in that smug fucking face so bad she had to sink her nails in the flesh of her palms not to.

But it was later, when he snatched the credit card from her hands, that she thought she wouldn't make it to stop herself. Until he stepped behind her, wrapped his arm around her waist and made her melt when his mouth brushed her ear. "You're not paying for anything when you're with me."

Disgusted with herself for not punching him after all, she reached for her room key and headed for the elevator. She needed a nap, and badly. A shower and a nap, or the other way round, whatever; just away from him.

"You're not mad, are you?" he asked in the elevator on their way up, his voice laced with amusement, making bile rise in her throat. Now she could punch him all she wanted, they were alone; punch him and give a testimony of how not mad she was.

"About what?"

"You tell me," he said seductively, reaching out to grab her by the waist.

"Don't touch me," she said before she could stop herself, her blood boiling when she saw his grin spread all over his face in response.

"You're not jealous, are you?" He asked, his voice dropping lower, smooth and rich and driving her as mad as the urge to spit in his face or kick him in the groin right now, though not half as mad as the unwelcome realization what the actual answer to his question was.

"I'm only jealous when I care."

A subtle shade of hurt crossed his face briefly before his expression turned amused again; or maybe she was just seeing things; she shouldn't rely on her senses too much today.

It suddenly got stuffy, no air to breathe; she closed her eyes, her head spinning. She forced the air back into her lungs, a deep breath in — and the elevator door opened, they got out, and it was better, she could walk.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked, his voice now serious.

"I'm tired."

"Let me know if you need anything."

"I need a nap."

"Call me when you're up," he said when she was entering her room, and she didn't say anything to that. The door closed. She let her coat fall to the brown-carpeted floor and threw herself on the bed, not bothering to take her boots or anything else off.

And, fatigued as she was, the sleep wouldn't come.

Her phone chimed, she reached for it instantly. "How's it going with the owner?" a new message read. Cursing, she tossed the phone away and reached for her boots. After she sent the second one falling to the floor, the phone chimed again. "Anything new?"

She put the phone on silent. She wouldn't get any sleep otherwise.

A shower.

Stepping over the messy pile she made of her clothes on the bathroom floor, she walked behind the glass wall of the walk-in shower and turned the tap on. She should make it a cold shower and get her shit together; but gods, she couldn't even soap her body without imagining it was him doing it; and while it made sense to imagine it from neck down, when she pictured him washing her hair — that did it — she turned the tap to cold and, shivering, went on to punish herself for what refused to leave her mind even now, that it was him doing this to her, torturing her, before ordering her on her knees in front of him, his tip so swollen she wasn't sure it would fit in her mouth.

She shifted on the bed, still wrapped in the damp bathrobe, still shaky from her release, her hand slick with her juices. She wanted to get rid of the robe and put something dry on, but that was when she felt herself drifting off, and she let herself succumb to it; both to her lids getting heavy and a thought that followed; that he was here now, freeing her of her robe, pulling her close and burying them under a layer of sheets.

#

Readjusting the towel that came apart at his hips, he turned off the TV and tossed the remote on the bed.

Another drink, that was what he needed.

His phone showed 3.00 pm.

He reclined on the bed; running his fingers through his still damp hair, he wondered what she was doing, if she was asleep. Actually, he could use a nap as well; if he could manage to close his eyes and drift off, just into slumber, not the delirious abyss of images flooding him ever since he walked out of the shower where he spent a little while just minutes ago, imagining how it would feel like to wash her, take his time washing every inch of her, inside and out — how damn hot she had to look all wet and soaped up.

Another shower and several drinks later, having come up with a lame but rational excuse to do so, he found himself knocking at her door. If she wasn't asleep, they would go downstairs and grab something to eat.

She was wearing a white bathrobe and really was was tired, now he could see it better; there wasn't much color in her face apart from the black area under eyes. He grinned, suddenly amused by how she pursed her lips like a grumpy little girl.

"What's so funny?" She squinted at him angrily.

"You, when you're all pouty like that."

"Oh, I'll show you pouty—" But she didn't get a chance to finish; he caught her in his arms, silencing her with his mouth, and, kicking the door till they slammed shut behind them, carried her to bed, snapping their clothes off, reaching for the silky-smooth heat between her thighs, and cursing in awe when he did, when he found the ocean there that made his eyes close at the sensation; and gods, the sounds she made, the helpless look in her face when he kissed and touched her, when he took his time enjoying her, teasing her till she lost her breath. Then, he couldn't hold back anymore; when she rolled onto her stomach and gave him a little catlike glance over the shoulder, he didn't need to be asked twice; he pinned her down to the mattress, sank his teeth in her shoulder and lost himself in her, her sweet "yes" in his ears driving him insane; the one word she kept breathing like a prayer until she tensed and shuddered beneath him; and he didn't want to finish yet, but feeling her so shaken, lost in her pleasure and trapped underneath him, he lost the battle in a heartbeat.

A fleeting thought crossed his mind last second, that he should pull out; he did, right before his breath hitched in his throat, his seed spilling all over the beautiful curve of her backside. Propping himself on his elbow, catching his breath, he took a moment to revel in the beauty of the view; gods, just when he thought her ass couldn't look any hotter. He grazed warm skin with his fingers, a new wave of lust flooding him as his palm cupped the plump flesh, then roamed up, past her lower back, up her spine. She moaned softly when he reached the shoulder blades, so he stopped there to give the spot more attention, working his fingers over the knotted muscles, her little moans and purrs making him hard again; gods, it was impossible. He stroked up the nape of her neck, burying his fingers in her hair, grazing the scalp with his nails lightly, a wave of heat washing over his groin when he envisioned tracing the path back down with his mouth — and pressed a soft kiss to the back of her shoulder when he realized she was already deep in slumber.

Not to wake her up by pulling the sheets from underneath her, he produced a new one to cover her with.

And couldn't take his eyes off her, for a moment. Then, for another while.

He was glad she didn't know how long.