A valet came to the door, and Nate handed over his keys. “Bring her bag to the room, please. 2810.” The valet nodded, and then Nate was rounding to my side. He nudged another hotel staff member out of the way who’d been about to open my door. Then he was there, and he grinned, ducking down once more.
He picked me up out of the car, backed up, and then straightened. I was over his shoulder once more.
“Oh my God! Put me down.”
I knew my face was red, but these people were seeing me in my tights and the baggy sweatshirt I liked to wear when I was rehearsing. No one needed to see that. Ever. I had cold sweat plastered all over me.
Nate strode past everyone as if he owned the hotel.
Hell, for all I know, he did.
But I wasn’t looking. I didn’t need to add to my mortification.
“I thought you were joking about the hotel.”
“Nope.” He stopped in front of the elevator.
I started to lift up, assuming he’d put me down.
His arms tightened around my legs. “Hold tight, Quince.”
That was one of two nicknames I was called, but damn. I loved hearing it come from Nate.
The elevator arrived, and he stepped in, turning around. Four or five people were waiting behind us.
I almost screamed and looked away. That was so embarrassing.
Nate drawled, “Excuse us, folks. She’s injured. We need the extra space.” The doors slid closed as he said, “Appreciate it.”
I jostled against his shoulders. “They saw my ass.”
“It’s a good ass.”
“In my dirty leotard.”
“No one cared about your leotard.”
I groaned. “You’re not making it better.”
I had to laugh. “When you commit, huh?”
He laughed again. “When I commit, I commit.”
Nate took us to a corner suite on the second floor. He carried me over the threshold. I took in everything he’d done to prepare for tonight. Or I thought I was going to. He bypassed a table set for dinner. I was staring longingly at the bread, and he went into the bathroom.
I was set down, but only on the bathroom counter as he went and started the tub. It was a very large tub, big enough for five people. When the water was running, there was a knock on the door, and he told me, “Stay.”
He went to the door.
He came back with two glasses of wine in hand, and he handed me one. “I thought you would’ve snuck off.”
“No. I mean, when you commit.” I grinned at the water. “I’m expecting you to undress me and put me in the water.”
“Like you think I won’t?” A spark lit up in his eyes, and the wine was taken.
He moved between my legs.
I expected a fast undressing.
I would’ve been disappointed, but no. I was so very not disappointed.
He smoothed his hands up my legs, his finger sweeping inside my leotard.
I gasped, but he moved farther between my legs, his finger dipping and sliding inside me.
“Ohhh.” I started to fall back, my eyes closing.
“No. You keep them open.”
I did, but they were lidded, and I rested my head against the mirror. I was gone. Nate was moving in and out of me, and I gasped as he hit a deeper angle inside me. But he wasn’t done. His hand went up, and he pushed my sweatshirt over and off me. He tossed it on the counter, then he leaned down, moving my leotard aside.
His mouth found my nipple, and he closed around it, sucking on it hard.
I went to slide my hands through his hair. I wanted to touch him. I needed to touch him.
“No.” He caught my wrist, his face lifting. He slid two fingers inside me as he pinned my other wrist to the mirror behind me. He let me go, only to grab both of my wrists together, and he breathed into my ear. “Don’t move.”
He held me in place.
I was starting to shake.
I needed to touch him. Now.
His fingers continued to move—thrusting, sliding, building—while his mouth moved back to my breast. Then my other. He was sucking, tasting.
I couldn’t touch him back.
I tried, and he growled. “No.”
That growl hit me between my legs, making me throb even more.
I was so wet, and I was starting to pulsate.
He brought both my arms down behind me. He adjusted me so he was half leaning over me, his hand still working me.
I felt a scream building.
From my stomach, my chest, my throat, my neck, and it burst out of me as he pushed me over the edge. My whole body tightened around him. The waves were pulsating in me.
I gasped. I had no bones in me anymore. He had melted all of them.
He chuckled, his body holding me in place as he moved his mouth to my shoulder. “Now you can touch me.”
I looked at him, rueful. “Now I can?”
His smile was triumphant. “Fuck yeah, you can.”
“Put me in the water.”
“Oh shit!” He’d forgotten the water. He turned, seeing it was at the top, but the grate had kept it from spilling over. He turned it off, checking the temperature. “It’s too hot. It needs to cool off.”
I slid off the counter, taking both straps of my leotard, and I tugged it off.
He was watching, his eyes dark and primal.
I went over to him and slid down to my knees.
“What are you doing?”
I grabbed for his belt. “You think only one can play at that game?”
I undid his belt, reaching for his zipper.
He was looking down, his eyes almost molten. “Apparently not.”
I pulled his zipper down, undid his top button, and then I reached inside for him. “You’re definitely not the only one.” I wrapped my hand around his dick and paused with a small smile on my face. “Now remember, no touching.”
A low growl came from him, but then I moved forward and took him in my mouth.
He groaned. “Oh, dear God. I’m really loving this game of ours. We need to play it every day.”
Yes. Yes, we most definitely did.
The call came in this morning, after I was getting in from leaving the hotel. Quincey went back in for more rehearsals, and that call—it was burned in my memory. I’d been feeling good, happy with how things were with Q and I and then that fucking call came through.