Shimmy Bang Sparkle(72)
I thumbed through the beautiful landscape shots before finally getting to the little ranch house. It wasn’t much, just a red-roofed adobe on a concrete slab. But it was beautiful, the sort of place it was easy to imagine a lifetime inside. Looking at it, there was only one thought in my mind. I want her to have that, and I want to be the one to give it to her.
The hairdryer switched off, and she came out of the bathroom wearing a hotel robe. Her face was flushed with the heat of the dryer, and she had twisted her long sexy hair into a shiny dark rope over one shoulder. “You OK?”
I took one last glance at the Big Wide Open and powered off my phone. “Yeah, gorgeous. I’m perfect.”
She released her hair, and it unwound in a silky spiral. In her eyes was a heat and a light that turned me on like lighter fluid on hot coals. I gave her a come here finger in the air. She very, very slowly tugged at the belt of her robe, until the bow untied and the front fell open. With a wiggle of her shoulders, the robe fell away.
Fucking goddess, every last inch.
She grabbed the champagne from the dresser and took a long pull straight from the bottle. Then she set it down on the table, planted her hands on the mattress . . . and tiger-walked her way into my arms.
Half an hour, an orgasm apiece, and half the bottle of champagne later, we headed out to grab a drink before dinner. And do a little recon.
We looked damn good. My shoes still squeaked when I walked, but I hardly noticed. Walking behind her just a few steps, I got to watch every single curve sparkle as she passed under the halogen lights above. And the dress wasn’t all, because she’d also let me pick out the shoes. They were four-inch stilettos, the same color as pink gold.
I wasn’t a guy who looked up at the ceiling and thanked God for much, but I couldn’t help it. Instinctively I raised my eyes and said a private, Thank you, man, for this woman.
As I looked up, I remembered what she’d said about the lack of cameras. And holy fuck alive, she’d been right. Way, way down by the elevators, I saw one that pointed toward the doors. But there wasn’t a single camera or black dome between here and there—just a long line of recessed lights. Stella glanced back over her shoulder, and I raised my eyes to signal to her. Without moving her head at all, she scanned the ceiling. She gave me a long, slow blink to say, Told you.
But still, better safe than sorry. I adjusted my hipster fedora to bring the brim down a little lower and followed behind her as we approached the guard’s room, number 321.
Just in front his door, she let the room key fall from her hand—classic move to buy a little time. I knelt down to get it, sizing up the distance from the guard’s room to ours and the distance from both to the elevators. But my kneeling confused the hell out of Priscilla, who took it as a sign that I was getting down on the floor with her to play, and she began dancing in circles, tangling herself—and Stella and me—up in the leash.
I sized up the situation to see what we were up against. The guard’s room had the same lock setup as ours, almost exactly what I’d put on Stella’s door and just what I’d expected to see here. I’d used a keypad on her room in Albuquerque, but this was a card swipe. Same difference—getting past the lock would require the same brute force. Next to his room was a fire alarm, which might be good in a pinch. Down the hallway were the elevators, and across from them the room with the ice machine.
Stella went to her knees to help Priscilla out, accentuating the ball-busting V on her back, so deep I could almost see the top of her ass. Her hips looked like a teardrop, and every move was accompanied by a sound like she was walking through a beaded curtain. I put my fist to my mouth and growled. Stella shot me a look over her shoulder.
“All good?” she asked as she untangled Priscilla. As soon as she had her paw free, she zoomed forward on her retractable leash like she’d been flung from a potato gun. Stella straightened up and shimmied her dress down her hips.
Yeah, no. I wasn’t all good. I was standing in the hallway of the Ritz-Carlton, planning a jewel heist with one half of my brain, and with the other imagining what it would be like to rip the dress off her, sending rhinestones flying in every motherfucking direction. And I was scheming about how fast I could put a down payment on that ranch for her. All good? Fucking fantastic. “Absolutely.”
She reached out her hand for me, and we made our way to the elevators to head downstairs. For about point five seconds, I had every intention of being a gentleman about all this, but then I saw her reflection in the spotless mirrored doors, and I couldn’t help myself. I put my hand on her left hip to turn her around to face me. I walked her backward, pinching her jaw in my other hand as I kissed her. She pulled away, sassy and coy, just long enough to say, “Why, Mr. McNamara, whatever are you doing?”
I kissed her again to steal her words. She smiled at first, resisting me, tight-cheeked and battling me with her tongue. But soon enough she relented, going slack against the elevator door. On one particularly aggressive dive into that sweet mouth of hers, she smacked the mirrored door with her palm. It made a squeaky-clean noise as her hand slid down it.
I could’ve kissed her for hours. For days. For years. But I didn’t have the chance, because just as I was starting to get really into it, pushing my cock into her stomach, the elevator door rolled open behind her and she staggered back. Standing in the middle of the elevator was an astonished-looking maid, smiling embarrassedly at the carpet.