“If you’re going to stare at my hands, sweetheart, you should at least let me put them on you.”

I didn’t flinch.

I looked up slowly from my glass of pinot noir and locked eyes with him. He was tall. Ridiculously tall. He wore a dark suit, white shirt unbuttoned just enough to whisper something sinful. No tie. No ring.

His voice dripped with confidence. A deep, low voice, the kind that makes your knees forget they’re supposed to hold you upright. His hands, the ones I’d been very much staring at, were resting casually on the edge of the bar. They looked strong enough to pin me down if I had a shaky orgasm.

I tilted my head, licking a drop of wine from my lower lip seductively. “Maybe I like imagining things first.”

His mouth curved into the cockiest smirk I had ever seen. “You don’t strike me as the imagining type. You strike me as the kind of woman who wants it exactly the way she likes it- loud, messy, and hard enough to forget the week.”

He wasn’t wrong.

“I could be married you know,” I said.

“You’re not. Your left hand is too bare. There's no dent on the skin. No nervous glances. No backup story rehearsed. You’re alone on purpose.”

I raised a brow. “Do you always read women like crime scenes?”

“Only the ones that look like they’re begging to be solved.”

That did it. I stood slowly, finishing the last sip of my wine and placing the glass on the bar like a challenge. My black dress hugged me in all the places that mattered. The slit along my thigh parted as I moved, catching his eyes.

“Do you always come on this strong?”

He stepped closer, his chest just inches from mine, the air between us instantly heavier.

“Only when I’m sure the answer is yes.”

I stared at him.

And then I said it.

“One night. No names.”

He didn’t hesitate.

“I'm all in.”

He reached for my hand and I let him take it.

Not because I trusted him.

But because I was starving for a man who knew what to do with a woman like me.

We didn’t make it past the elevator before things ignited.

He pressed me against the mirrored wall, his body pinning mine as his mouth found my neck. I gasped, arching against him, hands curling into his shirt. His mouth was hot, wet and possessive. He bit down just hard enough to make my thighs tremble.

“You can tell me to stop if you want,” he whispered into my skin.

I said nothing.

His hand slid up my thigh, fingers finding the edge of my panties. He groaned softly against my ear.

“Yesss....” I groaned.

His fingers moved slower now, teasing the edge. I clenched my jaw, resisting the urge to moan like a woman who forgot where she was. The elevator dinged. We didn’t move.

“Room 1901,” he growled. “Now.”

We barely made it through the door before he was on me again.

His jacket hit the floor. My dress followed.

He didn’t undress me gently. He peeled me open like a banana.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he said, voice rough with restraint.

“You just met me,” I whispered.

“Doesn’t matter. I knew I wanted to the moment I saw you.”

He pushed me gently onto the bed and stood there for a second, staring.

I watched as he undid each button of his shirt, slow, deliberate, like he was letting me imagine it for real this time.

Every inch of him was sculpted. Broad chest, defined abs and that deep V that made me clench my thighs instinctively.

He caught my legs then smirked widely

“Spread them.”

I didn’t move.

His voice dropped lower. “Now.”

I obeyed.

He crawled onto the bed, his mouth descending on me like he was starving. And then-

He kissed the inside of my thigh.

Not once.

Three times.

Slowly in amazing worship.

And then he looked up at me, eyes dark and blown wide.

“Don’t come until I say.”

The first lick made my entire body jolt.

The second made me cry out.

His hands pinned my thighs apart as his tongue moved over me with sinful precision. He wasn’t gentle. He was relentless. Messy. Loud. Like a man who didn’t care if the hotel heard me scream.

I fisted the sheets, hips rising, eyes shut tight.

“Please,” I gasped.

He stopped instantly.

My eyes flew open. “Please don't stop.”

He crawled up and kissed me, letting me taste myself on his tongue.

“You don’t beg me. You ride me.”

I could barely breathe.

He grabbed a condom from the nightstand like he knew exactly where everything was and tore it open with his teeth. I watched, dazed and aching, as he slid it on and hovered over me.

“I’m not going slow.”

I hooked my legs around his waist. “Good.”

The first thrust knocked the air from my lungs.

His long and hard dick filled my pussy completely. He went deeper, stretching my pussy until it burned and felt like heaven all at once. My nails raked down his back as he started to move, each stroke harder, deeper, more brutal than the last.

“You feel like a damn addiction,” he growled.

And he sure handled me like one.

He entered into me over and over, pushing me against the headboard. With one leg slung over his shoulder, his hand was choking me just enough. His other hand was on my clit. I let out coaxing sounds I didn’t know I could make.

When I came, it was messy. Loud. Completely out of control.

And he followed with a groan that shook me to the core.

We collapsed soon after sweating seriously.

My heart was still pounding when he spoke again.

“I lied,” he said, voice hoarse.

I looked at him, dazed. “About what?”

“No names. That’s not gonna happen.”

He brushed a strand of hair off my face, fingers trailing heat across my cheek.

“Because I’m going to need to know what name to growl the next time I have you on your knees.”