Just One Night (Tantalizing Trope Novella Book 2) Read online

  “Not tonight, right,” Taylor frowns down at his paperwork, “Heading out on the jet in an hour.” I finger-gun him, even adding a pew-pew sound, nodding as I wait for a response.

  “I remember. Atlantic City. Where we will never own shit despite the bank we throw at that town.” Sighing, I set my phone aside and shove my hand through my dark hair. Mussing it up.

  “We gotta put the time in, Knox. Kiss some ass, lose some cash. You know how it is.” I sigh again, spinning my phone on the table between us as I nod.

  “I know how it is. Just tired of raw lips, man.” Taylor laughs a little, nodding in agreement.

  At just this side of thirty, we both know we're damn lucky to be where we are. Growing up in the suburbs sounds ideal, but trust me, our stories were anything but. Taylor had a drunk father who got too handsy after dark and I had a mother who brought home whoever would take care of her. It was a shit show all tucked away in a nice cul-de-sac.

  We got out as soon as we could and came to the city. New York was always the dream for us. Something about it called to us so it was the first place we put roots down. Spent half a dozen years working hard and living lean.

  Seemingly endless ramen noodle nights paid off though.

  At twenty-five we bought our first hotel.

  Kincaid-Lassiter was born. Or, KL Hotels was, at least.

  Our first hotel was just an old Howard Johnson, but we made it something special. Every room was rehabbed, every inch updated. We have a unique blueprint for our hotel plans, one that sets us apart from most chains.

  We do not want to be a chain of boring, bland hotels.

  We don't even want to be a chain, not really.

  Instead, we want something people talk about, something people tell their friends about. Nothing hipster or too edgy. Just fresh, current, innovative. Flat screens in every room, stylish designs for linens and décor, more than half the rooms feature Jacuzzi tubs and every hotel has a classy bar with skilled baristas and chef designed food options.

  “How do we like the designs for the Chicago hotel?” Taylor's assistant, Ora, slides a design book thick with carpet, drape and linen samples across the table at me.

  We're having our weekly meeting so Taylor is excited. A new buy on the horizon always gets him excited. I suspect Ora is on the receiving end of that excitement if the way they slide salacious looks at one another is any indication. Warned that idiot to keep his dick in his pants after his last assistant started chasing feelings.

  Taylor chases cash, ass and little else.

  I chuckle at my own cleverness before my phone buzzes with a message.

  “Can do. Wait...four p.m., yes?” That chuckle turns to a laugh as I swipe to answer with a grin.

  “Of course, four p.m. Business hours seemed safe.” I shoot back, watching as the dots dance to show they are typing back.

  “Business hours depend on said business, I suppose. 4pm, Good Sir. Where is Lexington?” I laugh out loud, all but ignoring Taylor now.

  “Where are you located? Might make it easier to meet close.”

  “Could be a killer. Either one of us. No details. Four PM. Lexington. Will find my way, Good Sir. Name is Ella. Will be the one all in white.” I smile at the phone, rolling that name around in my head. Ella. Ella. Ella.

  “See you at four, Ella. Until then.” I slide my phone into my pocket, blinking at Taylor as he and Ora make blatant eyes at one another.

  “Ora,” Her eyes swing my way as I steeple my hands, “You are fired, my dear. My apologies. Fuck him without getting paid for it. See you at the airport in an hour, Taylor.” Winking at them as they gape at me, I head out of the conference room to my office, chuckling as I go.

  Good Sir. Who are you, Ella?

  Two hours later, as we tour a hotel we have had our eye on for over a year, I am still thinking this.

  Taylor is not speaking to me since I fired his fuck-buddy but I don't give a shit. He'd do the same if it were me and we both know it. We're in this shit together and banging every skirt that comes through our office and opening us up to lawsuits and payoff threats is no way to build a business.

  “I didn't fuck her yet.” Taylor sighs once we finish the tour and head back to our hotel.

  “Liar.” I smirk at him, knowing that him breaking the silence will lead to as close as we get to an apology.

  “I swear. Girl sucks dick like a champ and got some pussy tastes like caramel cream. Might not get a chance to fuck that creamy goodness now, thanks to you.” He smirks though because we both know better, but I shrug.

  “Can't risk it. Ought to know better by now.” A lot of women work for us, at our hotels as well as our offices, some of them just there to get their shot at us. I am cautious as hell. Taylor often picks from the staff like it's his personal escort service, though.

  “I know. I like her actually,” Taylor pops his brows up high, sighing as he shoves his hands through his sandy hair, “Otherwise I might have fucked her weeks ago. Besides, it was a dick move firing her the way you did.” Because I own two percent more, and make most the final decisions, he knows he has no say. Doesn't stop him from saying shit though.

  “Dick move was letting yet another assistant suck you off while getting paid for it. Gonna cost us some day, Taylor.” Another sigh lets me know he's ready to end the discussion.

  “I won't let it. Anyway,” Dragging out every syllable, he draws my attention from my phone, “Who you been texting all day?” I frown, realizing I've read over my messages several times today. Mostly, the ones from Ella.

  “No one. We good, though?” I swipe a message open even as I ask, ready to type out the question I have been wondering the answer to all day.

  “Of course. Won't do it again.” Taylor smirks like he might actually mean it, but I'm not buying it.

  “Good to hear.” I toss off, knowing my indifference will piss him off.

  “Who are you, Ella?” I shoot it off, wondering if she will even respond.

  Two minutes later, my phone pings. I smirk. Course, she responded. I wonder if she snooped through the phone. Didn't need to be a genius code cracker to get a peek. My cock jerks in my trousers as I think of mysterious Ella skimming her pretty little hands through my filthy photos.

  “I am...me. Who are you?” My grin feels like it's going to split my face in half.

  “I am Knox. Who are you existentially, Ella?” Dots dancing let me know I have her attention.

  “Midwesterner. Dreamer. Dancer. No poles involved. Actually, not true...I teach some pole classes once a month. Want a lesson?” Well holy shit.

  “I just might. You teach then? Where at?” My fingers are flying across the screen before I realize we're back at our hotel.

  “Dinner at the bar tonight?” Taylor asks as we head in, both of us headed in different directions.

  “Yeah. See you there in an hour.” I know we need to discuss the tour we just went on even if Ella has briefly stolen my attention. It won't last.

  Never does.

  Precisely why I need my phone back. It falls in to the wrong hands, I know about a dozen women who would love to ruin me with the juicy bits I am stupid enough to hold on to.

  “Details, Knox. Mentioned those. In the city. Why were you in the park?” I realize something once I read this message as I step into the suite I'm in for the night.

  Just yesterday, I was close to this woman. I walk through the park at the end of my day if a swell of creativity hits me. Yesterday was just such a day. Got a few shots of some girls riding horses. An old couple holding hands at a bench. I used my personal phone because I was on a call with Taylor as I took my routine route.

  Soon after, I headed to meet him for dinner to discuss today's trip. Didn't realize I'd lost my phone until after dinner. I sent off the message offering a reward, sure I'd lost the thing for good.

  Ella found it for me though.

  “I like to take photos there. What brought you through the park?” I find myself anxious for her ans
wer as I shed my suit, looking forward to a hot shower.

  “I like the smell of the park. Earth and dirt and flowers. Reminds me of home. Ohio. I like little about New York. Like that park though. Bonus, it was raining.” Despite knowing nothing about her, I smile at the visual in my head at her words.

  Ella taking her time strolling through the park in the rain. I envision a dark-haired goddess, tendrils flowing behind her as she tips her head back to the sky, embracing earth in a way few people do. With the shower running, I am almost able to imagine being right there with her.

  Stepping beneath the spray, I imagine her flowing skirts and top soaked through from the rain. Small, rounds breasts peeking through her top, nipples rosy and puckered. I can see a slender neck, bare shoulders, too many necklaces hanging there. Can almost imagine pressing my lips to her creamy skin, tracing the freckles that make the shape of the stars you can see when it's a clear night in New York.

  Realizing I am turned on by the entire fantasy, I wrap a hand around my cock. Fuck, me. I start to work it, the water, the fantasy, the vision of earthy Ella making me harder. I imagine us tucked away in a corner of the park, rain falling. Pressing her against the stone, shoving her skirts out of my way to find her bare beneath.

  “Dirty girl. Bare for me.” I grunt as I pump my fist, almost seeing her bent over for me, wet slit waiting for me to savor her sweet honey.

  I would drop to my knees gladly, lick at her folds in the rain until she came on my tongue. I'd plunge inside her before she finished shuddering from her orgasm, cupping those perfect tits as I pounded into her in the rain. Fuck, it would be so goddamn hot.

  Coming hard now, I shoot ropes of cum against the shower wall as I growl in release. I swear I black out for a few seconds from how fucking good it felt just to imagine her. My shower runs cold suddenly and I yelp, laughing at my stupid fantasy.

  “Earthy Ella. Not even into earthy chicks.” I say it out loud as if to confirm it. Washing off quickly, I step out of the shower, catching my reflection in the mirror.

  Maybe not my normal type, but that fantasy was fuck-hot.

  Snatching my phone off the counter, I tap out another message. Don't even know why I ask. Feels like I need to know though. As I dress for dinner with Taylor, I watch my phone, impatient for her response. I almost dash for it the moment it lights up with a message.

  Fuck me. Ella responded.

  With shaky fingers—why the fuck are my hands shaking—I open the response to my previous question.

  “Clearly I like photos. Send me a photo. Need to know who to look for tomorrow.” I didn't know if she would, but a message with an attached photo waits to be opened.

  “Won't even be an Earthy Ella.” I scoff to my reflection even as I hold my breath as I open it.

  Oh. Oh.

  Fuck me.

  Earthy motherfucking Ella.

  In a full-length mirror shot, there is my exact perfect vision of Ella.

  Thick, flowing dark hair spills past her shoulders—bare as her flowy top falls just past their delicate curves. I can't see freckles but I'd bet good bank she has some. While it's no rain-soaked fantasy, I can just barely make out soft, round breasts beneath a silky top. Her flat belly is bare, an ankle length sheer skirt giving me the briefest glimpse of long, toned dancer legs.

  Making a face at her mirror image as she awkwardly holds the phone to give me the shot I asked for, she is adorable. Stunning. Twisted in a sort of dancer pose, long and lithe, I am absolutely stunned at her beauty.

  Bright hazel eyes light with something that even through a digital image makes me hot. Wonder, mischief, something lively. Her bottom lip is caught in her teeth as she focuses on catching herself in the mirror.

  It's as if I conjured her up entirely, it's so exact.

  “Earthy Ella. Just as I imagined.” I send back, almost unaware of even typing the words at all.

  “Hope I do your imagination justice.” Christ, do you ever, Ella.

  “Positively. Promised a reward for a safe return. May I treat you to a late lunch tomorrow?” I shoot my shot as I head downstairs to meet with Taylor.

  Can't even imagine letting us have nothing more than a quick exchange at a coffee house. No fucking way. I imagine plenty of exchanges as I ride the elevator down. None of them quick or with an audience. Unless she's into that.

  “Let's eat, bro. I am starved. Talk about business later.” Taylor suggests as we settle into a table at the small hotel restaurant.

  Instead, once we order, we jump right into business. It's why we have grown to ten hotels in half as many years. We are focused, driven, and hungry. We joked one night—feels like a lifetime ago now—that one day we want to sit on a beach somewhere with umbrella drinks, a chick on each arm, money in the bank and while someone else does the grunt work.

  Someday, maybe. Not today, though.

  After two hours spent discussing how an Atlantic City hotel might be a coup for our brand, we decide to prep an offer for the spot we toured today. Taylor is already drafting ideas for the overhaul on our diner napkins as I figure costs for staffing and marketing. We close the restaurant down but I feel good about where we stand for a proposal.

  Climbing into crisp sheets in a California king bed, I am satisfied.

  Until I think about my last text. Snatching my phone up again, I swipe it open to navigate to my messages. My heart thumping in my chest, I hover over her number before sliding my thumb to open it.

  “Let me consider. Details come out at lunches. Goodnight, Good Sir.” I am grinning like an idiot as I scroll up to her photo again.

  Clicking to open it, I spend way too long looking it over. Taking in her beauty, that light in her eyes. Wondering if freckles dust those shoulders. I am hard again, but I don't even bother handling it. I can almost hear her calling me Sir as I kiss the freckles I am sure dot her skin as I lose myself inside her.

  I fall into a glittering fantasy dream where Earthy Ella is mine beneath the stars as rain soaks our skin, the two of us twisted in a beautifully filthy dance.

  Ella

  “Lunch. After. I insist.” I woke up to a message that might normally irritate me.

  After allowing someone such control over my choices for too long, my newfound freedom sings loud and clear whenever someone asserts authority over me. Today, though, I welcome any kind of authority from the man sending me that message. Not only do I welcome it, I find myself wanting to obey.

  Strange and peculiar, what Selfie Stranger's done to me.

  No, not a stranger. No, I know him now. Well, in name at least. Knox.

  After a few messages back-and-forth yesterday, a meeting time and place was set for me to hand off his phone. Should be simple enough. Or so I had thought. Until he made it less than simple.

  Polite messages changed the moment he asked for details. About myself. About what I do. Even where I live. Weird, right? Not creeper like. Not toss one off to a stranger's selfies weird. Just....why does he care, weird. After admitting very little, just enough to keep him asking, he asked for something I didn't expect.

  A photo.

  Knox requested I send a photo. Of me.

  It seemed fair enough of a request. I did rub one out to one of his photos, didn't I?

  A simple request led to me taking about a hundred photos in the floor to ceiling mirrors at Brea Studios last night. After finishing a class—my favorite one with my senior citizens learning to tango—I stayed to make use of the great lighting as I posed again and again.

  At last, I chose one that didn't seem posed. It just seemed like me. I was even making a goofy face as I caught sight of myself in the mirror. After I sent it, I agonized over the plethora of choices I had that seemed better. More poised, sexier, flirtier.

  Why did any of that matter?

  Until I took a shower later, steam fogging my mirrors as I stepped out, I had no answer. Wiping some of my mirror clean, I smirked at myself in the mirror. I wanted him to like my photo same as I had liked h
is. To wonder who that girl was smiling into that mirror. Ask himself who she might be taking such a photo for.

  Covering myself a little as I posed, mimicking Knox' own after-shower selfie, I took a few shots. Posing in that mirror, wet hair bouncing past my shoulders, skin shimmering from my shower, I let my inhibitions go. Popping my ass back a little, pushing my small breasts out, I posed for myself. Proud of what the mirror told me was sexy and soft.

  “Keep those for yourself, slut.” I winked at my reflection playfully.

  “Lunch. After. No details.” I answer at last while on a break between booked classes.

  Knox responds immediately.

  “Some details.” I giggle before tucking my phone back into my bag, touching his just as a reminder of why exactly I am being so crazy.

  Once my fingers brush over the smooth leather of his sleek phone case, a little shiver runs through me. Meeting face to face with someone whose sext photos you rubbed one out to is a new experience for me. I am excited to see if he lives up to the Adonis in the photos.

  Because, yes, I looked more. I mean.... of course, I freaking did.

  Jesus, the man likes that weapon of mass destruction swinging between his legs.

  Can't say I blame him. It is impressive.

  Bonus, Knox seems rather skilled behind a camera lens so he manages to take really good shots that make it look more like photoshoot worthy images than spank bank selfies.

  Besides tons of mirror selfies, about half of which are in the same bathroom leading me to conclude it's his place, he takes plenty while he's lying in bed. A few in elevators. Some at the beach. One or two in the park. The guy has a good eye for a great shot, and the best feature his silky, perfectly thick and veiny cock.

  My favorite? Yes, I have one.

  Knox lies in a bed of black and red sheets, bright sunlight casting a perfect glow around him. Naked, his dark hair perfectly mussed as if fingers just ran through it, he bites his bottom lip even as he quirks a smile at the camera. One hand wraps around the monster between his legs.

  It's my favorite because proof his very recent orgasm dots his abdomen, glistening white against his tan skin. Fuck, it's hot.