I swallowed, knowing I had to say something, and cleared my throat. “What are you asking, Jo?”
“I’m wondering if I should be doing something aside from going to my room …” She swiped her tongue across her lip.
If I stayed in this hallway any longer, she was going to end up in my arms.
Joanna Spade was far too fucking dangerous.
I waved the card in front of the reader and opened my door. “I’ll let you know if I hear from the realtor.” I pushed my suitcase inside. “If I don’t, you’re free until tomorrow morning.”
“That seems like an eternity.”
I didn’t want to go that long without seeing her.
Not after having her to myself all morning.
I’d gotten to smell her in the air and hold her voice close to my ears.
I’d gotten to look at her whenever I wanted.
“Enjoy it. Tomorrow is going to be much busier.”
I went into my room and closed the door.
But I didn’t move.
I stayed right where I was, thinking of her on the other side.
I needed to focus on work.
I needed to focus on the promise I’d made to myself the moment I found out who she was.
Walter Spade’s daughter.
Off-fucking-limits.
But, goddamn it, the only thing I wanted was her.
I left my suitcase and went over to the minibar, removing several bottles of whiskey, dumping them into a glass that I held to my lips.
The liquor burned as it went down.
I wanted it to.
I wanted it to extinguish the thoughts in my head, the desire pulsing through me, the throbbing in my cock. I refilled the glass and took off my jacket, hanging it across the back of the chair and loosening my tie. As I was unbuttoning my shirt, I caught sight of the large bed behind me.
The headboard.
And all I could think about was tying her fucking wrists to each side, her legs spread wide over the mattress.
Jesus Christ.
I tried shaking her from my head, concentrating on work. The full inbox of emails that needed replies. The parcels of land I needed to study, the permits I needed to research, the numbers I needed to analyze.
But I couldn’t focus on that.
I could only think of her.
And the raging hard-on in my pants.
I needed to come.
I glanced toward the door, my hands clenching as I looked at it, desperate to have her body in my grip.
And as I stared at the wood that separated us, I reached for my tie and pulled it off, and I unbuttoned the rest of my shirt. I untied my shoes and slipped off my pants and socks and walked into the bathroom.
As I reached the mirror’s reflection, my cock was almost bursting through my boxer briefs.
I’d only have to round the corner to the hallway, walk out the door, and go across the hall. I’d only have to tap my fingers on her door, and she’d open it.
I’d only have to cup her face in my hands, and something told me she’d be mine.
Her pussy would soon be squeezing my dick.
Her screams filling my ears.
“Walter …” I said out loud. “Walter Spade’s fucking daughter.”
I shook my head, slowly glancing at my eyes in the mirror.
“You can’t do this, Jenner. You fucking can’t.”
My boxer briefs fell to the floor, and I went into the shower, turning the water on as hot as it would go. Once I felt the change in temperature, I stepped under the spray. I squirted some soap onto my hand and wrapped my palm around my dick. My other hand pressed against the back wall. As the water pounded against my chest, images of Jo came into my head. Her body was so fresh in my mind—I didn’t have to search. She was there, always fucking there. And as my eyes wandered over the visions, I pumped harder.
Faster.
I twisted my wrist just like her mouth, as if it were sucking me right now. The soap slick and soft like her tongue.
Within a few strokes, I was there.
My hips reared forward.
My breath came out in hard, deep grunts.
“Fuck!”
My neck leaned back as I gripped the base, sliding my hand forward, milking the cum out of me. I hissed into the steam as each shot burst through my body. I didn’t let up until I was empty, my hand finally dropping, my head moving under the water.
Before I closed my eyes, I watched my cum swirl around the drain.
This would do.
But it wasn’t her.
“What can I get you to drink?” the bartender asked as I sat in one of the stools in front of the bar.
“Scotch, neat, and make it a double.”
I’d done hours’ worth of work, and now, I needed to be fed. Some of my favorite restaurants were in downtown Park City, a five-minute drive from here. But for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to leave the hotel.
She placed a menu in front of me and winked. “In case you’re hungry too.”
Blonde, perky tits, a smile that told me she was extremely attracted to me.
Normally, I would bring her up to my room and fuck her. But since I’d been with Jo, I’d had no desire to be with anyone else.
I didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with me.
She placed the scotch in front of me and said, “Any food?”
I handed her the menu, calling out the first item that was listed, “Red trout.”
“Our chef’s specialty.” She typed my order into the computer. “So, are you here for work or pleasure?”
I wasn’t interested in small talk.
I took out my phone, reading the notifications on the screen. “Work.” I sighed. “Endless work.”
“I’ll let you get to it.”
I was just typing out a reply when I got a whiff of a familiar scent.
A scent I knew better than anything.
I reached for my drink, my eyes closing as I swallowed. When I set the glass down, I didn’t have to glance over my shoulder, but I did.
Fuck me.
Yoga pants that showed the gap between Jo’s thighs, a tight tank top, sneakers, her hair braided, hanging over her shoulder with a baseball hat on her head.
There was something about seeing her in gym gear that made my dick fucking pound.
“I swear I didn’t follow you. I just worked out, and I’m starving. The thought of going back to my room didn’t sound like fun.” She pointed to the other side of the bar. “Should I sit over there?”
“No.” I reached over the top of the bar, grabbed the menu the bartender had taken from me, and set it beside me. “Here. Order.”
She straddled the stool, scanning the large menu. “Did you get food?”
“I did.” I cupped my hands around my drink, knowing I needed about five more of these, especially as I took a quick glance at her legs, the way they stayed wide across the leather seat. “I got the trout.”
She pushed the menu aside. “Sounds good. I’m sold.”
“Sold on what?” the bartender asked as she reappeared.
Jo crossed her arms over the bar, leaning forward, her tits pressing against the edge of the wood. “I’ll take a cab and the red trout, please.”
“Do you want to start a tab or—”
“Put her on my bill,” I said.
The moment she was gone, finding the appropriate bottle of red, Jo said, “I hope you’re billing my father for this. The incidentals for the room—because there will be some, as I had a couple drinks—and now this.”