Billion Dollar Stranger - Stephanie Brother Page 0,7

such a turn-on.

My stranger’s touch is firm and so hot through the cotton fabric of my blouse that I’m torn between the urge to pull away and fierce desire to press back against him. I’m delirious, and he’s in control, hitting the call button, keeping his hand against me as we wait, tantalizing me with the tips of his fingers which move to caress the roundness of my ass. The elevators are at the back of the hotel reception, so anyone coming in through the main doors can see what he’s doing. Something about the slow rhythm of his movements and how good they feel prevents me from stopping him. I’m trembling as I watch the numbers counting down toward us, panting with anticipation.

The doors open.

We step inside, and I lean against the wall needing the solid surface to prop me up. When the doors close, he moves quickly to cup my face, using his thumb to stroke against my lips until they part. I can’t stop myself from running my tongue against his skin. He tastes salty, delicious, and his eyes are wicked with intent. When he smiles and steps closer, using his other hand to stroke slowly up the outside of my thigh, I can’t hold in the moan that has been bursting to get out of me since he spread my legs in a crowded bar. The material of my skirt bunches up against his arm, and when his hand cups the bottom of my ass and squeezes, I bite down on his thumb. He jumps from the pain and laughs with a boom, just like the big bad wolf.

“Doors opening,” the elevator announces, and the stranger disentangles himself from me and steers me into the corridor. The journey to my room seems longer than it had earlier, and he puts his hand against the back of my neck, so I keep up with his pace. He’s tall, a few inches over six feet, and so broad that I feel tiny and fragile next to him.

At the door, he uses my key card to gain entry, and he puts the Do Not Disturb sign on the handle before closing it and locking it. The click of the lock sends my heart racing.

This is it.

I’ve trusted this man with my safety and wellbeing.

Will he hurt me? He could if he wanted to, but the walls of this hotel are thin, and I can hear the TV from the room next door. If I screamed, someone would hear me.

He turns just to look me over as if he’s deciding exactly what he’s going to do to me. Then he surprises me by reaching out to loosen my ponytail. My dark hair tumbles down my back, heavy and loose.

“You’re beautiful,” my stranger says before stroking the sleek length from root to tip, twirling a soft tendril between his fingers. “Your hair, your skin, these freckles…so innocent.” I take a step back as he runs a finger down the slope of my nose, but he steps in closer, and I smell rich whiskey on his breath and the scent of an expensive fragrance on his warm skin. “Are you innocent?” he asks, breathing the words directly into my ear.

I shake my head, eyes wide, looking to gauge if he’s disappointed, but he doesn’t seem to be. He slowly pushes me, so I’m pressed against the wall and leans down to brush his lips across mine, so gently, it’s like a whisper. I can’t breathe as I wait for him to kiss me again, and when he doesn’t, I open my eyes to find him gazing at me waiting.

“Not innocent then, but…sad.”

It’s a strange thing to say at a moment when we’re both being driven by our physical urges rather than our emotions. Or maybe that isn’t true, at least for me. My body craves his, but my mind is looking for something too. A balm for the sadness he can see and an opportunity to let go of feelings I’ve buried and are slowly eating away at me. Taking him to my room is a way of me saying a big “fuck you” to Jonathan and the negativity and deceit he’d brought into my life.

My stranger’s hands find the buttons of my blouse, and he undoes them all, drawing the fabric apart and easing it over my shoulders, leaving it to slip to the floor. I stand with my hands at my sides as he runs his fingers lightly down the