Jennie
I'm not this girl. I'm a romantic. I read Jane Austen, I cry at romantic comedies, and I take Valentine's Day very, very seriously.
The point is, I'm not the kind of girl who has a one-night stand with a stranger at the bar.
But then again, I'm working on moving on from Taehyung. And Lisa is... well. Lisa is in a league of her own.
My back slams against the wall. The elevator doors barely ding closed before Lisa hits the button for the penthouse and springs on me like a panther. She claims my mouth in a kiss that sucks the air from my lungs. I hear myself moan into her mouth, and I can barely believe that such a desperate, hungry noise is coming from me, even as her hands snake up my sides. She traps my wrists above my head with a strong grip. My hips jut against hers, and I gasp for breath.
"God, I want you like crazy." she murmurs into the shell of my ear. I shudder when I feel her breath on my neck, followed by her lips, then her teeth. A sharp pinprick of pain gets me on my toes, and I gasp as she works a raw hickey into my throat. My mind spins, hazily aware that the elevator doors could open at any second and I'd be on full display to some poor couple that just wanted to go up.
"I'm... I swear... I'm not... that girl." I moan.
She stops and cups my face in her hand. Her thumb smears my bottom lip, and her eyes flicker over mine intensely. "Have you ever done anything like this before?" she asks.
I shake my head. "No."
"So you're just a naughty girl for me?"
My breath catches in my throat. Her eyes don't leave mine as her hands drop to my pants. She thumbs the top button, and I hear the hiss of my zipper dragging downward. I part my legs an inch, and she takes the invitation. She slides her hand down my pants, inside my panties, and I gasp when her long fingers part my sex and glide over my slick labia. Her touch electrifies my nerves. When she pushes a single finger deep inside of me, I find myself on my tiptoes, struggling against the onslaught of pleasure.
"You're so beautiful like this." she breathes. I feel that finger curl inside me, hitting my pleasure centre as her thumb draws lazy circles over my swollen clitoris. My moans stutter as I drag my fingers through her hair and claw the back of her neck.
Oh God. Oh God. "Please." I whine.
"Please what?" she murmurs. Her voice is melted honey, and my legs clamp around her hand, but it doesn't stop her fingers from coaxing me closer to my edge.
"If you keep this up, I'm going to..."
Ding. The elevator door flies open. In a single motion, her hand retreats and she snaps my pants button back into place. "Hold that thought." She winks and sucks her finger clean.
She is dirty, vulgar, shameless, and holy hell if it doesn't make my heart hammer in my chest. My legs are wobbly when I walk, but I somehow make it down the hall to her room.
This is a bad idea. Don't I know better than to follow strangers to their hotel rooms? When she opens the door and flips on the light, however, my inner protests come to a quick halt.
The penthouse suite stretches out before me in all its glory. The tables and dressers are pure stained mahogany, with off-beige sofas and love seats peppering the living room. Autumnal curtains are tied back from the windows, exposing the beautiful view. I step in beside a telescope to look out the window and take in the deep green treetops on the verge of turning gold, highlighted by a swath of magenta sunset sky.
I've done the math for my clients. One mostly decent room at the Park Hyatt Seoul can ring up to the tune of $700 a night. There's no telling how much she paid for all these bells and whistles. Which begs the question...
Who the heck is she?
