that would never stop David from following up dinner with a hotel if he so chose, there was no reason to think this needed or should go further than dinner with Keegan. That meant it was time to leave.
So why was I hoping for more?
He helped me into my coat, which was nothing more than a taffeta swing coat, dressy and simple. He slipped his hand under it at my lower back as we walked out of the restaurant together.
“Take a walk with me.”
I glanced at him. Now was when I was supposed to refuse. Now was when I could logically say I needed to go.
But I didn’t.
His hand remained low on my back, too low for polite acquaintances. We walked down a couple blocks, crossing over Interstate 90 on Randolph. He wasn’t in a hurry, and I was grateful at least my ankle boots were comfortable. When he stopped in front of an industrial-type building that had obviously been renovated into a hotel, my body stiffened.
“There was no mention of a hotel in the message. The service usually reserves the room if that’s—”
“Relax. There’s a local group playing in the bar. If you want to get a room later, we can. But it will be your choice if we do, not mine.”
The hand on my back moved slightly lower as he watched me, and his fingers gripped me gently. I stepped away from him when the doorman opened the door for us, and he followed me inside.
The lobby was vast and open. It was very industrial chic. The woodwork was thick, authentic, and worn. The wrought-iron fixtures were, without doubt, original, and the subtle variances and unevenness in the floor were charming. The room was tall, and a bar that was open to the lobby was off to the left.
People were congregating around the many groupings of shabby-looking furniture. A deep purple velvet loveseat was vacant near the stage that was set up, and Keegan led me there, helping me out of my coat before we sat.
He rested his arm casually behind me on the couch, and when a waitress came by to take our order, he just asked for water. I was already mildly tipsy, thanks to the wine from dinner, so when he looked at me and waited for my order, I asked for the same.
“This building is amazing.” He leaned down to my ear as he spoke.
I nodded. It was incredible. It was exactly the kind of style I would love to have some day.
“Far more my taste than where I’m staying,” he commented offhandedly as he looked around.
I turned to him, almost shocked to hear that, but not at all willing to admit it fit me too. He smiled at my intrigued expression. His expression faded, though, and it turned serious as he watched me.
“I need to know you’re not going to see David again.”
I nodded slowly, but I wasn’t responding to him. “So that’s why you set up this date. To try, yet again, to convince me to do your job for you.”
His eyes narrowed. “No, actually.”
The group, a small ensemble of horns, strings, and piano, took the stage, along with a man standing at the microphone. It all had a very flapper-era look to it, and when they broke into a rendition of Sinatra’s “Strangers in the Night,” my skin prickled with a warm flush.
I angled myself toward the stage, which put Keegan’s body behind mine. His elbow remained on the back of the couch, but his fingers brushed the hair off my shoulder, and he leaned to my ear. His lips brushed my earlobe, and more goosebumps popped up along my arms.
“I asked to see you because I wanted to lick your pussy again.” His voice was quiet, his breath warm as it touched my skin, but I shivered anyway. “And I want those lips too.” He leaned back from me casually, returning his eyes to the stage, but I stared at him over my shoulder.
It became uncomfortable sitting beside him then. I was warm between my legs, wet and tingly with need. Every sound and every sensation sent a rush of blood through me in my hypersensitive state, and God forbid his skin brush mine. The few times that happened, my body would physically jolt and
So why was I hoping for more?
He helped me into my coat, which was nothing more than a taffeta swing coat, dressy and simple. He slipped his hand under it at my lower back as we walked out of the restaurant together.
“Take a walk with me.”
I glanced at him. Now was when I was supposed to refuse. Now was when I could logically say I needed to go.
But I didn’t.
His hand remained low on my back, too low for polite acquaintances. We walked down a couple blocks, crossing over Interstate 90 on Randolph. He wasn’t in a hurry, and I was grateful at least my ankle boots were comfortable. When he stopped in front of an industrial-type building that had obviously been renovated into a hotel, my body stiffened.
“There was no mention of a hotel in the message. The service usually reserves the room if that’s—”
“Relax. There’s a local group playing in the bar. If you want to get a room later, we can. But it will be your choice if we do, not mine.”
The hand on my back moved slightly lower as he watched me, and his fingers gripped me gently. I stepped away from him when the doorman opened the door for us, and he followed me inside.
The lobby was vast and open. It was very industrial chic. The woodwork was thick, authentic, and worn. The wrought-iron fixtures were, without doubt, original, and the subtle variances and unevenness in the floor were charming. The room was tall, and a bar that was open to the lobby was off to the left.
People were congregating around the many groupings of shabby-looking furniture. A deep purple velvet loveseat was vacant near the stage that was set up, and Keegan led me there, helping me out of my coat before we sat.
He rested his arm casually behind me on the couch, and when a waitress came by to take our order, he just asked for water. I was already mildly tipsy, thanks to the wine from dinner, so when he looked at me and waited for my order, I asked for the same.
“This building is amazing.” He leaned down to my ear as he spoke.
I nodded. It was incredible. It was exactly the kind of style I would love to have some day.
“Far more my taste than where I’m staying,” he commented offhandedly as he looked around.
I turned to him, almost shocked to hear that, but not at all willing to admit it fit me too. He smiled at my intrigued expression. His expression faded, though, and it turned serious as he watched me.
“I need to know you’re not going to see David again.”
I nodded slowly, but I wasn’t responding to him. “So that’s why you set up this date. To try, yet again, to convince me to do your job for you.”
His eyes narrowed. “No, actually.”
The group, a small ensemble of horns, strings, and piano, took the stage, along with a man standing at the microphone. It all had a very flapper-era look to it, and when they broke into a rendition of Sinatra’s “Strangers in the Night,” my skin prickled with a warm flush.
I angled myself toward the stage, which put Keegan’s body behind mine. His elbow remained on the back of the couch, but his fingers brushed the hair off my shoulder, and he leaned to my ear. His lips brushed my earlobe, and more goosebumps popped up along my arms.
“I asked to see you because I wanted to lick your pussy again.” His voice was quiet, his breath warm as it touched my skin, but I shivered anyway. “And I want those lips too.” He leaned back from me casually, returning his eyes to the stage, but I stared at him over my shoulder.
It became uncomfortable sitting beside him then. I was warm between my legs, wet and tingly with need. Every sound and every sensation sent a rush of blood through me in my hypersensitive state, and God forbid his skin brush mine. The few times that happened, my body would physically jolt and
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