Wind from an approaching storm whips through my hair and tugs at my tie. City lights reflect off the underbelly of the rolling gray clouds. The driver I’ve hired fishes my leather duffel and laptop bag from the trunk of the gleaming Benz.

“Is there anything else you need tonight, sir?”

“8:15 tomorrow morning. I need to be at East Pike Street, just past the interstate, by 8:45.” I slide him a twenty and dismiss him with a nod.

“Yes sir. That’s much less than a thirty minute drive.”

“Not what I asked. 8:15, thank you.”

“See you at 8:15 sharp. Welcome to Seattle.”

Instead of answering, I text my assistant, Marge. I need her to make apologies for missing tonight’s dinner by sending a foodie gift basket to the break room at SocialTech.

I’m pissed. Fussy investors made a morning meeting run long, so my private jet got in the air late. Then we circled over Seattle for an hour waiting for the go ahead to land. An hour, for a two-hour flight. Another half hour in traffic that moved like sludge.

I flick a glance up the mirrored glass of the luxury hotel as I walk inside to check in. The marble and brushed steel lobby is deserted except for a bedraggled pair of middle-aged tourists. The elevator shoots me up to the top floor, where I change into jeans and a T-shirt and pull out my laptop. My phone pings with another batch of documents from Marge that need review and approval. I swear, she would wade through floodwaters to reach me with a pen and signature page.

Me: Go home, Marge.

Mags: Sure thing, boss.

I need a damn drink. A helpful note points me to the bouquet of tiny bottles, and I empty a splash of bourbon into a tumbler. I look out the window at the Space Needle as I savor the smoky burn. Then I open my laptop and read Marge’s email. She’s also included revised projections for tomorrow’s negotiations. This is vital, and I need everyone present to have copies. It’s too late to send and be sure they’ll see it. She shipped everything else I’ll need tomorrow here to the hotel, but I’ll need to replace this page. The hotel allows for remote printing, but I’ll have to retrieve it and assemble the packets. Fuck me. Forget traveling light. Next time I present a buyout offer, I’m bringing a fleet of assistants.

After poking around in my computer’s settings until I’m ready to throw the laptop against the wall, I find the right network to send my documents to the first floor business center. When everything looks good, I upend another tiny bottle of Maker’s Mark into my mouth, grab my wallet and key card, and let the door slam behind me.

The night clerk sweeps a slow glance over me as I pass through the lobby. I don’t acknowledge her, but I like knowing she’d be up for it if I made a play. That thrill of control helps shift my world back toward balance after a shitty day. The business center is nestled in a corner behind frosted glass walls. When I open the door, a hint of perfume teases me. It’s earthy and sweet, and my balls tighten. Damn, I need to get laid.

Yellow lights spill over a bank of computers against the far wall. Another room opens off the left, populated with plush chairs and an unwieldy wooden conference table. And a fine-looking ass in a gray business skirt is leaning over a table by the printer. The woman straightens and turns at the sound of the door. Her breasts strain against her crisp white blouse. Wavy brown hair brushes her shoulders. She’s freaking gorgeous, and she barely glances my way. Without a word, she turns back to her work, which apparently involves monopolizing the printer.

Just to see how she’ll react, I step too close and lean in. I’m worse off than I thought, because I want this woman and I’ve barely seen her. Maybe I don’t need to see more than that ass to know what’s good for me.

“Do you think you’ll be done soon?”

“I’ve got one more document in the queue.” She edges aside but doesn’t look. “Yours should print then.”

She shuffles some piles of documents around, occasionally pausing to tuck her hair behind an ear. I lean back against another table and appreciate the curve of her waist. Her hips where the sensible skirt bunches, begging to be pushed up. A pair of beige heels is tucked under the table, and even her feet are sexy. The shiny red polish on her toes hints at passion. She’s all business except those toes. They were made for sucking.

Only because I’m staring, I see her spine straighten. I bet she feels me watching. Sure enough, she faces me.

There. When our eyes meet, I feel it in the pit of my stomach, and then lower.

He face is all strong lines and a hint of stubbornness in the jaw. Heat flares in her warm brown eyes. She checks me out, and her gaze lingers on the front of my jeans. My cock swells in response. The hint of red under her collar says she likes what she sees. She sucks her plump bottom lip in, and then lets it pop back out. I imagine it between my teeth.

“You have nothing better to do than stare at my ass?” Her voice is smoky and rough, but I can hear a hint of laughter behind it.

I shrug. “You’re welcome to move aside and let my documents print first. Or I can stay here and enjoy the view.”

“Take your time,” she says. “It’s a nice view.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

Her tailored blouse is open at the throat, showing a hint of soft, golden skin. I like a woman who knows what she’s worth. My pulse quickens in the silence that falls. She crosses her arms, pushing her breasts up enticingly. Her stare is so direct it almost unnerves me. The challenge in her eyes makes me even harder.

“In town for business?” A speculative look crosses her face.

“Yeah. Couple of days.”

“Somebody waiting for you?”

“Is that your business?” I challenge. Christ, is this a fucking test?

She shrugs. Glances at my hand, which has never worn a ring.

The printer, which had fallen silent, revs up for another round. My pages, I assume. She spins around and snatches her documents off the tray. Papers shuffle, and she taps them against the table before stowing them in a case.

I step over to the printer, and because she doesn’t move aside, the front of my jeans brushes against her ass. The bulge in my pants is impossible to miss. And I want to test her, see if she’ll follow through with what she just teased.

She doesn’t say anything, but leans forward so her ass takes a slow tour across the ridge in my pants. I wrap a hand around her hip as if to steady her. As if it were an accident.

She stands, but doesn’t move away. Her back is flush against my chest, and she swivels her hips against me. She’s down for it. Here. Now. Pressure builds in my balls. A fleeting shadow behind the frosted glass catches my eye. I listen for footsteps or the hum of conversation. She’s done her own risk analysis and judged this safe or worth it, unless she’s being a tease. How far will she take it?

I slide my hands over her hips and up to her breasts. She exhales a breathy moan and bares her neck, sweeping her hair aside. I lower my head and press my lips against the exposed skin. Her pulse races under my lips. She tastes salty and sweet, the dessert I didn’t know I wanted. I roll her pebbled nipples between my fingers as I suckle. Her hands glide over mine and then unbutton her blouse.

I want—need—to see her. My hands drop to her waist and pull her around. Her nipples, rosy brown, peek through lace. I push aside the fabric with my thumb and lower my head to flick a tongue over one hard peak. She weaves a hand through my hair. Not gently.

I draw her nipple into my mouth and suckle. Her gasp of pleasure spurs me on, and I move to the other so I can hear it again. She arches into me, and I press her full, heavy breasts together. I blow lightly over her nipples to watch them pucker even more. I taste them again, reveling in the sounds she makes. So fucking eager.

With a low growl, I release her breasts and push her skirt up until my fingers meet more lace. The scent of her arousal reaches me, and I nearly explode in my pants like a damn teenager. Sure, I needed to blow off steam, but this woman has me worked up. It’s got to be the quick and dirty vibe, and maybe the ever-present risk of someone walking in.

Fuck, I don’t even care at this point. I don’t want to know her name, I just want to fuck until the hotel comes down around us.

I cup her tight ass with one hand and bring the other hand up to tangle in her hair. For one bruising moment, I crush my lips against hers. She parts for me, and when I slide my tongue over hers, I slip two fingers under lace, around her hip, and between her folds. She cries out against my mouth. She’s already so wet. I pull my fingers out and find her clit, and her hands fist in my shirt as she kisses me back, wide open. Ready.

She captures my tongue and sucks gently, suggestively. My fingers slide back into her, and her tongue pushes against mine. The fierceness of her kiss intensifies, and she drags her fingernails down my neck. The sting of it enrages me. Inflames me. My dick throbs in response.

Sharp voices from the hallway pierce the fog of lust. A man’s angry baritone answers a woman’s complaint. Words are muffled, but the cadence of an argument swells as shadows pass the frosted glass. They pause. Blurry arms wave in oversized gestures as the woman’s pitch rises further. We freeze, my palm against the brunette’s clit and her teeth on my lip. I draw my hand away, ready to stop, to take this elsewhere. I check for a lock on the door—no dice, just a handle.

She pulls my gaze back to her with a palm on my cheek, and then drops her hands to the waistband of my jeans.

I shoot another glance at the door.

A tug at my waist pulls me roughly against her again. My mouth finds hers. And I forget the door.

She pulls away and unbuttons my jeans with a jerk, but unzips me carefully. Then she tugs down my boxer briefs, just enough to free my dick, and wraps her hand around it. I wait for that moment, and there it is. She smiles appreciatively and runs her hand over my full length and I groan. It throbs in response to her touch, and a pearly drop forms at the tip. As much as I want her gorgeous mouth around my dick, I want the rest of her more. As she starts to go to her knees, I pull her back up and tug her away from the whirring printer. She resists, sucking my tongue and stroking my dick in the same tempting rhythm. Showing me what she can do.

As her tongue slides against mine, I almost cave. Then I jerk her forward and pivot her around so she’s stumbling backward toward the dim conference room. Her back hits the wall with a thump. I plant one hand by her heads and spread the other over her chest as we kiss, sucking and nipping, her hands in my hair and my leg spreading her thighs. When she’s panting and my balls ache with pounding need, I reach under her skirt again. This time I pull her panties over her hips, down her thighs, and around her ankles. She steps out of them while I stand and pull out my wallet. I hold her eyes as I show her the condom and then open the packet. She takes it and rolls it down over my shaft. I mutter curses as her fingers tease along the bottom of my balls.

I wrap my hands around her thighs, hoist her up, and slam her back against the wall. Her legs lock around my waist.

Her lips move against my ear. “Fuck me.” Her voice is husky and low, heavy with desire that mirrors mine.

With my lips on her neck, I push into her. Her pussy is tight and wet, and she takes all of me. For a hot second everything goes black. I groan and let my forehead fall against the wall, fighting the urge to let go. She urges me on with her heels and little impatient sounds. Fuck, she’s as close as I am.

And then I can’t hold back. I’m thrusting into her, and she’s moaning, and I shift to angle even deeper. Her fingernails dig into my shoulders. Harder, she whispers. Sweat trickles down the small of my back. My hands slip on her thighs, and I pull her away from the wall.

I spin and carry her, still impaled on my dick, to the conference table. I lay her on the glossy surface, where her hair spreads like a dark halo. Muscles bunch in her thighs, locked around me in a death grip that suspends her off the table. I fuck her with deliberate strokes, pulling out slowly and them slamming my full length into her. Her knees bend pulling her closer, and then open so she can reach under her skirt for her clit. She moans and tenses like a spring. Her knees fall wider, and I wonder how flexible this woman is. Jesus.

With all the control I can scrape together, I pull out before she reaches the peak. Electricity crackles between us. I pull her up as she drops her feet and slides off the table. Her face holds an angry question, but I spin her around and nudge her forward. One arm wraps around her belly, and she bends as my other hand splays between her shoulder blades, pressing her chest to the table. I lift her skirt again, completely baring the tight, round cheeks of her ass. She grabs the table and inches her feet apart. I run a palm over the pale skin and smack it lightly, the crack of palm against flesh loud in the quiet room. She gasps, and then moans and slides a hand between her legs again.

“Oh no,” I scold her. I capture her hand and return it to the table, pressing against her.

Nothing has ever looked as good as her ass pressing against my rock hard cock. My own fingers slip between her folds to tease her clit, and then I thrust into her again. A muffled cry escapes as though she’s biting her lip over a scream. I roll my hips into her, and we rock forward. The pitch of her moans rises with each stroke into her and over her clit. I lose the nub in her slippery wetness, so I grip her hips in both hands and settle into a pounding rhythm. She lifts onto her toes and grinds her ass against me, her knuckles white on the table. I brace my feet and push back.

Her perfume and the smell of sex fill the room. My dick gets even harder as I get close, and on a final thrust she climaxes, pulsing around me, pulling me further in. I fall over the edge right after. As the final shudders rack me, I slump over her panting form.

She squirms a little, so I ease out and pull her up. I kiss her again, a gentle thank you. We lean our foreheads together as we catch our breath. Up close, her eyes are mahogany with flecks of amber.

The question of condom disposal makes us both laugh as we adjust our clothing and button back up. She looks well-fucked, though, even with her blouse and sensible skirt back in place over her curves. When we’re both as respectable as possible and holding our respective printed documents, I clear my throat.

“Are you here another night?” I don’t expect a yes. We both know what this is.

“Sorry, I’m just here for a meeting tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” No need to mention I’m there another night. Wouldn’t matter.

She drops a lingering kiss on my lips.

“Have a nice time in Seattle.”

“You too.” I watch her ass all the way out the door.

Back in my room, I finish reviewing everything for tomorrow. My buyout offer is generous, considering how small SocialTech is, but my tech division’s analysis says it’s got excellent growth potential with the right resources. They need me.

I have another tumbler of bourbon and appreciate the brown-eyed woman’s scent, still clinging faintly to my skin and clothes. Her confidence and intensity were sexy as hell. I almost regret not asking her name.