CHAPTER THREE
HALEY
There’s no doubting the incoming ice storm now. The sky’s a dirty wash of desaturation, a bite and electricity to the air that has the hairs on my neck standing on end.
These storms tend to come in hard and fast. It pays to be prepared, to keep your children safe, and where am I? Still stuck at the motel cleaning rooms until kingdom come.
There is one distraction. A man, a definite out-of-towner, was at reception earlier. The way he was looking at me… I’ve seen that look from men before, but this was different. There was a hunger in his eyes both alarming and alluring, his inky hair perfectly messy, his shoulders wide under his leather jacket. I could tell he was cut even from that distance, bulging arms ready to embrace… or punish.
The men around this town? Most are of the icy redneck persuasion. They wouldn’t know fashion sense if it hit them in the face, but this stranger was impeccably dressed, his clothes casual but sculpting his body in all the right ways, and those eyes… Blue and deep and penetrating. Eyes like that and you don’t need a book of pickup lines in your pocket.
As my thoughts turn more suggestive, I switch them off and concentrate on the bottle of bleach in my hand, the acrid stench of it in my nostrils.
Yep, about as unsexy as it comes, Haley Walker.
Still, I can’t help but wonder what drew this mystery guest, so at odds with this town, to the fine establishment that is the Merit Motor Inn. Our clientele seems to be either drunk husbands booted out of the family home or folks passing through on their way to far brighter, bigger destinations. Merit is a stop, not a destination. Only idiots decide to settle here, or stay.
It’s getting darker outside now, the window panes rattling as the wind picks up.
I check my watch, the not-gold knock-off of a fancier model. A few more rooms and I can head home, back to Andy and, God willing, a nice, hot bath and peaceful night’s sleep. More than anything I want to get home before the storm sets in for good and the roads close.
I head out into the hallway and the biting cold, knocking on the door of Room Thirteen. “Housekeeping.”
I say it once more, louder, but the room’s probably empty—most are this time of year. Sometimes I think Barry only keeps me on out of pity.
I unlock the door and push the cart in before me.
Immediately, I notice a leather duffle bag on the bed, movement in the bathroom.
I go to announce myself again, to back away, but it’s too late.
The mystery man I saw earlier, the Destroyer of Panties himself, emerges in a cloud of steam from the bathroom like some kind of sultry sex god.
And he’s naked.
Oh, boy, is he naked.
There is that body, a surprising amount of ink on his arms. There’s the washboard abs I expected, the wide chest, but as my eyes drop they only get bigger, because what I see down there, what’s dangling between his legs like Thor’s hammer is unlike any I’ve seen before. I mean, you could take that thing down to the batting cages and hit a home run. ‘Big’ doesn’t even begin to do it justice.
My jaw drops and I grip the cart like it’s the one thing in the room that’s going to protect me right now.
Protect you from what? my head queries.
It’s a good question.
And he’s smiling, opal eyes gleaming in my direction like he owns the world. He looks down at the towel in his hand and tosses it onto the bed next to his duffle bag. He makes no attempt to cover himself up.
“It’s you,” he says.
Me? I’m trying to command my mouth to move, my jaw to shift up and down, but I’ve been paralyzed by Mr. Perfect.
Was he expecting me?
He takes a step forward, his cock swinging in time like a giant, penis pendulum. “Do you have a name?”
He looks down at the offending appendage. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he smiles, slowly shifting to the bed and taking the towel. He casually wraps it around his waist, even though a sizeable bulge remains. “Better?”
All I can do is nod. I’m absolutely beside myself. I’ve accidentally entered rooms before, seen sights you could never un-see, but this… This is all new.
He approaches the cart, extending his free hand. “I’m Dane, by the way, Dane Carr.”
I’m gripping the cart handle so hard my knuckles are white.
A gust of wind rattles the windows, the roof above us giving off a wayward groan.
My mouth is so dry. “Haley,” I manage to state.
He drops his hand, and his eyes. “A beautiful name—Old English if I’m not mistaken.”
“I… I wouldn’t know,” I blubber.
He gently pushes the cart aside until there’s nothing between us but air and that towel.
I point beside myself, actually shaking here on the spot. “I can come back later. It’s fine.”
I don’t know why, but I just want to get out of here as fast as possible and forget this mortal embarrassment.
Dane smiles wider, reaching out to hold my nametag, pulling it lightly from my chest. He locks eyes with me. “Why come later when you can come now?”
I freeze. Did he just… right now… say what I think he said?
He did. He said exactly what I think he did, and his eyes confirm it, hungry as ever.
I look down, trying to shake these feelings from my head as I start to back away. “I’ll come tomorrow.”
He lifts my chin up with a single finger. “I won’t be here tomorrow.”
If nothing, this ‘Dane’ is up front, but I imagine these city types don’t have time for pleasantries. They know what they want and they go for it. Isn’t that the bedrock of all success?
Something about him exudes power and confidence. It’s magnetic. I’m being reeled right in.
He’s less than a foot away now, his heat surrounding me, his musky, spicy scent swimming in the air between us.
My inhibition is slipping, the space between my legs suddenly alight.
The finger on my chin moves up to my lower lip, lightly pulling it down, running across it until I’m absolutely breathless.
What are you doing, Haley?
But I can’t move. I’m confused, but I want this too. Some deep, dark part of me wants to engage and explore, to see what I’ve been missing out on.
The wind howls outside as the storm skirts the town.
The finger turns into a hand, running across my cheek, down my neck, his towel dropping but his cock completely transformed—hard, erect and beautiful.
He leans over until his lips are at my ear, his gravelly voice sending a tremor down my spine. “See what you’re doing to me, Haley?”
I’m practically panting, still glued to the spot.
The moment his lips press against mine, I know all is lost.
They’re a contradiction—firm, yet soft, the pressure just right, my body turning to butter at his touch.
His tongue slides forward into the heat of my mouth and whatever hold I had over my emotions is gone for good.
I savor it, this taboo encounter, even if it is a dream.
I can’t think rationally, make sense of anything but his lips and his tongue and touch.
His hands shift around my hips before one breaks away and lifts my skirt. “What are you…” But my words are lost when I feel the flat of his hand against my stomach, poised before the top of my panties.
I can’t look away from his cobalt eyes, from the power and mystery held within them.
It’s freezing outside, but I’m burning up. It feels like it’s a thousand damn degrees in here.
When his hand slides downwards into my panties, into the slippery heat there, I actually gasp aloud, the hand that was against my hip lifting to run through my hair, hold me in place as the deviant hand below dives further into the crotch of my panties.
I look down, my skirt ballooned out, bunched over his wrist as he finds my clit with the pad of his thumb.
My eyes close against the torrent of sensation.
Oh. My. God.
He kisses me harder, the butt of his palm grinding gently against my pussy, his thumb adding more pressure to my clit and eliciting sounds from my mouth I didn’t even know I had in me.
Because this is happening, right now, right here and I cannot, absolutely cannot believe it.
He leaves my lips wet and places his own at the shell of my ear once more, his thumb continuing to circle and press against the bud of my clit in languid semi-circles.
“What’s your last name?”
“Walker,” I moan, lost in a trance.
“You’re going to come for me, Haley Walker,” he purrs.
“I don’t know… I can’t…” I sputter, bucking forward to meet his hand.
His thumb moves away to be replaced by three joined fingers, the new pressure sending a jolt of fire from my hips to my head, my core clenching tight against the onslaught.
No one has touched me like this before. It was all about their pleasure, their release. I haven’t even touched myself like this.
Another finger, I don’t know which, slides onto the slick canal of my body, gripped tight. Prickles of sensation sweep over me, my nipples rocky against the cups of my bra, desperate for his mouth, for attention.
He kisses me, working with his fingers, playing me like an instrument. He sets the rhythm and the pace, allowing me to crest and fall, but always with the symphony building and building into a coming crescendo.
I let out a guttural groan as a second finger joins the first inside me, curling upward and finding a new source of pleasure there previously unknown.
This isn’t his first time. No, no, no. Of that I am sure.
These skills have been acquired, and perfected, to surgical precision. He knows exactly the type of response he can elicit and I’m happy to be carried away in his power.
I start to shake, reaching out to grip his arms, can feel the outline of his cock ahead as I jerk against him.
The wind beats harder against the windows, the door to the room still open, threatening to expose this lurid act.
“Yes,” he moans at my ear, his scent intoxicating. “Come,” he commands. “Come for me.”
My mouth opens, wants to confess I’ve never had an orgasm before, wouldn’t even know what one feels like… before it hits.
The suddenness, the way it wells up, is unexpected, rushing inwards to my core and exploding out. My jaw drops until it aches, my eyes squeezed tightly shut, my thighs clamping hard against his fingers.
He does not stop.
He does not relent.
“I… I…” I don’t know what to say as I lift onto my tippy toes.
It crashes into me hard, the sensation slamming deep into my subconscious as I come.
I know I’m wet, so wet, but I don’t care.
The wave of pleasure rises again, toppling over the first. My knees buckle, but his strong hands hold me in position, his fingers never leaving me.
My mouth opens and closes, my head snapping left to right as it goes on, and on, and on…
His lips are back at the side of my neck, exploring. I finally manage to breathe and take stock.
That was an orgasm.
I know it.
My very first.
And I barely know this guy.
He removes his hand and holds my arms, looking at me with a gaze that is all power. “How was that, Haley Walker?”
I’m conscious of the heat in my cheeks, the way my face and skin are flushed. “Wonderful,” I reply, sincere.
He takes my hand and guides it down to his cock, wrapping my fingers around its velvety heat. He leans forward and whispers again. “I’m going to fuck you now, Haley, and you’re going to come again. Do you understand me?”
I snap out of it at these words, letting go of his member and almost falling backwards in my haste to leave.
My skirt drops back into position.
I grab the cart and pull it in front of myself, allow some barrier of protection in this madness.
I can’t even look him in the eye as I back away. “I’m sorry… I, I have to go.” I’m babbling excuses, trying to get the door open as I do so while he continues to stand there with his hard-on and that slightly amused, curious expression on his face.
I’m definitely back in reality now, the guilt and shame crashing into me, because that, that was not me. I don’t do this kind of thing.
But I was so stressed, and his fingers felt so good, his lips… I let myself go.
And look what happened.
I can’t deny it didn’t feel good, amazing even, but it’s over now and it can never happen again.
I manage to get the cart through the door, closing it as fast as I can and breathing in the cold air, anything to abate the heat still pulsing from my core.
I spin the cart and make for the next room, my inner thighs slippery, the phantom memory of his hand still there.
Safely inside the next room, I press my back up against the door breathing hard.
I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or head to the nearest confessional.
All I do know is that I can’t stop thinking about Dane Carr and his magic fingers.
And what else might be magic…