The next morning I wake up with a massive hangover and a pair of yellow eyes staring down at me. It takes me a moment to make the world stop spinning and orient myself.

Where the hell am I? The penthouse of L’Etoile.

What is that? Ah, that’s right. The cat.

She’s apparently warmed up enough that she’s cuddling on my chest. Either that or she was plotting ways to kill me in my sleep. Gingerly I move the kitty aside and wander out of the bedroom.

A room service tray sits on the small table, filled with pastries and an omelet. I must have been sleeping very hard not to notice it arrive. And from behind the closed door I hear music playing. I believe the song is Breakaway by Kelly Clarkson, though it’s been changed enough that I’m not sure. It’s softer now, almost haunting. Feeling like an intruder I knock softly and step inside.

Bea sits at the bench looking impossibly fresh. Her hair is still dark and damp from the shower. I probably could have slept through an earthquake. Only vaguely do I remember working my way through the bottle of brandy while Bea played the piano beside me. There is an even hazier memory of singing Hotel California as a duet. We were both drunk, and now we’re both hungover.

Though Bea’s smile is too bright and too genuine. “Are you hungry?” she asks.

So apparently I’m the only one hungover. “No, thank you. Is it all right if I shower?”

“Of course. You don’t have to ask me that.”

Actually I do, because you’ll soon be the new owner of this hotel. That’s what I should say to her, but I can’t quite bring myself to do it. Because I know that the sooner I say that, the sooner this ends. And she looks so lovely in a silk and lace robe. So lovely in her casual majesty. It makes me want to fall to my knees, to beg her to stay. But anything other than leaving would be a way to tie her down, to make her owe me. I need to give her the hotel, outright, without any strings attached or demands. And then I need to leave. I won’t do to her what Edward did.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I say roughly, because I need a cold shower and approximately ten thousand gallons of coffee before I’m ready to have that conversation.

In the bathroom I find a drawer with a couple unused toothbrushes wrapped in clear plastic, the kind the hotel probably sends up to forgetful travelers. I feel much better after I brush my teeth, but I need a shower. In the end I’m not quite self-flagellant enough to make the water cold. I make it hot instead, standing under the spray and letting it pound away some of the tension.

A sound catches my attention, and then a gust of cool air as the shower door opens.

Bea stands on the marble tile, looking shy and knowing at once in a gold silk robe. A virgin. A siren. I’m not sure my mind will ever wrap itself around her. I’m not sure I’d ever want to. I crave both parts of her, all of her.

“Can I come in?” she asks.

Already my body reacts to her, hardening, turning hot and eager. “There’s nothing I want more, Bea. But I don’t know if I can be gentle right now.”

She tugs on the silk holding her robe together, revealing the glory of her body—pale skin and dusky nipples, high breasts with freckles across the slopes of them. Her belly narrows and then flares out again to hips I long to hold as I pound into her.

Between her legs her hair is a darker color, almost bronze. My cock throbs just looking at her.

The silk pools behind her, and she steps into the shower with me. “Then be rough.”

It’s been so long since I’ve had sex for only myself. Have I ever done that?

Have I ever touched a woman’s breasts only to feel them in my hands? Have I ever sucked her nipples because I love the feel of her? Have I ever slid my fingers through her slit, blunt and greedy, because I needed to feel where my cock would be?

Bea gasps and arches, giving me better access to her pussy. “Whatever you want.”

“Yes,” I mutter, letting the need overtake me. For the first time. This is how she felt that night, being a virgin. It’s the way I feel right now, doing this with her. I push two fingers inside her, slick from her arousal and the hot spray of the shower. “I want this.”

She moans, leaning back against the tile. “Yes.”

“I should prepare you more,” I warn her. “You will feel this later.”

“Make yourself feel good,” she whispers, her eyes an unfathomable sea. She has depths I’ve never explored. Depths I never will explore, because I won’t be here that long.

I’m here now, so I make it count, lifting her up against the tile wall, spreading her thighs wide, and notching my cock against her. My voice comes out as a growl. “Say it again.”

Her head falls back, exposing her throat. “Whatever you want.”

I thrust home, clenching my teeth against the ecstasy of her. She pulses around me, and it feels so good I want to make her do it again. “That’s right,” I say, my lids heavy. “Touch yourself, Bea. Come around my cock. I want to feel you.”

She reaches down, whimpering as she finds her clit. It’s too direct, I think. A little too harsh, touching herself while she’s spread open and slick but I don’t tell her to stop. It feels too good when her pussy grasps my cock like a fist. “Oh my God,” she whispers.

Whatever you want. The words swirl around me in the hot steam, and for the first time I’m free. “Bite me,” I gasp, because that’s something I would not have asked for. I want it now.

She turns her head, making a delicate bite on my arm where I support us against the tile. Her hand moves faster on her clit, and I know she’s close. Close, but I want more. Always more.

“Harder,” I say, my teeth gritted.

She comes with a keening cry, biting down hard enough I see stars. I ride out her climax while her pussy squeezes my cock, and then I lose myself in her. I thrust into her, relentless and burning hot, turning her climax into a second and a third, until they string together in an endless litany, her voice echoing off the tile, her body wet and welcoming around mine.

I take her again and again, long after I should let her rest, only because I want to. Whatever you want, she says, so I pretend we have forever.