Night Light

Two single rooms. Right next to each other. Of course. “Don't drink and drive,” he had said. “That's why I booked rooms. Just to be on the safe side.”

Ha! Very responsible, Alexander. Or very clever.

He's taking the trainee to the hotel – haha. That's how old men's jokes start. And they end in appraisal interviews and defamation suits.

But when we stood in the hallway in front of our doors, key cards in hand, nothing happened. Not a word. No touch. He just nodded at me. Calm. Polite. No lewd looks, no invitation to “have a nightcap at his place.” Not even a compliment about my dress or my performance at dinner. No hint about my panties—or rather, the lack thereof—when he was outside my house to pick me up.

I stood there like I’d been ordered and not picked up.

Literally.

Hey. Am I not hot enough to bite ?

Or had I been too proper today? Too smart? Not a dumb chick you could just get into bed.

My room was quiet. Cool luxury. White. Beige. A large bed, wide enough for two. I felt like it was laughing at me.

I had no luggage, no nightclothes with me. Of course not. There had been no mention of an overnight stay. Just a set of toiletries from the reception desk, with the hotel's best compliments.

So I let the dress fall. It slid off my shoulders like a friend comforting me as she said goodbye, landing silently on the carpet. The thong followed. I was naked. Alone.

I lay down on the bed. Turned off the light. But sleep would not come. My thoughts began to wander. Back to the events of the evening. The men's glances. Alexander's touch on my arm at the coat rack. The first names. His humor. Our laughter together at the bar. Alexander's closeness without touching me. My body tingled. The sheets caressed my skin, touching places that were already receptive. I closed my eyes.

Ping.

My cell phone glowed like a night light. A new message. I reached for it, my heart racing. Bille?

No. Alexander.

Him: I didn't mean to be rude earlier.

What?

Him: I didn't want to say anything earlier so you wouldn't think I was trying to hit on you. But you were stunning tonight. Professional. And really good.“

I felt my lips curl. A smile. Or something more sensual?

I typed: ”Too good? For your business partners? Or for you?

He: "For me.

A jolt shot through my lower abdomen. I moaned involuntarily. I knew it! He wasn't as controlled as he seemed. Not so unapproachable. Not so cold. He was into me.

I held the phone with just one hand, typing with my thumb. I slid the other hand under the covers. Between my breasts, over the soft curve of my belly. There was warmth. And even deeper—a burning sensation.

Me: I thought I'd disappointed you. That I wasn't good enough.

Him: You surprised me.

Me: How exactly?

Pause. Three dots. He typed. Then:

Him: The way you wore that dress. The way you smile when you know you're being watched. The way you stood in your bedroom without knowing you were being watched.

I held my breath.

Me: You were watching?

Him: I couldn't look away.

My index finger slid lower, brushing my labia. Warm. Wet. Open.

There was no way I could sleep now.

Me: What do we do now?

Him: Now I'm imagining you lying there.

I didn't answer. Instead, I let my fingers circle, slowly, very gently. I was so wet! Every movement was a crackling jolt of electricity. My legs spread by themselves.

Another message:

Him: What are you wearing?

I grinned.

Me: Just my skin.

Him: You're making this damn hard for me, Cloe.

I typed with trembling fingers: Should I send you a picture?

No answer. Had that been too direct? Insolent? Had I lost him? Then:

Him: No. I want to hear you. Not see you.

My heart almost stopped. What? What did he want? As if hypnotized, I took my phone, pressed the record button, and laid it next to me on the pillow.

I gasped, pushed two fingers deep inside, warm, slippery, greedy. My other hand wandered to my breast, pinching my hard nipple. I moaned loudly. A clear recording. Shaky sighs, you could hear my lust rising, faster, stronger, faster and faster, the tortured “Ah...” at the very end.

I sent it.

And waited.

Ten seconds. Twenty. A minute.

Then his reply came.

Him: You're a challenge. And I want you!

I read it, smiled. And I came.

Like lightning. Like a geyser.