Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 70429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
He handed the guest services receptionist a gold card. It glimmered and shined as if made out of the actual chemical element. It was too large to be a credit card and too small to be much else.
“What is that?” she asked.
He raised his hand, palm towards her face as if to say, ‘Shhh’. That was when she noticed his Rolex, too. She resisted the urge to grab his hand, or perhaps just a finger or two, slip it into her mouth and chomp down. Her pussy pulsed when he pulled her close without even turning in her direction, as if he was reading her violent, spiteful thoughts. He squeezed her waist as if she were important property he didn’t wish to let slip away.
“Mr. Emory, the room you requested will not be ready for another hour.”
Azure groaned and he looked at her, laughing in an easy, sexy sort of way.
“No worries. We’ll have it ready soon. In the meantime, please make yourself comfortable at the bar or lobby.” She slid him a white diamond shaped card. “Here’s somethin’ for your trouble. Two drink vouchers. I’m upgrading your room right now, too.”
“Thank you.” He removed a sort of coin from his pocket and handed it to the lady. “I want to play while we wait, then.”
Play? What is he talking about? A game? What in the hell is goin’ on here? I’m telling you right now, if this is some sick, twisted shit like that one horror movie where that lady ended up stuck at that vampire’s house to be his third bride, after he wined and dined ’er and fucked ’er good on that old ass Victorian bed, I’m ready, Count Caspian. I like garlic, and I’m not a stranger to a crucifix, either. I will fuck you then leave yo’ five-hundred-year-old ass in the mornin’ sunlight to bake like bread. Play wit’ me if you want to.
“Will you notify them for me? Or should I?” He pointed to the bar.
“I’ll tell them,” the woman responded, knowing perfectly well what he meant.
As they waited for the staffer to type away on her computer, he released his grip on her, bent down, and flicked an inconsequential piece of lint from his shoe.
“Are you able to stay the night?” he asked huskily when he stood back straight.
“I told you I wanted room service in the morning, so what do you think?” I’m not a half-assed ho. Get the dick and go. You gonna feed my ass in the mornin’. Period.
The right side of his mouth curved in a smirk, and her heart beat the hell out of her chest.
“What type of music do you like?” he asked while caressing his beard.
“Almost everything. My favorites, like my top five, are probably Neo Soul, soft rock, new and old R&B, Hip Hop… a lil’ country… a lotta jazz… well, that’s seven things.” She shrugged. “But those are my preferences.”
He nodded, offering no response.
As she stood there wondering what the room would look like, and what she’d gotten herself into, looking around for exits in case of emergency, two men approached him. One had drumsticks in his hand, and the other a guitar pick, a blood red bass guitar with the strap over his shoulder.
He stepped away and they started talking, but she couldn’t follow everything they were saying. After a while, he took her by the wrist like a naughty child that kept galloping away from her parents, and told her he’d be back soon. He disappeared into the bar, leaving her confused yet intrigued. When he came back, he was holding a blue crystal wine glass. He handed it to her, then made himself comfortable beside the pianist.
“Sit,” he told her, pointing to a nearby chair. It sounded like a dog command. As if he had an invisible leash and collar around her neck.
She hated how her pussy creamed from the way he was carrying on with anything that came out of his mouth. He was in charge, and yet, he wasn’t over the top with it—just enough to make her uneasy, and her panties moisten with droplets of pussy punch. She no doubt showed her disapproval at his rudeness on her face, but no one else seemed to notice or care. People applauded, surrounding him and the pianist as if they’d been waiting for this, whatever this was, to happen all night. Moments later, drums and musical equipment were set up, and other performers came bearing instruments, too. People spilled out of the bar to come join in the excitement. Cortex’s ‘Huit octobre’ from 1971 began to play on low volume as he spoke. It didn’t take her long to figure out these guys knew what they were doing.
Oh… that’s what he meant by play?
“My name is Caspian Emory. I am not here in Kentucky often anymore,” he began, “but when I am, I usually stay at this hotel. I am a creature of habit when it comes to my creature comforts, so to speak, and this will always be home. Louisville, Kentucky… no matter where in the world I am.”