“Has he scheduled my spa time for the morning?” I briskly ask the maître d’.
“Yes, Ms. Westwood. Your massage begins at 9 a.m. sharp, followed by the complete spa package. It’s the best for our best.” He smiles softly with a nod.
I pull out some cash to tip him and he refuses. “He has already secured my extra personal tips for you. Please, here is my direct extension that reaches me twenty-four hours a day. I am at your service for anything you need, Miss.”
I smile at Heath’s generosity and his forethought. I already like him so much.
“That sounds simply divine,” I say with a little flair of my pretend southern charm. I only lived in Jacksonville until I was eighteen, so I don’t really have an accent, but when I get into character, it comes naturally to me. How perfect is that.
“Now, before I let you off the hook for the rest of the evening, be a dear and call up some cheese and vegetable spread. I am simply famished after that long travel. If you don’t mind, please have Heath…” I clear my throat. “Please have Mr. Landon call me at his earliest convenience.”
I don’t have my client’s phone numbers and they don’t have mine. I keep all that nitty gritty stuff up to Carl. I made the mistake once of giving my phone number to a man who was delayed by a severe weather storm in San Diego. I was going to meet him in Phoenix, but he was days late so, I just sat around the hotel with my hand down my pants, charging direct movies, and expensive champagne to his hotel bill. When he called a week later to reschedule the date, I had a bad feeling that I shouldn’t have given my number out. Six weeks later and about sixty stalking phone calls for him to get his money’s worth from what I spent in Phoenix, I had to change my number. I was a fool. I try to tell the men I prefer not to know their numbers in case I enjoy how much they pleasure me, as I tend to be a bit stalker-ish when I’ve enjoyed myself. That appeases them somewhat, but still – I think most of them would prefer if I did keep them in my call log. No such luck for them. Repeat dates are very rare and when they are permitted, it has to take place in a different city. I don’t ever want to feel like I am doing the same man twice.
“Of course, Miss Westwood.”
“Oh, please, call me Lucia.” I wave him away and head for the bubble bath I know is already set up for me. These men must hang on every demand Carl gives them.
Thirty minutes later, as my fingers begin to prune, the phone begins to ring right as someone begins knocking at the hotel door.
“Gees. I suppose I should have specified,” I say to myself, as I roll my eyes at my lack of forethought.
I throw the white, silk robe over my drenched body as I tip toe across the bathroom for the bedroom phone. Just as it starts to ring once again, I pick it up with a flourish.
“Hello,” I say demurely.
“Lucia,” a deep, throaty voice comes over the line and instant goosebumps attack my soaked skin.
“Heath,” I purr. “Would you hold on for just a minute, love? I believe room service is at the door with my late night snacks.”
I hear a low rumble of chuckles as I place the phone down on the bed to jog to the room door. Opening it with a flourish, I beckon the maître d’ to the kitchen table and hold up my finger. “Mr. Landon is on the line, so I must chat. Leave the spread and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Getting back to the phone, I can feel the goosebumps start to attack my skin again just thinking of Heath’s luscious voice in my ear once again.
“I’m back,” I moan. “But, I’m a little sad knowing I won’t see you until tomorrow afternoon.” I pretend to pout a little, slightly serious that his voice really makes me want to masturbate. I planned to take the night off and wait for some serious mind-blowing orgasms, but it won’t work. I can’t wait.
“How are you enjoying Savannah, Lucia?” Fuck me solid. His voice is just…it’s just sex. How does he talk to regular people? By that, I mean people he doesn’t want to fuck, because by the way he’s talking to me, I don’t know if I could ever listen to him and not think sex.
“Oh, well, I just arrived about an hour ago, but it’s just as beautiful as I remember,” I reply, looking over to the main room to make sure my little go-to man has left. “Are you thinking about me?” I lower my voice to my purr.
“I am,” he groans back. “Ever since Carl showed me your photo and arranged this, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
He is sweet. Real sweet, but I need dirty.
“What sorts of things are you thinking about, Heath?”
He is silent for a moment and I can hear his breath falter a bit. He probably didn’t think I wanted to talk sex when I asked him to call, but really, what else are we doing here? Does he want a fucking tourist report on Savannah, Georgia? I’ll be lucky if I see more than the eight hundred count sheets all weekend.
“I need to feel those perky breasts of yours. They look eatable in the picture he showed me. You were in a red bikini, and fuck, I’ve wanted to rip off your top and eat them ever since.”
A slow burn begins between my thighs and I start feeling the familiar heat that accompanies my lust. Hello, lust, it’s been days.
“I didn’t get to see the backside of you, but I plan to hold on tight to your ass as you slide between my tits,” I say with the evident heat in my voice.
He goes silent again. Then he coughs.
“Wow, Lucia. Maybe I should try to get a red eye out to you tonight.”
I laugh and immediately I know by the tone of his voice that he just might do that, ruining my pre-game rituals of a good night’s sleep, spa morning, and of course, the jewelry presentation of the weekend.
“Believe me,” I say. “You want me to be fully prepared for you so let’s stick to the plan.”
“Oh, Lucia, I will take you unprepared any day. Believe me.”
And I did. I believe him more than he knows. Most men take me any way they want and I look forward to letting Heath do that very thing.
“See you tomorrow, lover,” I purr before quietly placing the phone on its cradle. I skip toward the dining room and try my hardest to calm my horny.
The next morning, I awake to the beautiful sounds of birds chirping and the ocean’s waves. It is the best part of waking in a hotel this amazing. The alarm clock was set to my favorite sounds of nature, just like Carl knows I like.
I pad into the bathroom and attempt my morning ritual, only to be interrupted by the hotel phone.
“This is your wake up and a reminder for the spa appointment. We have you penciled in with Neil at 9 a.m.” The pen in penciled sounds more like pin and I fight to stifle back my laugh. Lord help me, there’s something about a good ole southern drawl that gets me every damn time.
“I wouldn’t miss it. Thank you so much,” I say, plastering on my best New York slang. I can only imagine if I love their accent, then they must feel the same about mine. I check the notifications on my cell phone and see Carl called. I won’t have time to call him back later, so I opt for a quick call back now. With a smile, I tap on his name.
“Well good morning, love.” Carl sounds out of breath answering his phone.
“Good morning indeed. Did I catch you at a bad time?” I snort loudly. My mind going to places I really don’t want it to go when I think of him being out of breath.
“Never, when it comes to you. Actually, I just walked in the door from my morning run.”