He lowers himself between my legs, desire written all over his face. Slowly, he guides his…
I stare at the laptop screen. As usual, the words escape me. I exhale a frustrated sigh and start typing again.
torpedo, armed and ready
sizzling man meat
I start laughing, breathing out all of the tension I didn’t even realize had been building inside of me. My laughter eventually fades as I fall back into my present predicament.
Why do I hate writing sex scenes so much?
“You know exactly why, Prynne,” I say to myself.
I groan and spin around in my chair to face the floor-to-ceiling window that looks out on New York City. This view is the main reason I splurged for the Sexton Hotel. It’s amazing, especially at night. The anonymous hustle and bustle below me, even at this late hour, reminds me why I moved here in the first place.
It’s the perfect city to disappear into.
Before I can fully drink up the sight, which I paid an arm and a leg for, it’s interrupted by what can only be described as World War III breaking out in the room next to mine. It sounds like barbarians screeching out a battle cry, accompanied by an electric guitar and drums.
I turn to stare at the offending wall and wait a moment for my hotel neighbor to realize that maybe their “music” is just a tad too loud. Instead, it only seems to increase in volume.
I exhale a laugh of disbelief. The next moment, I’m out of my chair.
I take only a quick second to assess my appearance in the full-length mirror. My blonde hair is up in a messy bun. The minimal make-up I’ve recently started wearing—mascara and lip gloss—seems unnecessary for this little mission. A pair of draw-string sleep shorts and an old t-shirt are the only things I have on. I should probably put on a bra but opt not to. This shouldn’t take long.
I open my door, march the ten steps to the next one over and pound on it, trying to compete with the noise coming from the other side. This is the last room on this floor, meaning it’s probably a Superior Room. You’d think someone with that kind of money would be a bit more refined. Considering the small fortune my Standard Room was, I can’t even imagine how much this one costs.
There’s no response to my knocking, so I pound harder. In the middle of this round, the music suddenly goes silent and my loud banging is now the noise that seems overly intrusive. A few seconds later the door is thrown open and I stare in shock.
My neighbor is a he. And he is Drop. Dead. Gorgeous.
“You’re naked,” I say stupidly.
My eyes are glued to the cock that is front and center before me. There’s no other word for it. Cock. All those silly euphemisms I’ve read in romance novels—and yes, used myself in my first book—don’t seem worthy of just how perfectly it falls between those two muscular thighs. It’s like a sword being formally presented to me before battle, and it’s not even hard.
“Well, it seems those pretty hazel eyes aren’t just for decoration. Yes, I am in fact, naked.”
My breath catches as the words reach my ears. His voice sounds exactly how I imagine dark chocolate or polished mahogany would if either had a voice: rich, deep, sensuous. It’s completely decadent. The kind of voice that goes straight from your eardrums right to your most sensitive spot. The kind of voice you want to get naked and wrap your body in. The kind of voice to draw my eyes away from what they’ve been so blatantly staring at.
I quickly bring my gaze up so high I’m looking over his head of thick, dark, wavy hair. Along the way, my eyes travel over a landscape of rippling abs, hard pecs, broad shoulders, a sturdy jaw line, full lips, and very amused blue eyes.
Even though he’s more than a head taller than my five-foot-six-inches, he pushes up on the balls of his feet to meet my eyes. His dark blue irises dance as they finally capture mine and I have to work to remind myself why I’m annoyed.
“What if I’d been a little kid?” I say, lowering my eyes just enough to give him a dose of the condemnation in them.
“Fortunately, there are these little inventions call peepholes. That’s how I knew the person on the other side was,” his eyes crawl down to my chest, “definitely a woman.”
I feel my nipples harden underneath his gaze. His velvety voice turns them into veritable diamonds. My arms instinctively go up to cross over my loose breasts. I should have put on the bra.
“Do you mind putting something on?” I say in an irritated voice.
“I had something on…which I turned off when I heard someone banging on my door,” he answers with an easy smile. “I’m happy to put it back on again if you insist.”
My neck is starting to hurt from tilting my head up high enough to avoid looking at what lies between his legs, which makes his little joke less than amusing. “You know what I mean.”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” he replies, his brow creasing in confusion, which I know is just to taunt me. He crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe, causing his penis—I’m forcing myself to be more clinical about it—to swing in my lower periphery, which doesn’t help my composure.
Him shifting to the side gives me a tiny glimpse of his room, which is in fact a Superior Room. It’s much larger than mine but has the same spectacular view, and then some. Two full walls of nothing but glass create a completely transparent corner that faces most of New York on one side and the Hudson River on the other. His curtains are wide open and once again I’m blown away by the view this hotel has of the city.
“You know what? Never mind,” I say shaking my head. The view reminds me that I need to get back to my own room. “Can you just keep the music down? I can’t hear myself think next door.”
He suddenly pushes away from the door frame, his body going rigid. His penis is anything but, swinging back and forth like a pendulum. “You’re next door?”
“I was told that room would be empty this weekend.” He looks off to the side with irritation. “Dammit, Chris,” he mutters.
“Well, it isn’t empty. Why in the world would you play your music so loud anyway?”
He gives me a distracted look, his irritation growing. “It helps me concentrate.”
“On what, openin’ the ninth gate of hell?” I sputter with a laugh. I’m irked to hear my midwestern accent come out.
The irritation disappears from his face and is replaced by a small, easy smile. “The woman has a way with words.”
That voice. It’s like salted caramel and I’m plain, boring popcorn getting drenched in it.
“Well, I’d have a better way with words next door if I could hear myself think,” I snap, feeling myself get flustered.
He cocks his head to the side with curiosity. “Are you a writer?”
I blink in surprise. I can feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. No one knows I write romance, not even my roommates. Certainly not my family. In fact, no one knows I write, period.
“That’s none of your business,” I retort, a little too defensively.
He just laughs. “So you are then.”
Even when he’s teasing, his voice makes me want to just…lick it.
“Just try to keep the music down,” I say, more than ready to leave him in all his naked glory. “I’ll let you get on with your shower.”
“I wasn’t taking a shower.”
I blink at him. Surely he wasn’t about to go to bed with that racket he had playing? Before I can stop myself, I blink down at his naked body, one part in particular. My eyes dart past him and suddenly take note of how very well-lit his room is and how very wide open his curtains are.
My mouth drops open, completely appalled.
He laughs again. Good grief, if anything, his laugh is even sexier than his voice. “Oh come on, don’t tell me you didn’t know the real reason why people book rooms specifically at this hotel.”
I bring my bottom lip back up with indignation. “That’s…indecent.”
“And yet, so much fun.” His voice is lower now. I have to briefly close my eyes to calm the heady spin it sends me into. When I open them, I find him leaning in closer with a teasing grin. “You should try it out while you’re here.”
My gaze sharpens and focuses firmly on his. “Just keep the noise down, please.”
He laughs as I walk quickly back to my room. I open my door and rush in, falling against it once it’s securely closed behind me. My own room is dark, save for the bright laptop screen and the sparkling lights of The Big Apple outside.
I flip the light switch and feel a hard shudder go through me as I realize that I’m on display to everyone outside that window. True, the nearest building that reaches this height is too far away for anyone to see anything without using binoculars. Even the pedestrians below have sixteen stories separating them from us. That’s probably why people like my neighbor can get away with showing it all here.
Still, the idea of it…
I quickly shut the lights off again. As I make my way back to the desk, I look around at the room, seeing it all with new eyes. The bathroom wall is nothing but a clear partition separating the glass-enclosed shower from the bedroom area. In fact, the toilet is the only thing here with any privacy, hidden away in its own tiny closet with a door. I suppose there is a limit to the amount of depravity this hotel seems to condone. When I first saw the layout and structure, I thought it was some eccentric, contemporary style to make the hotel seem hip and cool. Now I get it. Even though I took this morning’s shower with the curtains firmly closed, thank you very much, I still feel myself blushing at the prospect of not having them closed.
A wave of heat rushes through my body. The thought of anyone in one of the largest cities in the world being able to look at me as I shower, dress, sleep or do…other things is positively scandalous.
Then why am I so intrigued by the prospect?
I look out at the window again. The room is perfectly dark. Surely, no one would be able to see me if I just…
I shake my head and feel my eyes widen in disbelief at my own stupidity. What the hell am I thinking?
There’s a reason I chose the name Prynne. I’d always been intrigued by the story of Hester Prynne in The Scarlet Letter. I felt a certain sense of empathy toward her. Like me, she was an unfortunate product of her environment. Like me, she was an outlier, a woman who violated the unwritten rules. At the time, using her last name as my first name seemed not only fitting, but maybe even a bit ironically rebellious. Now, I wonder if I just enjoy being scandalous.
I stare at the window, with New York City beckoning me beyond it, and sigh. This view is strictly a one-way thing for me. I don’t think I could ever be as bold as my neighbor. Even if the idea of it tickles my brain like the teasing feathers of a boa, tempting me to be naughty just this once.
But I have a book to write. It’s all up to me to make sure that Aiden and Mia actually get past first base. I walk back over to the desk and plant my butt firmly in my seat to pick up where I left off. My neighbor’s sinful voice fills my head as I continue typing. The glimpse I had of his Adonis-like body invades my imagination, coming to life on the page. One part of that body in particular overshadows everything else.
Interestingly enough, I have no problem finishing the sex scene.