Calling Card Page 10

  Holding a glass of the same whiskey she had in the bar, Daniella smirks as she pushes herself into the room.

  “I hope you rested your jaw. You’re gonna get a workout tonight.”

  Daniella doesn’t waste any time. Setting her glass on the nightstand, she stands in front of me, her long blonde hair pulled out of the way, exposing the zipper on her dress. Following her lead like the true gentleman I am, I comply with her wishes.

  As she slowly pulls the fabric down her arms, Daniella clutches the bodice to her chest. With a sly grin, she turns to face me and shimmies out of the skimpy attire, leaving her in only a matching bra and thong.

  I’m never going to understand how women have the time to match everything they wear, down to the color of the stitch on their bra. It’s like they’re perfectly coordinated in hopes of going home with a man that night. This probably would classify them as sluts, but I don’t discriminate. I’m an equal opportunity lover.

  Instead of going to the bed, Daniella slides her thong down her legs, not removing her stiletto heels, and perches herself on the long dresser. Daniella spreads her legs wide enough for me to get an impeccable view of her glistening pussy and crooks her finger in my direction, summoning me toward her.

  Letting a woman take control in the bedroom has never been something I was a fan of, more like the complete opposite. There’s something different about this girl. To an extent, that is.

  “So, about those oral skills,” she says, her husky bedroom voice fully activated.

  “You wanna test them for yourself.” Kneeling before her, I grab hold of her legs, dragging her to the very edge of the dresser.

  Kissing my way up her leg, starting at her knee and stopping just before reaching the apex of her thighs, she’s already squirming in anticipation. Moving to the other leg, but not without blowing slightly on her swollen pussy, I repeat my actions, stopping just before my lips reach hers.

  Rocking her hips in my direction, she silently begs me for my touch. I’m sure she’s an experienced woman, but she may have forgotten the golden rule about foreplay; it’s all about the anticipation. If the gratification of an orgasm was instant, it wouldn’t be sought after, chased until it completely consumes you. Prolonging the satisfaction almost always guarantees the best climax you’ll ever experience. Sex isn’t just an act, it’s a state of mind and one that I’ve perfected over the years. My partners, even as insignificant as the girls I pick up in a bar, receive the same treatment. Call it ego if you want, but if I’m going to take the time to do something, it’s going to be my best effort.

  When I feel like she’s waited long enough, I run my tongue the length of her pussy, paying extra attention to her clit. A drawn out moan exits her mouth and a smile crosses mine. Inserting a finger and angling it upward, I place my lips around her most sensitive spot, sucking lightly while thrusting my finger in and out of her.

  Even though I feel like a wounded dog inside, I’m trying to recreate my time with Briar a few nights prior. I’m giving myself a second chance with the Briar lookalike. It’s pathetic, I know, but at this point, I don’t know what else to do.

  Daniella’s hands seem to have a mind of their own—one second they’re gripping my hair, holding me tight between her thighs and the next they’re grabbing above her head on the wall. She obviously has had enough of her shoes and kicks them to the floor. Placing the heels of her feet on the edge of the dresser, she’s able to continue rocking her hips, but at a better angle.

  Alternating between suction and quick flicks of my tongue, I have Daniella on the brink a few times before I insert another finger and let her fly over the cliff. Her back arches, her walls clench down on my digits and her sweetness hits my tongue. Lapping up the last of her orgasm, I wait until she’s let go of my hair before moving.

  Rising to my feet, I smile at her wickedly. Watching her come down from the high of her climax, she slumps to the side and looks up at me with hooded, desire filled eyes.

  “It seems that you weren’t lying about your skills. In fact, you may have underplayed them. Bravo,” she jokes, climbing down from her perch.

  I strip out of my attire, tossing it in the corner of the room near my suitcase. Sauntering toward me, Daniella places her hands in the middle of my chest and shoves me hard enough that I fall backward on the bed, with her not far behind.

  Straddling my legs, she goes right to work getting my dick hard and sliding a condom over my erection. Moving up my body, she perfectly aligns our bodies and slams her hips down onto mine. It probably would be nice of me to assist, but her efforts are not going unnoticed. This bitch is a pro at dick riding.

  Unable to resist the lure of her perfect bouncing tits, I take hold, squeezing hard enough to have her moaning loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

  I’m quickly coming to realize that nothing I do is going to make me feel like I did when I was nine inches deep inside of Briar, and there’s no use in trying to recreate it. I need to get the fuck over it and enjoy this sexy woman who’s having the time of her life.

  Skimming my hands down to her hips, it’s my turn to play a little. Without notice, I quickly flip her underneath me and bring her legs up, her ankles damn near touching her ears. Using the backs of her thighs for leverage, I thrust into her without compassion.

  “Fuck,” I groan, her tightness making it difficult for me not to orgasm. Pumping my hips quicker, I look down, watching my dick disappear then reappear. This will never get old and it’s so damn hot. I should be thinking about baseball or granny panties, but my attention has one focus and one focus only.

  “Don’t fucking stop. Keep going,” she pants between thrusts.

  I don’t stop. I keep going. Slamming into her hard enough that I’m sure she’ll bruise tomorrow, Daniella begins to come, her orgasm pushing mine over the edge.

  “Sweet mother of God, fuck me. Yes!” she screams. I’m pretty sure that hotel security will be up here in a matter of moments to tell us to keep it down.

  Pushing off Daniella, I collapse on the bed next to her and watch as she stretches her muscles that have been locked up for God only knows how long.

  “I’m gonna take a quick shower. How about you call up some room service.” She nods her head and I walk into the bathroom.

  Getting the water going, I strip the filled condom from my cock and dispose of it in the trash can. When steam’s filled the bathroom, I climb into the stall and begin to lather myself with the hotel’s non-scented soap, immediately wishing I would have grabbed my travel bag. Even the most expensive hotels seem to use the worst kind of soaps for their guests. Already feeling my skin get dry, I shut off the water and grab a towel.

  Wondering what Daniella is doing, I holler out to her, but get no response. I seriously hope she’s up for another round, because that was some really good sex, and for a while, I forgot about everything else. Provided she keeps her mouth shut, she’ll end this night being the first ‘nine’ I’ve had since this gorgeous redhead back in Ireland.

  Throwing on a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a tee shirt so I’m not naked when the room service arrives, I step out of the bathroom expecting her to be perched on the bed. Searching the room, I don’t see Daniella anywhere, or her clothes for that matter. Thinking she went into the living area to place the call to room service, I begin my search.

  Coming up empty handed, I see a note sitting on the bar in the kitchen. Making my way toward it, all I can think is she needed to go back to her room for something. That’s fine, too. I’ve never really been one of those guys that wanted anything more than sex and I shouldn’t change my mindset now, but there’s something different about Daniella. She intrigues me.

  When I read over the note, I’m beyond shocked. I’m pissed. I’m angry. Fuming is more the word I’m looking for. I’m at my breaking point. If I get one more note like this during the rest of my life, I’m going to lose my shit. This is almost too much to bear. Someone’s getting hurt tonight.

  Dex, />
  I’m sure you don’t remember, so let me refresh your memory. It was three years ago, in this very hotel, that I met you. A few of my girlfriends threw me a birthday party and got us a suite here. I was pretty pissed that night, but I still took you back to my room. We had a great night, or what I thought was great, but woke up to something I’d never experienced. You left while I was sleeping and left me a business card with a three written on the back. It wasn’t until I read the article on you that I truly knew what that three meant. Well, fuck you. I’m pretty sure you’re kicking yourself in the ass about that one right now, aren’t you? Have a great evening, Dexter. Thanks for the orgasms.

  Daniella

  Crumpling the note, the business card on the countertop calls out for my attention. With my other hand, I pick up the flat black card and flip it over and want nothing more than to punch a hole in the wall. On the back, she’s scribbled out the three I left for her and in her handwriting is a number five, circled multiple times. Above it, there’s a small phrase that says “better luck next time”. I see red. All different shades of red.

  She got me. She played my game and fucking won. I shove the card into the front pocket of my pants and slam my fist against the wall, immediately regretting my decision when a piece of the drywall chips away. Hotels love to charge a shit ton for damages.

  That fucking bitch. She’s going to pay for this fucking disaster and the hole in the damn wall.

  In my rage, I almost don’t register the faint knock at the door. Assuming she’s come back to apologize and I’m ready to give her a piece of my mind, I fly to the door. Catching a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror next to it, I won’t be the only one seeing red, as my face is boiling.

  Pulling it open quickly, with fury angrily splashed across my face, the poor woman from housekeeping looks utterly terrified. Reining myself in, I apologize and dismiss her, stating I don’t need any service at this time. There are other things that need to be handled.

  Rushing down to the lobby of the hotel, the first person I make eye contact with is the concierge. “Excuse me. Did you see the woman I left with earlier?” The young woman shakes her head no and I proceed to the bar. The bartender must remember her. She looked gorgeous, there’s no way anyone could ever forget that face … or rack.

  Asking the same question to the bartender who’s wiping down the bar top, getting ready to close shop, he confirms that he does know her. She had been down earlier in the evening and charged everything to her room. Thankfully, even in London, a hundred Euros goes a long way in getting information.

  Room 1056

  Taking the elevator to the tenth floor, I approach Daniella’s room, ready for a showdown of epic proportions. There’s no fucking way in Hell I’m going to let some sloppy bitch I fucked a few years ago come into my life, my hotel room, and try to pull some shit like this. Not on my watch. I’m not that guy.

  Pounding on the door like I’m the damn police, the door flies open with a half-dressed man standing in front of me. Glancing at the number on the wall, I’m at a loss yet again this evening. It’s very possible the bartender gave me the wrong room just to get rid of me, but I’m here, might as well ask.

  “Good evening. I’m sorry for the intrusion, but I was looking for Daniella. This is her room, correct?” I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans and wait for a response. The man looks behind him, then back at me, studying me.

  “Can I help you with something?” he responds, almost sounding irritated.

  “Yes, I met her in the bar this evening and she had forgotten something. The bartender informed me that this was her room and I could return it. Has there been some kind of mistake?”

  The man’s face lightens and he calls out into the room. “Daniella. There’s a man at the door. Says you forgot something at the bar. Come out here.”

  Within moments, Daniella, wearing a hotel robe and carrying a flute of champagne shows herself. Every ounce of color drains from her face as she realizes who the man from the bar actually is. Smirking, I pull out the business card she left in my room and hand it to her. “I’m sorry for bothering you this evening, Miss, but you seem to have dropped this out of your bag when you left the bar. I didn’t know if it was important or not and I wanted to be sure to return it.”

  The man takes the card from me, and Daniella puts her hand to her mouth. “Thank you for going out of your way, but it really wasn’t that important.”

  “It looked like something you wouldn’t want to lose or misplace. I’ve never seen a card like that, especially with only a number written on the back. And a five? I was intrigued. Do you know what that means?” I ask, knowing I’m playing with fire.

  “No, I never really noticed it until you brought it to my attention,” she says nervously.

  “This seems like something that photographer guy would do. Did you read that article? This guy,” I laugh, playfully slapping the man on the arm. “That wacked out photog would fuck these women and then when he’d slip out into the night, he’d leave a business card with a number written on the back. That number would be how he rated them on a one to ten scale. Craziest shit I’ve ever heard in my life.”

  The man joins me in laughter while Daniella’s nervous look turns to downright pissed. “I’ve never heard of that,” she says, indignation lacing her voice.

  “I’m sure you haven’t. That card just made me remember the story. I’m sure you’re more than a nine or this handsome fella wouldn’t have swooped you up.”

  The man takes my hand and shakes it, all the while, Daniella’s trying to pull him back into the room. Catching on to her silent cue for me to leave and never come back, I slyly smile and excuse myself.

  “I’ll let you two get back to your evening. Congratulations on whatever it is you’re celebrating,” I say, nodding to the glass in Daniella’s hand.

  “It’s our anniversary,” she mutters, stepping away from the door as the man closes it behind them.

  That little bitch. Out for an evening with her significant other and she comes up to my room to fuck me? Wow. I mean, if this isn’t a prime example of why relationships never work, I don’t know what is.

  Sure, she wanted to get me back for being a dick all those years ago, but it makes even more sense now. There’s no possible way that she could have stayed, especially with him waiting for her. Laughing inside, I head back to my room to try and get some sleep. Hopefully Nick doesn’t stay out too late and he’ll be able to change our travel arrangements.

  I know now more than I did earlier that I need to get back home—somewhere I always feel connected and refresh. I’ll be able to think more clearly and dismiss the anger with Daniella and hurt from Briar when I can relive the pain of the past.

  Nicholas was able to switch a few things around and change our tickets. Instead of flying back to Indiana yesterday afternoon, we landed in Ireland after a relatively short flight from the UK. After we landed, the drive to the town I’m from took another few hours

  The serenity of watching the lush, rolling hills disappear as we pass is exactly what I needed. Relaxed in the passenger seat, I close my eyes, resting my head against the head rest and just enjoy the peace and quiet. We roll into town just before dusk and it’s exactly the way I remember it. Granted, I’ve been back probably a dozen times since I was ten years old, but this is the first time I’ve wanted to come home to clear my head.

  Our first stop is the inn right inside the city limits. For some reason, it’s unusually packed and we have trouble even finding a parking spot. Having to leave the car about fifty yards from the hotel, we make our way inside and pray they have a room for us for the evening, since there are no other inns for miles. Standing at the front desk, I ring the small bell on the counter and patiently wait for the old man that owns the joint to make his way out of his TV room in the back.

  Slowly, but surely, he reaches the desk, toting a small black dog with him. “Good evening, Sir. We’d like a room for the evening. Two if you have
them.”

  Looking on the board behind him where the keys are separated by room, he pulls down two keys and slides them across the counter. “You lads are in luck. I have only two left and they’re all yours. Seems there’s some kind of television crew in town to film the distillery being torn down. Sad day, I tell ya.”

  “They’re tearing down the MacFadden Distillery? I wasn’t notified.” The old man stares at me, sizing me up before recognition hits him. As a child, I would come and play at this inn and help Mr. Flannery out after his wife passed. It seemed like the right thing to do. It’s been quite some time since we’ve been face to face, but the corners of his mouth turning up tells me that he knows exactly who I am.

  “Dexter MacFadden. I haven’t seen you since you were still a wee one. My, have you grown bigger.” Mr. Flannery comes around the desk and embraces me like I’m one of his own. I reciprocate the hug, patting him gently on the back and scratching the head of the dog in his arms.

  “It’s nice to see you, Mr. Flannery. It has been a while. I’m glad to see you’re still kicking around this place. I just can’t believe they’re tearing the distillery down. When did they reach a decision?”

  I should know the answer to that question. For the last ten years, I was on the board of trustees, being my father’s only child and he was a majority shareholder when he died, but I don’t. I tried for the longest time to put everything behind me and start new. I’m more surprised that one of my uncles didn’t try to get in touch with me to give me the news. I’m sure they knew that I would want to be a part of such a large decision.

  “A few months back, the MacFadden lads decided to put it up for sale. A larger company tried to tarnish the reputation of the business and since then, I guess the lads stopped turning a profit. Only business they had was my inn and a few pubs in this town and a few more. It was the only choice they had.” Guilt settles low in my stomach, causing it to roil and threaten to spill the small amounts of food I was able to eat earlier today. If they had only called me, I could have helped them fix everything and our family name wouldn’t go down like this.