Last Hookup Read online

  “Say I want to take someone to dinner in the city tonight. Where do I go?”

  “Take your pick. One of the great things about this place.”

  “I know. But where would I go if I were going to impress a local?”

  “You wouldn’t. Locals have their spots. Nothing else impresses. However, you will want to end up here.”

  Mitchell taps something into his phone and hits send. A second later I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. “That’s the address. Go to dinner wherever she picks, then take her here. You’ll thank me.”

  I’ve got a small office suite at the end of the hall and I head over there for a breather and to check messages. Gloria’s sent a second message about the GNORR group. For whatever reason, she has a bee in her bonnet about them.

  I put my tablet to the side and steeple my fingers. I want to focus, but I’m still going over the night and this morning. I adjust in my chair because this erection just won’t quit.

  I drop a hand down to my pants and try to adjust. Not working. I keep seeing her on the desk, her legs spread for me, her beautiful, full breasts spilling out of her dress. Then on the bed, trying to hold back from her orgasm, the look of surprise and pleasure on her face when I surprised her with my fingers and tongue.

  Before I know it, I’ve undone my fly and taken my cock in my hand, as much to relieve the pressure as to relive that moment. Her response was fucking amazing. I loved making her come, loved that struggle on her face when she tried to hide from it and couldn’t. Feeling her pulse and spasm around my cock when she came again, so hot and so, so fucking wet.

  I come right then, the warm kick of come shooting out of my cock and dripping down the shaft. I fumble for my handkerchief just in time to keep it from staining my pants.

  The pressure is momentarily relieved—I think I might be able to get my head straight for this meeting now. But I’m still anxious. What if she doesn’t show?

  No such luck, I’m just as useless that afternoon. About 2 PM I tell everyone to head home early, and then I make my way back to the hotel. I make a few calls, fend off Gloria, answer some emails. I try to burn off some of the excess energy in the hotel gym, then head back to my room for a long, hot shower.

  And I’m still in the lobby a good thirty minutes before seven. I’m not used to wondering about a woman, whether or not she’ll show. To kill more time, I head for the hotel bar.

  Lo and behold, she’s there. When I walk into the place I only see the back of her seated—she’s on a stool at the bar—but there’s no mistaking the long, dark hair spilled down her back. When I come around, I see the rest of her and feel like I’m going to fall to my knees. Creamy bare shoulders over a form-fitting, long red dress with a high slit at the leg. Strappy sandals. She’s twirling a straw in something clear and bubbly while tapping something on her phone. She seems distracted, doesn’t see me until I’m right next to her.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi.” She sits up straighter, swipes the message away on the phone screen. She looks beautiful, and her lipstick is the same red of her dress.

  “Soda water and lime again?” I ask.

  “Vodka and soda.” She tilts the glass my way. “Liquid courage. I have a hot date tonight.”

  She’s teasing, but she might be a little serious. She’s here early too, after all.

  Her phone vibrates on the bar. She looks at it, looks at me, then deliberately ignores it. A small gesture, but I approve.

  I did decide to take Mitchell’s advice. I tell her the only place I have in mind for that evening is the address Mitchell sent me, a tavern at the end of Bourbon street.

  “Otherwise, I put us in your hands. I am a tourist, after all.”

  The joke is not lost on her and she blushes. “I might have some ideas. But how hungry are you?”

  She’s talking food, no irony in her question at all. And I have every intention of answering. Yet somehow I end up kissing her instead.

  She’s startled, but not for long. We don’t skip a beat—the heat between us all still there, like the day between now and last night didn’t even happen. And my cock is hard the second I touch her. The way she responds, slanting her mouth to take my kiss, I know if I put a hand under her dress she’ll be wet and ready.

  When I pull back, her eyes are hooded and soft. I’ve been looking forward to dinner with her all day, truly, but now all I want is to drag her upstairs and have her over and over again instead. The hungry way she’s looking at me, I think she has the same idea.

  She looks up as though considering. “You know, we are in one of the very finest hotels in the city. The food here is pretty great.” She peeks at me. “Speaking as a local, I mean.”

  “As a local, I value your opinion, of course.”

  “Thank you, yes,” she deadpans. “And, as this is such a fine hotel establishment, I would be remiss in not advising you to try the room service. World renowned.”

  I’d be an idiot not to take the lady’s advice.

  5

  The next morning I wake up fast, reaching for her. I was worried I heard the door click and she’d be gone again, but the body next to me is naked and warm.

  It’s funny: I’m used to sleeping alone, but this proximity doesn’t bother me at all. Sara’s curled up into me, trusting and sweet. When she’s awake, she’s all energy and movement—quickfire expressions and fast talking. Asleep like this, her face is relaxed and still. Beautiful, as always.

  I kiss her forehead, remembering how much she liked it before. She stirs and bats at me gently, burrowing in more. I take her wrist and kiss the inside, then let her roll onto her stomach while I move over her. She sighs as I kiss my way down her back, her leg bending and coming up high on the bed, her luscious ass perked up for me. I lick and nuzzle one of my new favorite spots on her body, the small hollow just inside her hip. I know she likes it because she pulls the pillow tighter and arches her back.

  She opens her eyes then, looking over her shoulder at me. “Good morning,” she says, sleepy and slow.

  I don’t reply yet. Instead I kiss her hip, her knee. I’m hard and ready for her, but content to explore the curve of her hip and ass a little longer. Her toes curl and point when I move to kiss the gentle rise just under the raised cheek. Her skin is warm and soft under my hands.

  I dip down lower, trailing my tongue along the cleft of her ass. I hear her breathe out and squeal, ticklish, and bury her face in the pillow. But her back arches again. Baby girl likes this, I think. She likes it even more when I put my hands on her ass and spread her cheeks apart, dip my mouth down even lower to her pussy.

  The lips are puffed and swollen as I lick along her slit. Sara’s body is getting restless, her hips starting to move back and forth, so I spread her wider for my tongue. She jumps when I push my tongue deep into her pussy, tasting her now. She’s still face down on the bed, her leg drawn up high, so I have access to her pussy and her ass at the same time. I drag my tongue down low and flatten it to lap at her clit until she’s shaking and jumping, and then I lick back up to tickle her ass with my tongue. The shock is wearing off and I feel her getting good and greedy now, grinding back against my mouth while I play.

  Her pussy is slick and quivering under my mouth. I’m relentless, following when she arches away, burrowing in further when she grinds back. I look up when I see her throw the pillow across the room and just grip the sheets, panting and whimpering. When she tries to reach for me and hold my mouth to her, I know she’s close.

  Rising up on my knees I flip her over onto her back and spread her legs wide for me. Whatever she was going to say is silenced completely when I drop down directly over her clit. I feel her grip my hair now, rocking up on my mouth while I drive the sensitive nub. Her thighs try to close around my head, but I press her open, pulling back to flick with just the tip of my tongue until she cries out. Her muscles are shaking under my hands and she finally gives it up to me, lets me have her the way I want. I drive my tongue deep into her pus
sy once more, filling up on the taste, and then I urge her legs up and over my shoulders as I go back to her clit, and lick the way I know she likes.

  I can see up the long line of her body. She’s a fucking goddess when she comes, her legs drawn up over my shoulders, her pussy completely open to my fingers and tongue. She grips my hair and holds my mouth to her as she grinds out every single crest and pulse, then goes completely limp as the last shocks roll through her.

  I press a kiss to the inside of each thighs before I push up back to her side on the bed. She curls into me like a kitten, still shaking and panting. Her cheeks are wet and flushed when I take her head in my hands and kiss her. She hangs on, lingering, coming down slow.

  “Good morning to you, too,” I finally say.

  She giggles in that way I love, her breath still coming fast.

  “What time is it?”

  “Early.”

  She presses her cheek into my palm and opens her eyes. “Morning people are dangerous.”

  “Not at all.”

  “I dunno. What you just did to me felt way too good to be good for my health.”

  “My trainer told me to get in at least thirty minutes of cardio a day. That has to count.”

  “For me or for you? I suppose you were working pretty hard there for a little bit.”

  I pull her closer to me. “Did that feel like work to you?”

  Sara stretches in my arms, settles back down. “The best kind.” She kisses me back, lazy. After a while, she pulls back. “Speaking of work, though …”

  “What if I told you I took the day off.”

  “Uh oh. Playing hooky?”

  “It’s not hooky if you’re the boss.”

  “Oh, that’s how that works. I always wondered.”

  Her eyes are closed as she talks, sleepy, dozy. Over her shoulder I watch the curtains pick up a slight breeze. On the air I can smell dew and fresh bread, hear different sounds coming up from the Quarter. I pull her into my chest, and her arm comes around me as she nestles in like it’s the most natural thing, a perfect fit.

  I bury my nose in her hair and she giggles when I snuffle her ear. But before she bats me away, I whisper, “Play hooky with me.”

  She stretches, pretending to consider. “You did want me to show you something local last night.”

  “A promise is a promise.”

  “I never promised.”

  “But I believed you when you said you would. That’s the same thing.”

  I roll back and slide up into the pillows, pulling her up onto my chest. Her skin is soft and delicious as she slides up to rest her chin on my shoulder. I pull her thigh up so she’s draped over me and her eyes darken when she feels my erection.

  “You could show me a few more things right here, I suppose.”

  “You’ve already taken this tour.”

  “Kind of place you have to come more than once to see it all.”

  She dissolves into giggles again and I feel like Superman. I win.

  “Ok, ok, let’s do this.” She sits up, suddenly full of energy. I get a very nice view of her nipples, dark and pretty as berries. “I’m going to shower and then step out for a bit while you get dressed. I’ll come back with a surprise and a plan for where to go.”

  “Nothing touristy? Something fun?”

  “Sugar, I will take good care of you, never you mind.” She gives it a little Creole drawl as she says it. So hot.

  “Will there be food?” Despite my very delicious breakfast, I’m working up an appetite.

  “There is always food in New Orleans.”

  “I like your plan. With one exception.”

  She rolls her eyes, playing huffy. “Yes, Mr. Boss Man?”

  I pull her back down to me.

  “We shower together.”

  And we do. Though we get all kinds of dirty first.

  Out of the Quarter, through the city and out of town.

  Sara’s driving, a sporty little Crossover that we rented for the day. She talks while she drives. I try to pay attention, but I’m loving the contrast of her white sundress against her toned, tan thighs.

  “It’s not far past the city limits that you start to see the damage from Hurricane Katrina.”

  She’s right. Not as much of the rubble I remember from the pictures splashed on the news for the country to see, but not nearly recovered either. My development team scoped locations closer to town that seemed ready for development, but I wonder if they’ve been downplaying how far the city still has to go. The farther we drive, the signs of recovery look more meager.

  Then again, I suppose there’s opportunity in that, too.

  “Crazy that it’s taking this long to come back. It’s been over a decade.”

  “Time and money. Some of these places needed more love than money even before the storm. But it’s coming.”

  We never get on a freeway, just nose through some empty looking roads to a crumbling parish about five miles out of the city limits. It’s going to be a warm day when the afternoon sun hits, but we’ve still got some of the cool of the morning in the air and the windows down as Sara noses the Crossover through the little town center.

  The silence is comfortable as we drive, and I take advantage of the time to study her.

  After our shower, Sara disappeared for about an hour to make whatever arrangements she hinted at, including a new sundress so she didn’t have wear last night’s clothes. I made some calls to distract myself, fended off more messages from my assistant from the GNORR board. But I noticed Sara also took her phone with her and was dialing even before she left the room. I’m trying not to think about who she needed to call today to spend the day with me. We have a silent agreement not to talk about work or our lives. It still feels strange to consciously refrain from asking her questions. In the quiet moments I’m starting to want to ask her about herself, what she does, who she is. I want to know about her.

  Truth is, I’m afraid to ask because I suspect it’s a boyfriend. I don’t think it’s a husband—there’s no tan line from a missing ring on her finger—but she regularly checks her phone for messages. She’s not annoying about it. She’s certainly not a New Yorker about it, with the thing glued to her hand. But I feel her distraction before and after she glances at the screen. It’s fleeting, but there. I try to imagine the kind of guy she would be with and keep in the dark about a weekend fling. I don’t like that line of thought. At all. She’s so direct and matter-of-fact, she doesn’t seem like the type to lie or cheat. But then few people ever do.

  In the end it doesn’t really matter, I guess. This is just fun for both of us, right?

  Switch it up, Clark. Just have a good time.

  She slows the Crossover to a stop on the edge of a field. Scratch that, it’s almost a ditch, but it’s dotted with wildflowers and weeds. Across the weeded space, there’s a row of what look like abandoned warehouse buildings.

  “We’re here?” I look around the vehicle.

  “You are correct.”

  “Did I miss some kind of sign?”

  Sara grins behind her sunglasses. “You said off the beaten path. I’m going to show you something beautiful. And very New Orleans.”

  I open my side. Sara pops out of the car and walks behind the driver door to open the trunk. In it I see a cooler bag and a roll of rattan beach mats, the kind they sell in tourist shops at the beach.

  She immediately pulls out two bottles of water and hands me one. “Gonna get hot later. Hydrate.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I drawl for her and pass a hand over the back of her sundress.

  She throws her hip into me and shakes her head. “Carry the bag, you.”

  I help her lock up the car, and then we set out over the field. She seems headed through an opening between the buildings.

  “You know, when I said off the beaten path, I thought there was at least going to be a path.”

  “Don’t be such a city boy.”

  “Hey lady, I grew up in the Hudson Vall
ey in New York. I can take anything your cute little N’Awlins parish can throw at me.”

  “Did you?” Sara asks over her shoulder. “I love the mountains.”

  “South of Poughkeepsie.”

  “Really, that’s—” she stops herself, and I think she’s remembering our little game.

  To hell with the rules. “You ever been up there?”

  Sara presses her lips together and smiles. Then she says, “I went to school in New York.”

  “Really?” I’m immediately intrigued and I want to ask her questions, but we’ve just walked through the buildings into a sunny explosion of color.

  The old industrial structures are taller than they looked from a distance. We passed into a circle of the buildings, and the wide expanse is a makeshift amphitheater of high walls. Each wall from ground to roof is painted or covered over with bright, vivid art mosaics and murals. One entire building wall is a painted mural of a Mardi Gras parade. The floats and the people in the parade are life-sized—a green, purple and gold blur of bodies, feathers, masks and beads.

  The side of the building across from it is a tiled mosaic of a larger than life scene from a smoky jazz club, the foreground featuring a sultry blues singer up on the stage, all hips, lips and swelling notes, making love to a microphone.

  Still another scene is a pop art painting of a street in the Quarter, of children playing in water from a fire hydrant, old folks leaning against the balconies watching from a distance while a young couple kisses against a wall in an alley.

  “Oh my god,” is all I can think to say, spinning in a circle to take in each of the pieces. The tallest one is at least twelve feet high and the scene takes up the whole building. There are some sculptures coming out of some of the murals, made to look as though people are emerging from the flat scenes and walking into life.

  Sara folds out the rattan mats, four of them, and arranges them into a makeshift picnic pad in the center of the open space. She takes the bag from me and begins to lay out items while I walk along the high colorful walls and examine them. Some are painting straight on the cement. Others are made up of colorful tile and metal pieces.

  “So what is this place?”