The Hotel 3 (The Billionaire Seduction) (9 page)

At least tonight, anyway.

I’ve spent almost the entire day working out, and though
there’s a dull ache flowing through my body, there’s also
that tingle of electricity I get whenever I stand still for too long.
A twinge in my muscles that makes me want to move, to find some
action. Luckily I know all the right places to find it.

I step out of the shower and towel myself off as I walk into the
bedroom, grabbing the beer I left on the desk and downing all of it.
It’ll take a lot more than beer to cool off the energy that’s
gathering momentum inside of me though. There’s a song with a
slow beat and a growling guitar playing, and the dusty light of a
dying LA sun highlighting parts of my room through the blinds. I grab
my phone as I settle on the edge of the bed and spin through the
contacts.

I pause before hitting dial on a friend. I could dress sharp and head
out to the bars of Los Angeles, get plenty drunk, and see where my
instincts lead me – most likely my place or hers – but
that’s not what I want tonight. I love the thrill of the chase,
but I’m ready for action right now.

Then there’s ‘Hot Ass,’ ‘Kinky Blonde,’
‘Finger Sucker,’ ‘Leggy Redhead,’ and all the
other girls with talents memorable enough to give them a special
place in my contacts, but even that won’t cut it.

Tonight I want something dirty. Something new. Something a little
dangerous. My body’s thirsting for a new taste.

I walk through the long hallway and down the staircase that runs to
the gigantic den of the mansion, big and empty but for the expensive
toys and random beer bottles lying around. I open the BootyCall app
on my phone and it presents me with a big green button, the word
‘chat’ written across it like a big understatement. I
swipe it with my thumb and hold the phone to my ear.

“Hey,” comes a dark, husky voice on the other end. Now
this is more like it. I pour myself some of the whiskey I keep on the
coffee table and stretch out on the couch.

“Hello there.”

“So. What you looking for?” she says, making it clear
what she’s looking for herself.

“I’m not sure. But I’ll know when I find it.”

She laughs, and it sounds like she’s making love to the phone.

“I like your accent,” she says. “Where you from?”

“I’m Irish.”

“Ooh,” she coos appreciatively. “You got money?”

It’s not my favorite question, but hey, this is Hollywood after
all. If I didn’t fuck girls who said stuff like this I’d
be a monk here.

“Yeah,” I say, smiling, “I’m fucking loaded.
You got a nice rack? Since we’re asking personal questions and
all.”

“Thirty-four double-dees. As good as money can buy.”

Again, it’s a weird turn of phrase, but I’ve heard worse.

“So what are you offering?” I ask.

She laughs a little, and I can hear her tongue rolling around her
lips as she does so. The combination of a husky voice and my
imagination is pretty cock-pulling, and I’m pressing the cold
whiskey glass against my boxers to keep my dick from bursting out
like something in a monster movie.

“I’m offering a whole night of the dirtiest, nastiest
stuff you could ever imagine,” she says, breathing into each
word like her body’s so hot even she can’t handle it. My
imagination is running wild. “We can do it slow…or we
can do it fast…I’ll be like hot chocolate in your
mouth…”

“How can I refuse…”

“…for only three grand.”

A cold shower could not have crippled my hard-on more. “What?!
Are you fucking kidding me?”

Her voice is all innocence now. “What’s the matter,
honey?”

“I thought this was a hook-up app, not a hooker app.”
That’s one thing I don’t do.

She giggles. “It’s worth it, sugar. If I like you, I’ll
even give you a discount.”

“Yeah, thanks, but no thanks. Paying for sex kinda kills it for
me, you know? Good luck.”

I cancel the call and let it show me the big ‘chat’
button again. I take a healthy swig of the whiskey in my glass and
decide to give it one more go.

I push the big button, bringing the phone to my ear. Someone picks up
on the other end, but for a few moments all I hear is silence.

“Hello?” I say. Another quiet beat. I’m about to
hang up when—

“Um…hello?”

The voice sounds quiet, feminine, definitely over the age of consent,
and too nervous to be a hooker. So far so good.

“Well hello there.” It’s not my best line, but her
hesitation tells me she’s new at using the app, which means
I’ll have to take it slow so she doesn’t hang up before
the fun even gets started.

“Hi,” she finally replies back. There’s an awkward
silence.

Wow, we’re off to a great start.

“So…” I say, trying to sound friendly. “What’s
your sign?”

She laughs, and it sounds nice. Genuine, soft, real – the kind
of laugh that you don’t get in Hollywood too often. I laugh a
bit too.

“Truthfully?” she says. “I’m…a
Scorpio.”

“Oh
really
,” I reply, drawing out the word,
insinuating this actually means something.

“Why does everyone always say it like that? I don’t even
know what it means! It’s the sign of revenge, right? And
jealousy? But that’s not me at all.”

“It’s also the sign of sex, death, and reinvention,”
I tell her. “You know, like rising from the ashes. Big emphasis
on the sex part, as it were.”

“Oh.” She giggles nervously, and I can practically hear
her blushing over the phone. “That explains a lot, I guess.”

“Does it, now?” I’m intrigued. “Explain it to
me. I’m all ears.”

She huffs out a breath, exasperated. “That’s not what I
meant! I meant, it explains why people assume things about me, not
that I’m some kind of nympho or something. I mean, it’s
garbage, right? Nobody really believes in this stuff.” She
laughs again, and I can feel the warmth in it. Or maybe it’s
the drink, because at this point I’ve lost track of how many in
I am.

“How very sensible of you,”
I say.

“I don’t know if I’m sensible. I mean, I’m
talking to a stranger on a booty-call app.”

“Booty-call app? I thought this was for ordering pizza.”

She giggles again, letting her nerves out, and something about it
makes me smile.

“Sorry, this is my first time using this. Have you done this
before?” she asks.

“What? Spoken to a woman with an incredibly cute laugh? Sure.
Not that often, though.”

“Haha! Very charming. But I meant used this app.”

“A couple of times,” I say, figuring the white lie will
help increase her comfort level. “You? Any internet dating,
or—?”

“Never. It’s not really my…thing. I guess you’d
say. This is pretty out of character for me.”

“Oh yeah?” There’s just something so undeniably
appealing about breaking in an uninitiated new booty-caller, I’m
happy to listen to her talk about her lack of experience.

“Yeah. I just saw something about it on TV and figured I’d
give it a shot.”

“People still watch TV?” I tease.

“Haha! Yeah…I dunno. It was kinda like…fate. The
timing was just a little too…perfect.” She sighs.
There’s clearly something upsetting her, and although normally
I’d do a 180 at the first sign of baggage in a woman, right now
it’s nice to know I’m not the only one having a rough
time.

“So signs are garbage, but fate is a thing?”

“Haha, I know. I’m a mess.” She tries to laugh
again, but I hear a tremor in her voice.

“Maybe. Aren’t we all?”

“I don’t know. You sound like you’ve got it all
figured out.”

“Believe me, I really don’t.” For some reason,
being honest with her is coming to me easily. Partly it’s the
whiskey, but she’s just shown me her vulnerability, too.
Normally I’d put on my game face and flirt my way past anything
heavy, but with the anonymity of this app I can actually just
be…myself.

“Oh yeah?” Her voice is genuinely curious, coaxing more
out of me. And I realize: I want to tell her more. Some part of me
needs this.

“Yeah. Right now I’m all alone in a house that’s
bigger than the neighborhood I grew up in, I’ve drunk an entire
bottle of whiskey since I got up this morning, and if this booty-call
app thing doesn’t work out, all that’s left for me to do
is hit the gym for the sixth time today.”

“You still sound better off than me,” she says.
“My roommate just kicked me out and I had to move into a studio
apartment that’s about the size of my parents’ bathroom,
I’m drinking something that’s supposed to be alcohol but
which I’m sure is some kind of tractor fuel, and I don’t
even know if I’ll have a job to go in to tomorrow. So…yeah.”
Her voice catches on this last line, and then I hear her sniffle and
take a sip of something.

“Sounds rough,” I say, meaning it. “But things
could be worse.”

“How?”

“You could have been connected with somebody else, for one.
Rather than this charming drunk Irishman with an absolutely
out-of-this-world six pack that you’ll just have to take my
word about, unless you’d care to see it for yourself.”

She laughs, and I can hear a rustling as she adjusts herself. The
nerves are gone.

“Confident, aren’t you?” she says, a little
sultriness entering her voice.

“You’ve got to be,
in my line of work.”

“And what is that?” she asks.

Shit. If I blow my cover, the fun is over. Sure, being a celebrity
has its perks, but I want to keep my anonymity intact. I just want to
be a regular guy talking to a regular girl – a girl who’s
turned on by the person I am, not the person she thinks I’m
supposed to be.

“Um…animated chicken?” I blurt.

“Ha! Right. Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

I relax and don’t speak, letting the silence gather some
weight. I listen to her breathing, until she breaks it.

“So you’re Irish, you said?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought this app was supposed to connect with local people?”

“Well, I’m in
LA. They haven’t banned us from America. Not yet, anyway.”

She laughs again. “Sorry.”

“I can do an American accent, if it makes you more
comfortable.”

“Ok. Sure.”

I put on my worst Southern impression.

“Gurns. Jayzus. Cowbuwoys.”

“Enough!” she says, laughing. “Now
I’m
the one who’s offended.”

“Welcome to my world.”

This time she’s the one who leaves the silence, and the tension
that rises in it is starting to get me going. I’ve been trying
to have a proper conversation with people all day and ended up
feeling like a chump for it, but this girl has me feeling like I
could spend the whole night just listening to her laugh. My mind
races trying to put a face to that voice.

I don’t even realize it, but my hand is on my cock, massaging
the increasing stiffness that’s responding to this girl’s
voice even faster than my brain.

“I…oh Christ…I probably shouldn’t say
this…” she says, after a while.

“Say it,” I say, softly.

“I…just got out of a relationship. I don’t know
what I’m doing…”

“Why did you break up?”

She pauses, debating whether to reveal the reason. “He cheated
on me.”

“Ouch.”

“With my roommate, my best friend – well, ex-best
friend.” Her breath hitches.

“Fucking hell,” I say. “That’s cold.”

“Hence the lavish new apartment with a dripping sink you can
probably hear in the background.”

“I thought that was you.”

She’s silent.

“Sorry, crass joke.” So much for trying to lighten the
mood.

“No. I liked it. I’m smiling.”

“Good, ‘cause if that offends you then we may as well end
the conversation now. It only gets dirtier.”

“Does it now?”

“It does if I have anything to do with it.” I set my
empty glass on the table and exhale, slow and deep.

The breathing on the phone gets louder.

“Tell me what you look like,” I say, my voice low, as if
I’m whispering into her ear.

“What do you want to know?” she says, her words getting
drawn out by her fluttering exhalations.

I swallow. My hand goes to my crotch. I’m already way too hard
to be wearing boxers still, but I wanna take this slow. And I don’t
want to scare her off either.

“What color are your eyes?”

A pause. “Blue. My turn.”

“Green,” I say. “And how tall are you?”

“Five six. You?”

“Six two.”

I listen to her breathe for a moment more and then take the plunge,
keeping my voice strong and steady to keep her in the game.

“Tell me what you’re wearing.” I’m not
asking— this is a demand. But one that’s as respectful as
I can make it sound. Because right now she can either hang up on this
call or stay on the line and see just how far we can take each other.
I wait.

She’s got the phone so close to her mouth I can hear the gentle
wetness of her lips as they part, the soft smack of her tongue in her
mouth. I can almost visualize her red lips, open and round as she
struggles to control her breathing.

“I’m wearing…a pink tank top…”

“How’s it fit?” I prompt her.

“Um. It’s tight…”

“Anything underneath?”

“No bra.”

“Good girl,” I say, and I hear her hiss a little.

“Touch your tits, and tell me how they feel. Go easy.”

“They’re…” She shifts the phone, and my mind
goes crazy imagining what she’s doing to herself. “Big,
but not too big. A little bigger than a handful…”

“Slowly…”

“The skin is real soft…smooth…just firm enough
that they’ve got a good shape, just soft enough for you to have
fun playing with them…” She stops to giggle nervously.
“Am I doing this right?”

“Shh. Touch your nipples…roll your finger around
them…squeeze them…” I hear her inhale sharply.

“Holy shit…” she murmurs. Her arousal is like a
lightning bolt to my cock.

“What else are you wearing?” I go on.