Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“Or you can pack a bag and leave stuff here?” he says, and I smile at him. “Just a thought.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” I tell him as the hot water pours around me. “You can look all you want, Markos, but your cock is on hiatus until Monday.”
“That’s three days.” He gasps, then shrugs. “We can do other things.”
“Yeah, like what?” I ask him, almost glaring.
“Better if I show you.” He winks at me, and I suddenly want to stay in today and make him show me.
Chapter Eighteen
Mark
“I’m pulling up right now, Vivienne,” I say into the phone. “Do you want me to come up and help you?”
“No,” she says, out of breath. “I’m in the lobby.” I get out of the truck and look at her walking toward me. Her smile is huge when she sees me. She’s wearing jeans and a white shirt with a cream-colored jacket that goes to her knees and the same colored heels on her feet. Her black hair loose with a gray hat on. Her purse in one hand, her phone in the other, and the bellhop wheeling her Louis luggage to me. He puts it in the trunk next to my own luggage, and she is already in the truck. I get inside and lean over to give her a kiss. For the past two weeks, we’ve been with each other every single night. We usually just stay at my place, and I drive her home in the morning.
“Morning. You look handsome,” she says, looking at my blue jeans and white polo. I put my aviators back on and take off toward the private airstrip. I park the car and get the luggage out. The plane is waiting, so we board as soon as we check in.
She stands in front of me, taking off her jacket. “You should have worn the skirt,” I tell her, grabbing her ass, and she looks around. “Mile high club.”
“I didn’t know that was an option?” She winks at me. “There is always the flight back home.”
I clap my hands together. “Now we’re talking.”
“Welcome back, Mr. Dimitris,” the blonde flight attendant says with a smile. “We will be leaving as soon as you’re seated.”
The flight takes three hours, and we spend it sitting on the couch going over the things she wants to do while we are there. We step off the plane, and the mugginess hits us right away. “Well, I don’t need this jacket.” She folds the jacket over her arm. I let her step off first, and there is a car waiting for us. She slides into the back seat and waits for me. “Will you tell me where we are staying now?” she asks, turning her body toward me. I’ve kept pretty much the whole trip a surprise to her.
“I was going to rent us a house, but then I decided to stay in the French quarter.” I grab her hand and bring it to my lips. “We are staying at the Ritz-Carlton.”
Her eyes light up with a smile. “It really doesn’t matter where we stay.” She looks outside and then turns back. “But, just for the record, I approve.”
I shake my head and laugh, looking out the window as the car takes us to the hotel, and when we pull up to the front door, someone is there to open the car door for us. I watch her get out and then I get out on my own side. Walking around the car, I look around, and a man comes out in a Ritz-Carlton uniform. “Mr. Dimitris, welcome,” he says, coming to me and shaking my hand. “It’s an honor to have you.”
“Thank you,” I say, shaking his hand.
“Right this way. Your suite is waiting,” he says, turning around, and I hold out my hand to gesture Vivienne ahead, then put my hand on the small of her back. He takes us into the marble lobby and straight to a private elevator. “This is exclusive for you during your stay.” He turns and puts his key in, and it takes us straight to our floor. We walk out, following him, and he takes us to the end of the hall. “Welcome to the Ritz-Carlton suite,” he says, opening both doors. He gives us tour of the room, and I look over at Vivienne who doesn’t say anything. He leaves us on the outside terrace with a view of New Orleans and the sound of a saxophone off in the distance. I walk to the concrete railing and look down at Bourbon Street, turning to see her sitting on the outside couch.
Her shoes already off, she’s tossed her hat on the table right next to the champagne she’s already drinking. “Santé,” she says, holding her glass up and taking a sip. “We definitely have to have sex out here.”