Wrong Room, Wet, and Fucked (Part 1)

Kylie's POV 

What the heck was my best bitch, Kassy expecting me to keep up with since Donald dumped me, if not partying, drink myself to stupor, use my goddamn sex toys, eat, and sleep?

And that was exactly what I’d been doing. I’d just downed four shots of martini without even realizing it and decided to leave before it got me sleeping on a barstool again, just like last time.

“Card.” I burped shamelessly, shooting the receptionist a stabbing glare as I stumbled into the De Crez Hotel, where I’d been lodging for three days before checking out to have fun.

“Hey, ma’am, sorry, but could you remind me of your—”

“Shut the fuck up and give me the card!”

“I understand, but we have too many customers and—”

I slammed my palm against the polished marble counter, cutting her off with a flinch. The sharp crack echoed beneath the crystal chandeliers, drawing a few startled glances from the quiet lobby.

“Fine! Room twenty-fourteen!” I yelled, louder than I intended, my words slurring around the edges from the third martini and whatever else the bar had poured me. “Not twenty-forty. Not twenty-whatever. Twenty. Fourteen. Look at the card again.”

The night receptionist, a young woman with a too-perfect smile, kept her tone carefully even. “Ma’am, the system shows your reservation is for twenty-forty. The keycard was coded correctly. If you’d like, I can -”

“I know what room I booked.” I leaned closer, my long hair sliding over one shoulder as the short black dress I’d worn to the bar rode higher on my thighs. The air-conditioning kissed my bare legs, making me shiver, though the alcohol kept most of the chill at bay. 

“I’ve been in this hotel for three days. I’ve stayed in that room every night. Don’t tell me the system is right when I’m the one who has to sleep there.”

A few late guests glanced over, but I didn’t care. Loneliness had been my constant companion since the breakup, and tonight, it had decided to get drunk and argumentative. How pathetic.

The receptionist slid a new keycard across the counters with a practiced smile.

“I’ve re-issued it for twenty-fourteen, just to be certain. Floor twenty. The elevators are to your left. Is there anything else I can—”

“Lick my ass.” I cursed, snatching the card, and spun on my heels. 

The lobby tilted for a second, but I caught myself on a column, straightened, and made for the elevators with as much dignity as a woman in heels and too much vodka could manage.

The ride up felt longer than it should have. My reflection in the mirrored wall looked flushed, my eyes slightly glassy, my lipstick a little smudged. I touched the corner of my mouth and smirked despite myself.

When the doors opened on the twentieth floor, I stepped out, swaying slightly as I made my way down the hallway. I passed 2008, 2010, 2012.., my steps growing slower as the numbers climbed. 

2014. 

I stopped in front of the door. The brass numbers gleamed beneath the soft hallway lights. For a second, I almost turned back. Maybe I’d gotten the room number wrong downstairs. I should go back and ask.

Instead, I slid the card into the slot. A tiny green light flashed, and the lock clicked. 

I pushed the door open and stumbled into the room, dimly lit, only by the blue-white glow of a phone screen propped against a pillow. The sound hit me first—wet, rhythmic, explicit moans and the slap of skin on skin pouring from the speakers at full volume. Fuck, my nipples hardened. Then my eyes adjusted.

A man stood at the foot of the bed, completely naked, water still beading on his shoulders and chest as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. Tall. Broad. Short black hair damp and pushed back from a sharp jaw. His free hand moved slowly along the thick length of his cock, stroking with deliberate, unhurried pulls while he watched the video. He didn’t look up right away.

I froze in the doorway, bag slipping from my fingers to the carpet with a soft thud.

“I'm… I'm sorry,” I burped. "Wrong Room." 

His head snapped to me, deep blue eyes locking on mine. No smile. No surprise, just a flat, assessing calm that somehow made the situation worse.

He crossed the space in two long strides. One hand reached past me, caught the edge of the door, and shut it firmly. The lock snicked into place.

“You can’t invade my privacy,” he said, voice low and even, “and expect to walk away.”

My mouth opened, but no words came. The alcohol that had made me bold downstairs had suddenly left me tongue-tied. He was still hard, the evidence of what he’d been doing impossible to ignore. My clit pulsed, heat rushed to my face, my heart racing as I stared down at his rock hard cock.

His hand caught my face and his mouth claimed mine before I could form a protest or apology.

The kiss was hard and hungry, with nothing gentle about it. 

I gasped against his lips, and the sound only seemed to encourage him. One large hand slid into my hair, tilting my head, while the other slipped beneath the hem of my short dress and pushed it up without hesitation.

His fingers hooked into the sides of my underwear and dragged them down. The lace caught at my knees for a second before he shoved it lower. When his hand returned between my legs he found me already slick.

“Fuck.." A soft, involuntary moan slipped out of me.

He broke the kiss just long enough to look at my face, blue eyes dark with lust. Then he lifted one of my legs, hooked it over his arm, and positioned himself firmly. The broad head of his cock pressed against my wet cunt. I had a single heartbeat to register how thick and big he felt before he pushed in with one hard, relentless thrust.

“Ohh my fucking god!" I

cried out, the sound muffled against his shoulder as my back hit the door.