Blake was far from an attentive lover. In fact, he was quite the opposite. Jenny lay against his shoulder, her thoughts betraying her disappointment. She rubbed against his leg, trying to elicit a reaction, but Blake remained unresponsive, as if that devouring kiss mere moments ago hadn’t been his doing at all.

If she'd managed to slip away earlier, she’d be luxuriating in her own bathtub right now, rather than teetering in this agonizing limbo courtesy of her frustratingly indifferent lover. But no, Blake hadn’t had enough even after kissing her through the car window. Once she was buckled in beside him, he pulled her back into another fervent embrace.

"I suppose you didn’t want to leave," he remarked gruffly, his breath heavy, lips still grazing hers.

"And if I did?" she retorted, a challenge in her eyes.

But it was clear neither of them was going anywhere. They found themselves again at a hotel they frequented so often that the receptionist knew to reserve their usual room, offering a professional smile that was tinged with familiarity. 

Jenny considered inviting Blake to her home next time, but dismissed the idea as quickly as it entered her mind. Ridiculous.

Blake trailed behind her, close but not intrusively so. As she slid the key card into the door’s slot, his hand covered hers, and the card slipped to the carpeted floor. The air was thick, near stifling, as his warm breath danced against her ear.

He was cold emotionally, but physically, he radiated warmth; his hands, his chest—both scorching hot. When he gripped her waist, she instinctively tensed, only to melt back into him.

Blake’s grip tightened with an insistence that bowed her back against the wall, instinctively causing her to arch as her breathing hitched. She couldn’t suppress a soft, barely audible moan, laced with a delicate nasal undertone that was undeniably enticing.

His right hand snaked beneath her dress, unabated by any barrier, and claimed the fullness of her hips. He paused, savoring the moment, before squeezing her flesh, whispering against her ear, "You weren’t planning for this, yet you wore a thong?"

His voice was low and sensual, curling around her senses. Inwardly cursing him, Jenny kept her voice steady. "This tight dress demanded it."

Blake responded with an indifferent hum, tracing the slender fabric from her hips to the apex, teasing its way around sensitive areas, provoking shivers and soft sighs.

"Please, deeper," she pleaded softly.

"Too wet," he murmured, deaf to her invitation, continuing with deliberate strokes.

"It’s been a while," she admitted, her lips curling as she heard his dismissive chuckle.

"Yeah," he agreed, shifting behind her, fingers teasing, tantalizing—until, suddenly, he delved inside, fingers thrusting deep. Grasping her chin, he turned her to him, his mouth claiming her shivers and gasps.

The intensity of his fingers stabbed through tangles of desire, stoking a fire she'd hoped to douse. As his tempo increased, it became harder to contain the cries that now freely spilled from her lips. 

Blake knew every sensitive spot she had; Jenny trembled with pleasure, but just as the climax loomed, he wrenched his fingers away, leaving her suspended, panting—and the lights flicked on.

Caught in a glare, blinking against the sudden brightness, Jenny barely registered Blake strolling further into the room, shedding his tie, his eyes flickering back to hers. "Shower first."

His casual nonchalance sparked anger; she seethed inwardly, fantasizing about tossing money in his face if he were merely a paid escort, berating him for lack of dedication.

But Blake wasn’t for hire, nor did he want for anything. They’d been equals in this dalliance from the start.

Jenny followed him, seizing the moment when his guard was down, pulling and pushing him onto the sofa, dominance forgotten. 

When her claws came out, Blake offered no resistance, reclining on the couch cushion, letting her climb atop him. Her earlier frustration faded under his unyielding gaze.

Stiffening with resolve, she positioned herself above him, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, her hands gliding over his defined muscles. The intimate caress soon had her melting against him, moving languorously in a rhythm created solely for her own gratification.

She hadn’t rocked long before his palm landed firmly on her backside.

"You’ve soaked through your pants."