Chapter 5

I stand in the corridor, speechless, but gasping.

A complete stranger has brought me to the verge of the most explosive orgasm ever and then stopped, shoving me out into this corridor to carry on cleaning hotel rooms. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

I stare at the closed door and want to shout the question at its blank surface, but if I was heard shouting in the hotel, I might lose my job. I could cry over the sheer letdown of what has just happened.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a hair tie, pinning my long red locks, still damp from the shower, back onto my head. I start to step towards my trolley, full of cloths and brushes and furniture polish, but as I move, I am brought to a sudden stop by the vibration of the egg, still whirring away inside me. I yelp and then clap a hand over my mouth in case anyone hears me.

The door opens again. He stands there, wearing an arrogant smile. "Still here, Elizabeth? I said to come back later. What time do you come off-shift?"

"Er, seven o'clock."

He nods. "Fine. I'll see you at five past seven. Don't be late. I'll be waiting for you." And he closes the door again.

I can't believe the gall of the man. Does he think I am going to come running, just because he asks and appears to expect it?

Then I admit the truth to myself. Yes, of course, I am going to come back. The man, whoever he is, is devastatingly handsome and has just played a game that brought me to the edge of a crashing climax.

Correction: is still playing a game.

I check my watch—five-thirty, an hour and a half still to go. Might as well get on with my work.

Walking awkwardly because of the egg buzzing away inside me, I push the trolley along to the lift. There are no other rooms on this floor. The penthouse suite stands alone. I wonder who he is, to be able to afford to stay here.

For the next hour and a half, I work in a bit of a daze. Fortunately, I have no real problems with any of the work, because were I to have to bend over, for example, the whole world would see that I'm not wearing any panties. He has those, discarded on his bathroom floor. The egg works sporadically, sometimes resting quiescent inside me, but then bringing me upright with a gasp as it suddenly vibrates to life. My pussy juices are running, working their way down my thighs.

Seven o'clock comes and I put my trolley back in the utility closet. I am wondering what excuse I can use for going back up to the penthouse, but as I pass reception, Ricardo calls me from the desk. "Hey, Beth. Penthouse wants a bottle of champagne. Can you take it up to him, please?"

Ricardo shouldn't have asked me to do it. There are other staff for room service, but I am not about to complain. The timing is perfect. I collect the champagne on ice, trying not to bend over as I push the bar cart along, and take the lift back to the top floor.

Suddenly nervous, I hesitate before tapping on the door, but almost before my knuckles touch the wood, the door opens, and he is there again. I glance up. Of course, there is a camera by the lift, he knows exactly who is outside his door.

He smiles a welcome. "Ah, Elizabeth, lovely to see you again. Do come in." He takes the champagne cart from me and I follow him inside. "I hope you don't mind or think me forward," he says, "But I've made a few preparations for you."

Preparations? I halt and then jerk as the egg buzzes inside me again. An hour and a half of it working inside me has left me almost limp with desire, and desperate for a real fuck.

He looks pleased with my reaction. "Ah, you do still have it inside you. Nice to know that you can follow instructions." He holds up a small box and jabs a button on it as I watch. The egg inside me jolts to life again, sending electric arousal up my spine. I yelp. "Good girl," he says. "That's what I like to see. Obedience."

Suddenly, he steps up close, circles an arm around my waist and brings his mouth to my ear. "Don't need the help now, though, do we? I just wanted to keep you on the simmer until you came back."

His free hand strokes my cheek, slides down over a breast, cupping and squeezing briefly, and then continues its way down to the hem of my too-short skirt and under. I am unbelievably aroused. Beginning to pant again, I can only ask myself how a stranger can be doing this to me, as his fingers journey up and in, stroke past my clit and up into my swollen pussy. He flicks out the egg and tosses it onto a side table.

"Go have a shower again, Elizabeth," he says. "You're hot and uncomfortable from working. I want you relaxed."

Even in my inflamed condition, I must admit that this is a good idea. I nod and walk to the bathroom.