...How they made it up to the seventh floor still fully dressed and sane, Paige could not fathom. Once in the elevator, they had embarked on a manic sequel to their encounter on the dance floor. Vince's hands continued their frantic exploration of her writhing body, and she clawed at his torso, gripped his buttocks, palmed his groin, while their mouths never broke delicious contact. When the elevator "dinged" and the door swooshed open, Vince snatched her wrist and whisked her down the hallway, his chest heaving in desperate desire that mirrored her own.

Their mouths again merged in animalistic hunger when he paused before Room 716. Paige yanked the bottom of his shirt out from under his waistband, while he tapped the pockets of his blazer, obviously hunting for the electronic key that would open the door and allow them access into a private world where they could finally attain the carnal bliss they craved.

He cursed against her lips and began to burrow in the front pockets of his jeans—a difficult task, Paige imagined, considering the gigantic bulge at his crotch that prevented him from digging too deeply. She, however, saved the day when she slid her fingers into one of his back pockets and yanked out the credit-card-shaped object. All the time she had spent kneading his shapely ass in the elevator had not gone unrewarded.

Vince crammed the key into the mechanism, and the lock clicked. With his foot, he pushed open the door, then actually scooped Paige into his arms and carried her over the threshold, his lips again locking with hers. Through the sound of their wedded groans, Paige heard the muffled clunks of her purse and high-heeled pumps, hitting the floor in quick succession. Vince kicked off his own shoes before settling her on the edge of the king-sized mattress.

Paige barely took note of the dimly lit room, her thoughts so consumed with the man standing over her and panting. As Vince shrugged off his blazer, Paige lifted his shirt, exposing his perfectly chiseled six-pack abs to her voracious mouth. She plunged her tongue into his navel, then painted the fur surrounding it with her saliva. Nibbling and sucking at his flesh, she relished the taste of him, following the trail of hair that led down from his belly button before disappearing into his waistband.

Meanwhile, her hands roamed upward, her fingers delving into the jungle of chest hair she had longed to explore. He yanked the shirt over his head, finally exhibiting his full torso to her. Eyeing the sublime expanse of muscles, sinew, and flesh that quivered beneath her fingertips, she twirled the crinkly yet silky hair on his breastbone, while her palms ground against his bronze-colored, quarter-sized nipples, already peaked and hard.

She pressed her lips against the mound in his jeans, feeling its solidity and its heat even through the cotton material. His groans met her ears like the sweetest music, a symphony that encouraged her to continue her play, though she truly needed no encouragement. From the moment of their first kiss, she knew she would do anything this man requested, act a slave to his every sexual desire, yet she had her own primal cravings screaming for satiation as well.

Vince started to fumble with his belt buckle.

"No," she protested, resting her hands over his and feeling his tremble. She wanted to undress him just like she had a thousand times in her fantasies. And if her unhurried indulgence drove him even wilder with lust, so much the better...