Pain And Pleasure 18+✓

Seven

My hands unclasp the blindfold unceremoniously. At last, I'm free. Automatically my eyes squint at the assaulting light, the worst combination with the fog of stillness resulting from several minutes of total darkness. I quest to regain my clear sight, and slowly everything streams into view until I can once again behold the entire bedroom to my liking.

Scanning around, I gather he's no longer here. He's left already, but how far could he have gone?

No, he can't leave like this! I breeze out of bed, hopefully believing I can still catch up with him.

"Shit!" I grunt when my one heel comes loose. Limping a bit, I squeeze my foot back into the chasm and regain my stable stance.

The living room holds nothing but his scent. Yes, he can't be far. My feet don't seem to fail my instincts as I grab the door handle and make my exit. He has to be around, deep inside I keep chanting. However, the hallway I come across is a big disappointment in my endeavor.

Deeply bathed by smooth silvery-blue LED lights from the exquisite false ceiling above, the hallway is silent, to say the least. Only the doors to the sides are what I see, the hotel rooms, but at the far end that's leading to the elevator lounge, I grasp a shadow of a man taking a left turn.

Is it him? My heels click loudly against the marble floor as I hurry in the respective direction. I know he deliberately doesn't want me to see him, so by defying him, I'm I looking for trouble? Maybe yes, but I find myself caring so little as my desire to unmask him surpasses my patience and obedience.

The moment I reach the elevator, it's already descending.

"Fuck!" I groan loudly, frustrated. A young couple glares at me and my bad manners as they wait for the next elevator ride. "Sorry," I mutter, sarcasm lacing my voice.

I take a deep breath, accepting my big failure. The building has at least seventy floors—how do I even begin dashing out through the stairs? The idea is hilarious, and damn my distaste for cardio.

When I return to the room I feel physically tired and mentally beat. My back rests against the door, meditating on my surroundings for another unpleasant time. I can still smell him, and in my hand, I'm still holding the blindfold.

Kinky bastard!

A ridiculous laugh becomes my companion. What am I doing with this guy? Or better yet, what is he doing to me? He made me come all the way here for nothing, after all. Should I be happy or not? Strangely I find no satisfaction in this.

I spend a monument of time seated absentmindedly. A great window is right beside me, my head hung low onto the edge of the comfy backrest of the couch. My eyes are transfixed by the Vegas skyline—so shiny and beautiful—and I don't want to move an inch.

"Adrian Castle," I mutter his name that slides off my tongue quite easily. My eyes shut when I recall his hands on my body and his lips on my skin. His moves were erotic, ever-sensual and I suddenly feel a shudder at the back of my neck. "No, quit thinking of him, Arabella." I finally shift my posture and at the same time my mobile buzzes.

Mr. Castle. I watch the scream beaming, my finger reluctant to touch it. But eventually, I do it, right on time before the call ends. He's got some magic for sure.

"Hello," I whisper.

"Miss Lincoln, if you're planning on going back home then make sure you call the driver to take you," he says, not wasting any second of his precious time roaming around the bush.

Always demanding. I smirk.

"I don't need a driver. I can go home on my own," I come back defiantly, a nympho part of me still begrudging over his decision to leave me like this.