Poor Little Rich Kids: Stealing Back Our Inheritance (A Taboo Erotic Romance)

Chapter 8

When I finally got back to the motel, a subway hotdog in my belly and just enough fare to make it to JFK this afternoon jingling around in my khakis, I stood on the second floor landing patting down my pockets for a few seconds before I remembered that I'd left my room key with Tyler. I knocked on the door.

"Eva? It's me."

When she opened the door, her hair was tied up in a towel and she was wearing one of the thin cotton robes that hung limply in the motel room closet. I could see the outline of her figure, her nipples standing up when the chill air blew over the threshold along with me.

"You took a shower?" I asked, shutting the door behind me as I came into the room. "I really don't think a kidnapper would let you shower."

"I ironed my dress, too," she said, pointing to it still stretched over the end of the small ironing board mounted to the wall outside the bathroom. "I suppose you have a problem with it?"

"That's great. I guess Martha Stewart must be your captor," I said, rolling my eyes at her in a way that conveyed more playfulness than real anger. With the frantic way Dean was scurrying around his house when I left, trying to get all his ducks in a line, I didn't think that these details would come to bear, but Eva wasn't exactly in the hostage mentality that I needed her in when her father came through that door in a couple of hours.

I imagined that would change once she'd had the ropes around her wrists and she'd been kneeling alone on the crusty gray carpet for an hour or so, and I felt a twinge of pity for her. I needed her to be convincing, but I hated the idea of torturing her for it.

"Well, how did it go?" she asked, taking her hair down and vigorously rubbing it dry with the towel. The way she was moving, her whole upper body shimmied with the motion of her hands and the thin fabric of the robe threatened to slide open at any moment. I could already see quite a bit of her thigh peeking through the opening at the bottom of the robe, inching higher and higher with each movement, and if we were going to pull all this off I couldn't get distracted by my desire for her.

If this worked, then by eight o'clock tonight we'd be flush with cash and I would be raining hundred dollar bills down on Eva as she laid on a much, much nicer bed. Maybe then I could revisit the idea of disrobing her, but not now when there was work to do.

"It went as planned," I said, then I checked my Rolex. Thanks to the creepingly slow pace of public transportation in the city, to which I was not accustomed, it was already half past four by the time I got back to the motel room. If I intended to be at the airport in time to oversee the trade off, I'd need to leave again very soon.

I went into the bathroom and found a dingy white towel hanging on the cheap chrome towel rack over the toilet, then brought it back into the bedroom, where Eva was just slipping her dress back over her head.

"Zip me up," she said, coming over to me and then turning around.

I threw the towel over my shoulder and obliged, biting my lip to keep myself from touching her anywhere except the zipper on her dress. I don't think I was imagining the way she arched her back so that her perfectly round ass became even more pronounced beneath the thin, silky fabric of her dress.

As soon as I was done, I turned away from her and started ripping the towel into ribbons of terry cloth. I didn't have the time or the money to acquire something more appropriate to tie her up with, and even though it seemed highly unlikely that a band of kidnappers would have the foresight to choose an unidentifiable vehicle and also iron the dress of their hostage but stop short of purchasing appropriate restraints, there wasn't much I could do about it now. When I was done creating my makeshift ropes, I announced, "It's time."