Lust. || BEYNIKA

L|Chapter TWENTY-one.

Onika Cookie Maraj.

THE penthouse suite is amazing, not that I expect anything less. It encompasses nearly the entire top floor of the hotel, is larger than my apartment, and has three bedrooms, which reassures me. There will be no sleeping in Beyoncé's bed tonight.

No matter how much I'm tempted.

I've stayed in more than a few Knowles Hotels over the years, considering the Knowles family comped my family all our rooms when we travelled, and I've never been disappointed. But I've never had any reason to stay at the Knowles in downtown San Francisco. It's my hometown, after all.

"You like it?" Beyoncé shuts the door and strides toward me, her voice full of pride. Despite the burden the family business has put on her her entire life, and specifically today, I know she's still proud of Knowles, as she should be.

"The view is amazing." I approach the windows, staring out at the glittering view of the city before me. The moon breaks over the fog, shining its silvery light on the bay, and I withhold the sigh of longing that's desperate to escape me.

The beautiful suite, this gorgeous night... is made for lovers. I yearn for that to be true, no matter how bad I know Beyoncé is for me.

But Beyoncé knows she needs to keep her distance. It's the only way I can stay sane.

God, how stupid could I be, pushing her away when I want her more than anything?

"I stay here whenever I come to the city. Better than staying at my parents', that's for sure." The bitterness in her voice is no surprise. She doesn't get along with her parents; she never has. Not that I blame her. Her father treats her terribly. Their fractured relationship has always broken my heart.

She comes up behind me. I catch her reflection in the window and I hold my breath, marveling at how we look together. She towers over me, her dark honey hair mussed, her expression strained. As if she's as tense as I feel.

I can imagine her hand sliding down my back, pushing gently so I have no choice but to bend forward. Hearing her dark, sexy voice commanding me to brace my hands on the shockingly cool glass. Her skilled fingers would settle on my hips, slowly gathering the fabric of my dress so she could touch my bare skin beneath. Those assured fingers would slip beneath my thin panties to find me already soaking wet for her...

Lust surges through me and I stiffen my shoulders. God, I'm a wreck. She stands too close and I'm imagining how she'll take me right here, in front of a window for everyone to see.

"There is no 'us' in this room tonight, Beyoncé," I say, my voice firm. No matter how much I want it to be true, I have to hold strong. The woman is dangerous to my well-being. I want to smack myself for even contemplating going along with her stupid plan. I am so weak when it comes to her, it's pitiful.

"Well, that's unfortunate," she drawls, and I want to punch her.

God, I'm starving, and that's what's making me extra irritable. We left the restaurant before our dinners arrived, though Beyoncé said she'd paid for them when she came out of Spruce. She called in room service from the car moments before we arrived at the hotel, ordering an enormous amount of food I would normally never eat. An assortment of appetizers, fried this and that, and I swear she even mentioned a pizza.

My stomach growls at the thought of pizza.

"Hungry?" She raises an eyebrow and I look away from her, embarrassed. Not that I'd ever admit to her I'm actually starved. Women don't eat, not in front of perfect women like Beyoncé. We might nibble on a leaf of lettuce and drink copious amounts of water to purge any sort of bloating.

"The food is on its way and it shouldn't take long," she reassures when I don't say anything. "Don't worry."

I offer a jerky nod, thankful to change the subject. "Great. I'm starving." I'm also a liar. I can't eat around him. My stomach is tied up in knots just having her so close.

"Do you want to back out?" she suddenly asks, shocking me.

What brought that on?

No, I want to scream. What I want is to throw myself into her arms and beg her to kiss me. Feel those warm, soft lips settle on mine, the delicious, velvety hot glide of her tongue as he searches my mouth. I want to hear her whisper wicked words in my ear while her hands are sliding all over my body.

More than anything, I desperately want her to take off my clothes, push me to the bed, and have her way with me all night long.

But my wants are pointless. And ridiculous.

"Of course n-" I'm ready to tell her no, but he cuts me off.

"I know I'm being incredibly selfish, but I can't have you back out, Onika. Still, I would never force you to do something you're not comfortable with."

Her soft, beguiling tone warms me from within. When she looks at me like that, her dark gaze full of heat, her expression so sincere, I can almost believe her.

A knock sounds at the door, startling me. Irritation flashes in Beyoncé's eyes at the interruption and I watch her long-legged stride eat up the floor as she heads toward the door. She throws it open, growls her greeting, and takes the cart from the hotel employee before the guy can push it inside.

I almost want to giggle, watching Beyoncé pushing the cart laden with plates covered by silver domes into the room, as if she were the lowly employee and it isn't her family name on the outside of the building. "I hope you at least tipped him," I say.

Her gaze darkens when she looks up at me. "Of course I did. I'm not totally heartless."

I wish I had the balls to say, Prove it.

But I hold the words back.