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Play Along

By:T L Swan

ntinue walking until we get to my room and I turn toward him.

“This is your room,” he replies.

“Yep.” I smile. Oh, I don’t want to go in. I do want to stay with him another night.

He takes out his phone. “Can I have your number?”

I raise a brow. “Why?”

“So I can sell it to the highest bidder. Why do you think?” he replies dryly.

I smile. “I live in New York, you know.”

“Yes, and I am coming to New York next weekend.”

“Since when?” I frown.

“Since now.” He smiles as he kisses my lips.

His tongue rims my lips. “Donnez-moi votre numéro avant que je vous traîne retourner dans ma chamber.”

Translation: Give me your number before I drag you back to my room.

I kiss his lips and smile. Could this guy be any more fun?

He takes out his phone and types the name wife into the contact list.

I laugh. “You can’t save me as wife?”

“Who says?”

“Me.”

He grabs my behind and pushes me up against the door. “While you are in Vegas, you are my wife, and if I want to fuck you up against the door here… I can.” He growls into my neck,

I laugh into his shoulder as I push him away. I take his phone and type in my number and he smiles and his lips linger on mine.

“I’m coming to New York next weekend and getting a hotel for us. Where do you want to stay?”

I laugh. “You are crazy.”

“And you are fucking addictive.” He smiles against my cheek as he grips me tight.

We laugh into one last lingering kiss and his lips drop softly to my neck.

“Goodbye, my beautiful wife,” he whispers as his eyes search mine.

I feel my heart somersault in my chest. “Goodbye.” I smile softly.

He starts walking up the hallway backward as he points at me. “I will see you next weekend?”

I smirk as I cross my arms in front of me and watch him walk backwards up the hall.

“Don’t bother packing clothes because you won’t be needing any,” he calls,

I smirk again and shake my head. God, he’s a bona-fide sex maniac.

A porter walks past and he calls out to him. “Excuse me, do you have any wheelchairs available.”

I cover my mouth to hide my giggle. He wouldn’t?

The porter looks down at his legs, wondering what is wrong with him to need a wheelchair.

“Oh, it’s not my legs. I have a very sore dick.” He points to his groin. “Hard night.”

The porter frowns as he looks at his crotch.

I burst out laughing and they both turn to look at me. With an embarrassed wave, I walk into my bedroom and close the door. I shake my head in disbelief at the crazy events that have panned out over the last twenty-four hours. I lean against the back of the closed door with a broad smile.

Wow.

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