Just One Orgasm!

The first thing she noticed was the smell of cigarettes.

The scent drifted lazily through the half-open balcony doors, carried inside by the cool morning breeze.

Emilia’s eyelashes fluttered.

For a moment, she didn’t open her eyes.

The bed beneath her wasn’t hers. The sheets were softer, and heavier.

The pillow smelled faintly of cedar, smoke, and something unmistakably masculine.

Memory returned in scattered pieces.

Everything after that dissolved into warmth filled ger gead, and a blush crept across her cheeks before she’d even opened her eyes.

She buried half her face into the pillow.

"You’re awake." His voice was rougher than she remembered. Morning had deepened it.

She finally looked up. "I thought you would have left."

He stood on the balcony with one hand resting against the railing.

The city unfolded behind him beneath a pale morning sky. His white dress shirt hung open at the collar, with his sleeves carelessly rolled to his forearms.

A cigarette rested between his fingers, and he looked over his shoulder.

"I hope," he said quietly, "you don’t regret last night."

Heat rushed to her face so quickly she turned away. A tiny smile betrayed her anyway. "No."

Her voice barely carried across the room. "No," she ckeared her throat, and repeated, a little stronger. "I don’t."

He studied her for another second before looking back over the city. "Good."

Silence settled between them again, comfortable, and unforced.

Emilia drew the blanket a little higher around herself as she sat up. Now that she was fully awake, she saw him properly in the daylight.

He was older than she’d first guessed.

Not because of wrinkles. There were none. It was the confidence, and the quiet certainty in the way he stood.

His dark hair, waz slightly disheveled by sleep and the morning breeze. His strong jaw was softened by a day’s shadow.

His straight nose, and high cheekbones framed his face perfectly. His eyes were the kind that seemed almost black until sunlight caught the brown hidden beneath them.

They were observant eyes. The sort that missed very little.

His hands... She noticed them next. His hand were made with long fingers, clean nails, and a faint scar crossed one knuckle.

He turned, catching her staring.

One brow lifted, and she immediately looked elsewhere.

"I was just..." She searched desperately for an excuse. "warm."

He glanced toward the open balcony doors where the cool breeze continued drifting inside.

He crushed the cigarette into the ashtray and stepped back inside.

Without the distance of the balcony between them, she became suddenly aware of how tall he was.

He stopped beside the bed.

"You’ll catch a cold."

He reached for the hotel robe draped over a nearby chair and held it out to her instead of helping her into it.

The small gesture made something inside her chest tighten. He could have presumed, but she noticed he didn’t.

She slipped it on quietly.

The sleeves swallowed her hands. "It suits you," he murmured.

She looked down at herself, and smiled despite herself. He walked toward the table where breakfast had already been delivered.

"I never asked your name," she said.

He looked at her over a coffee cup. "And you never asked mine." He responded.

"Aren’t you curious?"

He paused thoughtfully, then shook his head. "I think names change things."

She frowned slightly.

"They make people easier to find."

She considered that.

"And maybe..." he continued, "some meetings are meant to exist exactly once."

The words lingered.

She wasn’t sure whether she liked them, or hated them.

He checked the time on his watch, and his expression shifted to reality, and duty.

The night was over.

He picked up his jacket from the back of the chair.

"So that’s it?" she asked before she could stop herself.

He looked back. A faint sadness crossed his features. "It has to be."

He walked toward her once more.

She remained seated on the edge of the bed, looking up at him.

For a moment he simply stood there, studying her face as though he wanted to remember every detail.

Then, with surprising gentleness, he brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear the same way he had at the bar.

His hand lingered only long enough to tuck it neatly into place.

He leaned down and instead of kissing her lips, he pressed the lightest kiss against the crown of her head.

It lasted only a heartbeat.

Yet somehow it felt more intimate than anything else they had shared. When he stepped back, she didn’t try to stop him.

Neither of them believed there was anything left to say.

He picked up his keys, opened the suite door, paused and without turning around, he said quietly,

"I hope Blackwood is everything you’re hoping it will be."

Her eyes widened.

She hadn’t told him the name of the university.

Before she could ask how he knew, the door closed, and he was gone.

For several long seconds, Emilia simply remained where she was.

The suite had become impossibly quiet.

She stared at the closed door.

He was really gone, and a strange ache settled somewhere beneath her ribs. She pulled the robe tighter around herself before slowly standing.

The moment her feet touched the floor, she winced.

"Oh..." A nervous laugh escaped her.

Every muscle protested as she straightened. She shook her head at herself. "So much for pretending last night never happened."

Her stomach growled. Only then did she notice the breakfast waiting untouched on the dining table.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted toward her.

Without thinking, she wandered across the suite.

The city looked different in daylight. It looked more ordinary as though nothing remarkable had happened inside these walls.

She reached for the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. The warmth seeped through the porcelain into her hands.

After taking the first sip, she closed her eyes.

She wandered slowly around the suite, with coffee in hand, pausing beside the enormous windows. She might never get this view again, so she might as well enjoy it.

The rain had stopped completely.

People hurried along the sidewalks below, each wrapped up in lives she’d never know. Last night already felt unreal.

A smile touched her lips.

She wondered if she’d ever see him again. Probably not, and that had been the point.

She turned back toward the table, and something caught her eye. Behind the brass lamp, almost hidden from view, rested a thick white envelope.

She frowned. Setting her coffee down, she picked it up.

It felt heavy. Very heavy.

Her heartbeat quickened. Had he accidentally left this behind? What could be in here? She opened the flap, and bundles of crisp hundred-dollar bills stared back at her.

Her breath caught.

She emptied the contents onto the table.

Her hands began trembling.

She counted the money. It was the most cash she had ever seen. She counted it again, and again, to be sure.

She wasn’t wrong. The money in there was exactly twenty thousand dollars. The room suddenly felt colder.

Her smile disappeared. Her chest sank. Was this payment? Her throat tightened at the thought of being laid for what she had enjoyed.

The warmth she’d carried since waking dissolved into something painful. Even if he felt like paying, why this much?

Maybe this was how men like him avoided complications.

No names, and no promises. Just money.

Her fingers curled into trembling fists.

She wasn’t—

A small folded card slipped from beneath the final bundle, cutting through her triangle of thought.

She almost ignored it. On a second thought, she unfolded it.

Five simple words were written in neat black ink. "For your eyes." the note said.

Emilia blinked. "For..."

She frowned. Her eyes?

Confusion replaced the humiliation she once felt. She looked at the money again, then at the note.

The sentence made no sense.

Unless... She remembered him watching her the previous evening.

Her heart skipped.

She remembered standing in front of the bar, tilting her head, and squinting her eyes as she tried to get them accustomed to the place.

Noah had never realised she needed one. Even after three years together. And somehow, without embarrassing her, he had left enough money to buy them.

Her eyes stung. "Who are you?" she whispered into the empty suite.

Without another thought, she grabbed her handbag and hurried toward the door with her robe.

The elevator took forever.

She abandoned it halfway and ran for the stairs instead. By the time she burst into the marble lobby, she was breathless.

The concierge looked up in surprise.

"The gentleman," she asked between breaths. "The man who checked out from this suite... where is he?"

The concierge glanced toward the revolving doors. "I’m sorry, miss."

She turned.

Outside, cars flowed steadily through the morning traffic.

"He left almost twenty minutes ago."

Emilia stepped outside anyway. The morning breeze lifted strands of her dark hair. She searched the street one last time, and there was nothing.

He had disappeared as quietly as he’d entered her life.

Only the scent of cedarwood lingering on her robe, and the folded note still clutched in her hand as proof he had been there at all.

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