“Nice!?”

Tal cleared his throat.

“A nice fuck. Do you know where we're going?”

“Chill, I know what I'm doing. Do you know what you're doing? Eyes on the prize, man. I don't want things getting screwed up cause you're thinking about pussy,” Ruiz cautioned. Tal glared at him.

“Don't forget who you're talking to, asshole, and just drive,” he snapped.

Ruiz didn't respond, but he smiled as he looked out the windshield.

The night was completely black, stars twinkling high above. Tal knew he needed to get his head in the game. They had an important job, and a limited amount of time to do it in, and he certainly did not need to be thinking about Mrs. Rapaport. Had no right to be thinking about her. Still, his mind kept wandering back to a nervous dancer with amazing legs.

I wonder how flexible she is ...

~The Affair~

You can do this, Misch. You got this. You're a confident woman. You're a strong, self-assured, confident woman. You're a take charge, take no shit, strong, self-assured … who am I kidding. I'm a pussy. Somebody help!

Misch took a deep breath and barreled through the doors to the hotel. To Tal's hotel.

She'd avoided it for two days. Had gone to work, then straight back to her hotel. She didn't know his phone number, he didn't know hers. He didn't know where she was working, what hotel she was staying in, it should have been perfect. She would've never had to see him again.

If I wasn't such a fucking idiot.

She'd coasted along without her binder for those couple days, but it was too hard. She needed her rules and regulations guide, and her boss was demanding to see it, as well. She had to get it back.

So there she was, walking back through Tal's hotel, in the harsh light of the morning. She'd figured going before work was best – she had a great excuse to dash in and out. She could say hello, thank him for his amazing pussy pounding abilities, then get the fuck out of there.

Like an adult. Yeah. Totally.

“Hi,” she said at the front desk, and cursed her voice for sounding nervous. A clerk smiled at her.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, I'm trying to reach one of your guests, Mr. Canaan? In suite 405 – could you call and see if he's available?” Misch asked.

The clerk said yes, then picked up the phone. But there was no answer on Tal's end. He must not have been in the room. Ug, Misch didn't want to have to make the trip again in the afternoon. She explained her plight to the clerk, hammed it up, tried to appeal to the other woman's feminine sensibilities.

They finally reached a deal. Misch couldn't be allowed to go walk around the room willy-nilly, but a housekeeper could go with her and they go in together and could locate the purse. If there was identification in the purse showing that it belonged to her, then Misch could take it. Perfect!

As she rode the elevator up, she couldn't believe her luck. She'd be able to get her things back, and not have to interact with him. Her impending heart attack started to fade away. She was embarrassed by the way she'd behaved with him, embarrassed that she'd slept with him after knowing him for only a couple hours, embarrassed by the way she'd run away, and if she was honest with herself, she was nervous about her performance. She hadn't had sex in a long time. What if she hadn't been very good?

Couldn't have been awful, he barely let you sleep.

Misch was a little surprised to see his suite door standing open. It couldn't have been more than a minute since she'd left the counter, and the housekeeping manager had said it would be a few minutes. How had the other woman gotten there so fast? Oh, well. The faster Misch got out of there, the better.

She was halfway across the suite when she realized something wasn't right. There was a housekeeping cart parked inside the door – why would the manager have brought that? And there were also noises. Like someone was panting. And something else. Something like … something like …

She got to the bedroom doors and froze. They were wide open, like they'd been the last time she'd been there. And much like the last time she'd been there, Tal was naked. And fucking somebody.

Just not her.

He was standing at the foot of his bed, and a woman was laying underneath him. Her legs were splayed in the air, and he was holding her by the ankles. Misch assumed it was a maid, based on the sensible white sneakers and ankle socks the other woman was still wearing. The panting gave way to moans and shrieks. Familiar sounds.

Oh. My. God.

Mischa turned in a couple circles, looking for her bag. Freaking out. She spied it on a couch and dashed over to it. Clutched it to her chest, then whirled back around, peeking in the bedroom. They were still going at it – Tal had even moved so one knee was on the mattress, allowing him to thrust even harder. Misch chewed on her bottom lip and couldn't deny that it was pretty hot.

Cheating slut-bag AND a pervert, my evolution continues. Shoot me now.

She tiptoed across the doorway, turning as she went, watching them to make sure no one saw her. But she hadn't looked before she turned, and she rammed into an end table, knocking over some glasses. She spun back around, trying to grab them, but only succeeded in knocking more over. Fuck. She leapt upright and bolted for the door.

“Mischa?”

Busted.

“Hey, Tal, I just had to get my … oh, muh … uhmm …,” Misch began to stutter as she turned around.

He was still completely naked, walking towards her, his dick pointing the way. She tried not to stare. Couldn't not stare. Finally pressed her lips together and looked over his shoulder. She couldn't look at him. In clothes, he was one of the best looking men she'd ever met, but naked, he was unbearable. All muscle and mocha skin and dark outlines – black hair, black eyebrows, black eyes. One flash of his naughty smile, and she knew she'd be done for.




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