Page 6 of Styx’s Storm

“Great.” I snagged the handle and opened the bathroom door.

The mystery man remained a mystery.

And because of the angle, he likely couldn’t see me either.

Either very paranoid or slightly kinky. Whatever. I could work with this. I dumped my bag in the closet and hung up my jacket with the key card tucked in one pocket. I cleared my throat. “Uh, did you bring supplies? I mean, assuming we’re—”

“Lube and condoms. Assumption correct.” This time, he let the sentence hang. “Prepare yourself.”

“So you want me stripping here? Too bad you won’t be able to see most of the show.”

He chuckled. “I have a good imagination.”

“Okay.” I bent to untie my laces. Then I removed all my clothes. So much for a striptease. Or us ripping each other’s clothes off. This entire night had a sterile feeling to it. Maybe this guy has scars or something else that he doesn’t want me to see. Or maybe he’s some famous celebrity. In Mission City. Right. Not.

Still, as I stepped away from the bathroom and farther into the dark room, I questioned the wisdom of this. Aaron knows I’m here. He knows this guy. So that means it’ll be okay. “I wish I could see you.”

“Touch will be enough.” Again, with the deeply resonant voice from a shadowy bulk on the bed.

“I can touch you everywhere?”

“Yes.”

On that note, I shuffled into the dark room and stopped abruptly when my knees hit the bed. “Is it okay if I join you?”

“Assume yes unless I say no.”

“Same.” Consent was good. “Any rules?”

“No marks. No lights.”

What will happen if I do? The curiosity is going to kill me. Not literally, but damn, I want to see you. Still, I said nothing. Well, until practicalities struck me. “Are you going to kick me out? When we’re done?”

“You want to stay?” A hint of something I couldn’t identify.

“Well…I don’t really have anywhere else to go tonight.”

“Oh.” After a long moment, he patted the bed. “Room’s paid. You can stay after I leave.”

“Works for me.” Relief flooded me. I’d have left afterward, of course, if he insisted. I preferred knowing I had a roof over my head. Maybe tomorrow I can hitch a ride into Vancouver. Something. Anything to give myself forward momentum. Otherwise, I might just get stuck in this podunk town.

I placed one knee on the bed. Then the other. Finally, I crawled my way toward him. When my hand landed on a thigh, I stopped.

The thick muscular leg flexed beneath my touch.

Bare skin. Smooth. Warm.

The room wasn’t overly heated, and the autumn nip remained beyond this cocoon we’d created. I craved that warmth.

“Are you a kisser?” Because we hadn’t really gone over the ground rules. I was good at negotiations—when I could look the person in the eye and figure out what they were and were not interested in.

“Kissing’s fine. BJs. Sex. I’m vers. Whatever you want is hunky-dory.” Again, with the super-deep voice.

Hunky-dory? Who talks like that? Probably someone older than myself. I had no sense of his age—either from his profile or his voice.

Well, he’d said thirty-seven. But guys lied about their ages all the time. For any number of reasons. Except I give my age. Twenty-three. I own that.

Still, running with the hunky-dory, I slid my hand along his thigh. I bypassed his groin and, instead, ghosted my fingers along his hipbone. Then I continued my journey upward, pressing my hand along his arm.