On the next Saturday morning, a week after the party, I woke up to the sound of my phone. It took me a second to realize it was not my usual alarm, somebody was calling me.

"Hello," I mumbled into the speaker, my voice husky and my eyelids still heavy.

"Hi Abril, it's Patricia Clarks, from your employment agency."

I straightened up in my bed immediately.

"Oh, er... Hi Patricia." I tried to sound as alert as possible. "Is everything all right?"

I thought about Ginger Dude. Maybe he had changed his mind and eventually had told Eleanor about our argument. That's why Patricia was calling me: she wanted to tell me I was fired.

"No, not at all. I've got a temp assignment for you, if you're interested. It's tonight."

Phew!

"Yes!" I answered with enthusiasm. I could use the extra money. "What is it?"

"There is a fundraising gala at the Four Seasons of Beverly Hills tonight. One of their waitresses is sick and they are looking for someone to replace her."

"Oh wow. The Four Seasons? That's... fancy!"

It was exciting to work somewhere so luxurious, although the rich part of the population was notoriously the hardest to please, so it very easily could turn into a disaster.

"Yes, it is a luxury establishment. I am sure you will do fine. Should I tell them you'll be there? They need an answer urgently."

"Sure." Luxury assignment had to mean there'd be a lot of money.

"Very well. You'll have to be at the hotel at three to meet the staff, have a short briefing, and start preparing for the gala. Your manager will provide you with a uniform and I'll email you all the other details you need to know. Any questions?"

"Just one: I'm supposed to work at the store this afternoon, what if Eleanor does not want to give me the day off?"

"Don't worry about it. I will call Eleanor and I'll explain the situation to her. You'll have to make up for these hours later, of course, but she can't force you to come."

"Are you sure?" I asked, worried. "I can't really afford to get fired, right now."

"Positive," Patricia assured me. "I made sure of it in your contract – which you should have read more carefully. Thanks to your temporary worker status, you are allowed flexible hours at the store, as long as you stick to your monthly quota."

"Okay. Great."

"I'm glad we cleared this up. Have a good day, Abril, and don't forget to check your inbox."

"I won't. Bye, Patricia."

I checked the time on my phone: it was just before eleven a. m. It wasn't a lot of time to get luxury-hotel ready. I took a shower and then applied a mask on my hair to make it extra healthy – I had a fair amount of bleach damage. I blow-dried it on gentle heat and applied some oil on the ends. Once it finally looked like a sheet of liquid, shiny bubblegum, I tied it up into a French twist, the most elegant hairstyle I could think of.

I opted for a flawless, yet nude-passing makeup style to go with it, meaning a lot of foundation, a bit of mascara, and very little eyeshadow. Since I would be lent a uniform, I put on a yellow tee-shirt and a pair of denim shorts for the trip there.

By the time I was done getting ready, it was almost time to go. I ate a bowl of cereal and yogurt in a rush and I read the email Patricia had sent me. There was, among other things, the job description, the address of the hotel and, most of all, the salary. They were paying me almost a thousand dollars just to carry a tray around for one night. Luxury really was another world. I made a mental note to thank Patricia later for giving me this assignment.

I took the metro and I arrived in Beverly Hills forty-five minutes later, hardly ten minutes early. Everything and everyone there smelled like money from miles away. The hotel was sumptuous. The gigantic golden front gate was guarded by two doormen in suits and the people who entered were wearing clothes that would not look out of place on a high fashion runway. There was a gorgeous swimming pool behind the building and I could see people in bathing suits drinking colorful cocktails. The palm trees ornamenting the hotel added yet another touch of luxury to the already magnificent place.

When I passed the front gate, the doormen didn't say a word but glared at me like I was an insect. I felt like Kevin McCallister in Home Alone 2, when he enters the Plaza Hotel in New York City. Determined to ignore the various judgmental looks I received, I headed straight to the counter, behind which a young woman was typing on a keyboard. She stopped when she saw me.

"Welcome to the Four Seasons," she said with a sweet voice. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm Abril Llagostera, I'm here to replace your missing waitress for tonight. I'm told it's for a fundraising gala."

"All right. Please wait a moment while I call the manager of the event."

She spoke for a few seconds then told me 'she' would be there soon. I supposed 'she' was the manager. Five minutes later, a woman in her early thirties came to the counter and held up her hand for me to shake it, which I did.

"You must be April, I'm Kate. I'm in charge of tonight's gala. Please come with me, I'll show you around."

I corrected her about my name and followed her through a door that led to a corridor. I could smell the heavenly smell of high quality food being cooked. The kitchen could not be far.

"This is a staff-only area, the doors on your left are the men's and women's locker rooms and a laundry room, and the doors on your right are the staff's bathrooms. Straight ahead is the kitchen. That's where we are going."

The kitchen of that place was a masterpiece. The floor and walls were covered in black tiles that were shiny enough for me to see my reflection on it. All the appliances were equally black, except for the white sinks and golden faucets. It felt like I was in some sort of old castle. Many people were buzzing all around the room. All were dressed in black and white, the typical catering worker's uniform.

"These are all your colleagues for tonight," Kate said, waving a hand around. She introduced me to those who were passing close by. "I can't introduce you to all of them but they have name tags."

I nodded. Name tags would be helpful for sure.

"You're allowed a thirty-minute break to have dinner," she explained, "but you'll have to take turns with your colleagues to make sure there is always enough staff working. The chefs will prepare something for you, be nice to them and you'll have the meal of your life."

Then I followed her through another set of doors, which led to a vast high-ceiling room with a wooden floor and heavily-decorated walls. A ten-foot-long gold and crystal – or was it diamonds? – chandelier was hanging in the center of the room.

"This is the ballroom, the gala will take place here. Throughout the night, you'll have to walk amongst the guests and serve them food and drinks. It is crucial that you be polite, nice, and that you smile to each and every one of them. They are wealthy people but they won't give their money to the cause if they do not feel thoroughly pleased."

"Copy that," I agreed.

"You can take a few short breaks to sit down or breathe some fresh air, but, then again, make sure your colleagues don't need you before leaving."

That was very thoughtful. Most places I had worked at did not allow breaks. We returned to the corridor where the locker rooms were and we entered the laundry room.

"Let's find you a uniform, shall we?"

I told her my size and she searched through the clothes piled on the shelves. She didn't take long to get me a black button-down, a black pencil skirt, a white blazer, and a red silk scarf. She put them in my arms and opened a shoe storage unit.

I nearly lost my mind. It was packed with dozens of red pointed pumps, waiting for me to wear them. She took out the ones in my size and placed them on top of the pile of clothes I was carrying. The red soles caught my eye.

"These are Louboutins!" I gasped.

"Yes, they are," she smiled.

I had never had the opportunity to wear real Louboutins. That in itself was worth all the blisters I could predict I was going to get.

Kate then handed me a plastic badge, looking slightly embarrassed.

"So," she started, "the other waitress falling sick took us short, we didn't have time to make a new name tag. And it's hotel policy that you have to be identifiable at all times. You'll have to wear hers, I'm sorry"

She did look truly sorry.

"It's okay," I said. "I don't care."

She handed me the name tag. That night, I would be called Marian.

"All right, now that you have your uniform and you know everything you need to know, I'll let you change. Meet me in the ballroom when you're finished. I'll do a short team briefing and we'll start preparing."

I nodded and headed to the women's locker room. I changed quickly and allowed myself a couple minutes to admire my reflection in the mirror. The fabric of the clothes was smooth and fitted my body very well. Even somebody who didn't know a thing about fashion would have known these were high-end clothes. I sighed, knowing that I would have to give them back at the end of my shift.

I went to the ballroom and found Kate there, surrounded by all the other waiters, wearing the same outfit as me. She explained to us what she was expecting from us for the night, insisting on how smiling and kind we had to be at any time, no matter what happened. Keeping a smile on even in challenging times was not my forte.

Kate finished her speech and we followed her to the storage room whose door was next to the kitchen's. We helped her carry tables and placed them where she told us. We dressed them with white linen tablecloths and lined up an awful lot of crystal champagne flutes on them.

"Remember," Kate repeated, "just because the food and drinks are on display for anyone to take doesn't mean that you can just sit and watch. You need to anticipate the guests' needs and offer them what they want before they even think about it. You must keep your eyes open for empty plates and empty glasses."

We all nodded in agreement.

It took us a little more than an hour to settle everything and we still had half an hour before the first guests were supposed to arrive. I used that time to go outside for a cigarette. I exited the room through the staff door and was pleasantly surprised to find a cute dark-skinned man outside. He was smoking, too.

"Hi," I said. "I'm Abril."

"I know," he responded. "We met in the kitchen. I'm Matthew."

"Yes," I suddenly remembered. "You're the barman."

"I'm a mixologist, actually. But yeah, same thing."

Feeling no need to answer that, I took out my tobacco and rolled a cigarette before lighting it.

"You've been working here for long?" I started a conversation.

"A bit more than three years. It's a bit soul-crushing to sell elaborate cocktails to people who can barely tell the difference, but it pays for school, so I can't complain."

"And what do you study?"

"Pre-med. I'm a Caltech senior."

My heart sank a little when he mentioned that university but I focused on letting nothing show. Caltech would always have a special meaning for me.

"A doctor who smokes? How ironic."

"I technically won't be a doctor for a few more years. I have time before I have to quit."

I faked a slight laugh as I did a little math in my head. He was a senior, so he couldn't be more than twenty-two years old, the same age as Cedric. Young but hopefully old enough to be interesting.

We didn't speak anymore and finished our cigarettes in silence. We came back to the kitchen together, which granted us side glances, especially from a black-haired woman with gorgeous green eyes.

Uh, oh...

"Please, take your time," the woman snarked. "It's not like we've been waiting for you."

"Quit it, Brooke," a childish-looking blond waitress took my defense. "You've literally just arrived."

Brooke had nothing to respond to that and glared at me instead. That was not over.

"Don't mind her," the blond girl advised me. "She can be a real bitch, sometimes. I'm Deborah, by the way. Debby."

"Hi. I'm Abril," I introduced myself.

"I know," she laughed.

How come everybody already remembered my name when I didn't know any of theirs?

"You didn't exactly go unnoticed with that hair of yours," she answered my thought.

Kate entered the kitchen and kept us from pursuing the conversation any further.

"All right everyone! The first guests have just passed the front gate, it's time to get to work!"

And so we did.

Many other guests arrived shortly after the first ones. Forty minutes later, the ballroom was so crowded it began to be difficult to slither between people without knocking over the trays I was carrying.

I went to the kitchen to refill it once, twice, three times... Then I lost count. Surely that meant I was doing a great jo, right?

I was taking another trip to the kitchen when a person from my right cut me off and I ended up bumping into them hard enough to fall on the floor. Luckily, I wasn't carrying any glasses. Unluckily, the tray clattered so loudly people turned to see the origin of the noise. I quickly got back on my feet and gestured for the guests to keep enjoying themselves. I heard Brooke snort behind me.

"You've got trouble staying on your feet, newbie?" She laughed at me.

"Come mierda, perra!" I replied very rudely in my mother tongue.

I didn't hear what she answered because someone laughed very loudly. It took me less than a second to recognize the flock of orange hair.

"Ah," he sighed, smiling widely. "So it's not just me, everybody just gets to enjoy your charming personality."

He laughed again. I didn't.

"What are you doing here?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"I happen to be invited to this gala," he explained. "What about you? I thought you worked at the store? Has another customer finally told Eleanor about your poor selling technique?"

"Not that it's any of your business but I still work at the store. I just got a temp gig here for tonight," I replied, unsure why I was giving him so much information about my life. "And I was doing a very great job until some jerk knocked me over."

"I'm afraid I might be the person in question," he admitted. "I'm truly sorry about it, by the way, I didn't see you."

"You can shove your apology up your ass."

"Careful," he hissed. "You don't want to be heard insulting guests."

"I see you're back to your good old habit of threatening me."

"It's not a threat, this time, it's a friendly warning. I don't care whether or not you get paid tonight. But you do, and walls have ears. Just saying."

As the giant chandelier reflected on his gelled-up red hair, I weighed his words. Was he giving me some genuine advice or menacing me again? I couldn't tell.

"Well, I'll let you go back to work. Enjoy your night, erm..." When Ginger Dude lowered his eyes, I first assumed he was looking at my boobs. Then I realized he was just reading my name tag. "Marian," he concluded and left me alone. I didn't bother correcting him about my name.

After an hour or so, I couldn't ignore my rumbling stomach anymore. I asked one of my colleagues if I could take my dinner break. She scanned the room for the other employees and decided that it was safe for me to go.

Just like Kate had told me to, I asked the chefs for something to eat. They served me a full lobster with rice and a mix of vegetables known as ratatouille, like the movie. They also served me a multi-layer chocolate and coffee entremet called Opéra.

After whole-heartedly thanking the chefs, I took my food and went to sit in a less crowded part of the kitchen, where I wouldn't disturb anyone. Cute Matthew was working not far from me. He was relentlessly filling champagne flutes that waiters used to fill their trays before going back to the ballroom.

"Aren't you supposed to make actual cocktails?" I asked him. "Not just pour champagne."

"I am," he smirked. "But the customer wants champagne, so they get champagne."

"Then make a cocktail for me," I requested. "Please."

"Sure. What do you want?"

"Surprise me."

He poured some gin and several sorts of other liquids in a shaker and added a few leaves of mint and slices of lime. He shook the container artistically then crushed some ice that he put in a martini glass. He poured the cocktail on the ice and topped it with a lemon twist.

"Here you are, beautiful," he handed me the glass and smiled a great white smile that contrasted with his dark skin.

I took a sip. It was divine. The taste of alcohol was subtle, and the cocktail was neither too sweet nor too bitter. I thanked him and he resumed working while I ate next to him. We kept each other company.

When my break was over, I returned to the ballroom and resumed my work. I didn't run into Ginger Dude again, which suited me perfectly well.

Around one a. m. the party slowly began to wear off and, an hour later, the last guests had finally left the hotel, not without putting fat checks in the urn that had been placed next to the doors for this purpose.

I decided to smoke a cigarette before changing. I hadn't had a chance to take another break during the night and I desperately needed nicotine. Sure enough, Matthew was already in the smoking area when I got there.

"Tough night, huh?" He said as he took a drag off his cigarette.

"Yeah, it was more challenging than I expected." That was an understatement. I felt like I had run a marathon. " I'm glad it's over."

We kept smoking in silence. As I was inhaling my last puff, the door behind us opened. Brooke was standing on the doorstep.

"Hurry up," she demanded, her eyes full of disdain darting at me. "Kate wants to have a debriefing with all the employees. Even the temporary ones."

She looked at me like I was a cockroach on her bathroom floor.

"Do you have a problem with me, Brooke?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," she admitted..

"Is that so? And what in hell have I done to you?"

"You have been lazy and useless tonight. You were supposed to help us but all you did was take cigarette breaks with Matthew."

"You have got to be kidding me! I've worked my ass off tonight!"

"Yeah, hitting on every guy you make eye contact with must be really tiring."

"Brooke," Matthew stepped in. "What are you doing? You d–"

"Matthew, don't," I interrupted him by placing my hand on his torso. "I can take care of myself just fine. Go. Tell Kate we won't be long."

He tried to argue but eventually gave in.

"You've known each other for half a day and you already let her boss you around?" She shrieked at Matthew.

Let this be the perfect example of 'Don't shit where you eat.'

Brooke was clearly involved with Matthew to some degree and did not do well with jealousy.

"Brooke, just stop," he calmly responded. "You're making a fool of yourself."

"Piss off, Matt."

And without any more words, he left us. It was only Brooke and me. I tried a pacific approach.

" Brooke, listen to me," I told her. "There's nothing–"

"Don't bother, I don't listen to whores."

I couldn't have helped it even if I had wanted to. My fist connected with her jaw right after she insulted me, like a knee-jerk reaction. My blow split her lip and put her off-balance. She fell on her ass.

"You're fucking crazy!" She yelled as she spat blood on the floor.

"Keep insulting me and I'll hit you again," I warned her.

"You don't scare me, you know?" She provoked me before getting back on her feet. "You're just an attention-seeking slut."

She caught me off guard and kneed me in the stomach. I keeled over, momentarily paralyzed. She took advantage of the situation and grabbed the front of my shirt to pull me to her. She was feeling so powerful that an insolent grin grew on her torn lips.

"Game over, cocksucker," she whispered in my ear and tugged my hair.

And in that exact moment, I did go crazy. Rage racing through my veins, I wrenched out of her grasp and punched her in the ribs. She squealed from pain and I hit her face again. Blood started dripping from her brow bone, staining her white blazer. I was furious.

"You're no-one, nothing to judge me!" I said in a deep husky voice that wasn't really mine.

I was going to punctuate my words with one final punch when two arms suddenly circled my torso and pulled me away from Brooke. I tried to wrestle my way out of the man's hold on me but he wouldn't budge. This made me even madder, I copiously insulted the man in Spanish.

"Would you just calm down!" Said the man that was holding me.

It was Ginger Dude's voice.

"Get off!" I yelled at him. "Get off me!"

"Not a chance. Not until you've recovered your senses."

"Why the fuck aren't you already gone?"

"I was waiting for you outside the hotel when I heard your sweet voice. I followed it and found you beating up that poor woman."

"Ha!" The 'poor woman' pretended to laugh. "You hit on one guy at work but go screw another one just after your shift. How does that not make you a slut?"

I groaned louder and wrestled harder. Unsuccessfully.

"You're such a crazy whore," she went on.

"Erm, miss?" Ginger Dude intervened. "I'm trying to help you, here, but you're not making it any easier. Why don't you go inside and clean your wounds? I'll take care of her."

She hesitated but eventually left. She was going to report me. I was in real trouble.

When he was sure Brooke was far enough from me, Ginger Dude, GD, finally loosened his grip on me. He gauged me for a second then took off his jacket. I recognized the one I had sold him.

"Here, put this on," he handed me the garment.

"What do you think you're doing? Playing Prince Charming and saving a damsel in distress?"

"You're covered in blood and your shirt is torn, I'm just being nice."

I looked at my outfit. He was right. My white blazer was now splattered with red stains and my shirt was completely ripped. Brooke must have defended herself more violently than it had seemed.

Without further complaint, I grabbed the jacket he was offering me and proceeded to remove my shirt. He flushed.

"Aren't you going to change inside? Or at least turn around?"

"Why?" I teased him. "You're afraid of a bit of skin?"

I squeezed my breasts together and took one step closer to him. His face turned even redder and his eyes struggled to keep eye contact with me.

I laughed but still ended his torture by quickly replacing my filthy uniform with his jacket.

"Thanks," I simply said.

"Anytime. I'll come get it back at the store. Are you working on Monday?"

"Yes."

"Great. See you on Monday, then. Bye."

As he walked away, I couldn't withhold the question I was aching to ask.

"Why?" I blurted out.

He turned around and looked at me, confused.

"Why what?"

"Why were you waiting for me before you heard me fight with Brooke?"

He didn't answer at first. Then, after a few seconds of thinking, he did. "I was hoping to get the chance to talk to you. I realized I might not have been exactly nice to you the other day."

"You must mean you've been a jerk?"

"I would not say that. You haven't been very polite either."

What the hell?

"You know what? One fight is enough for tonight. I'm not going to start another one with you. Goodnight."

I picked up my clothes from the floor and headed back to the kitchen. I was going to have such a bad time with Kate.

Unmistakably, when I entered the room, the whole staff glared at me. Brooke was sitting on a chair, surrounded by several people who pitied her. She winced when one of them dabbed some gauze on her brow. Kate was there, too. She looked furious. The nice Kate I had met earlier was long gone.

"What is wrong with you?" She thundered. "Who do you think you are to beat people up like that? You could have killed her! We should call the police!"

"It's merely bruised flesh and a little blood, she'll be fine," I replied calmly. This was not a situation where I could afford to lose my temper. "And she hit me too. Look!"

I lifted the jacket a little to show her the black bruise that was appearing on my stomach.

"She's lying!" Brooke interjected. "She hurt herself on my knee while I was trying to escape from her."

I was screwed. I could read in Kate's eyes that she believed the utter bullshit Brooke was serving her.

"May I interrupt?"

Ginger Dude was leaning against the doorframe, looking severe. What was he up to?

"Who are you?" Kate asked.

"I'm one of the guests of tonight's gala. I also happen to have witnessed the argument between the two ladies. Well, I only saw the end of it but I heard it all."

"And what can you tell us about it?"

Please don't betray me!

"I can tell you this lady," he pointed at me, "did attack that lady," he pointed at Brooke.

Asshole!

"But," he insisted on the word, "this attack surely wasn't unprovoked. That lady sure said some mean things, and she hit back quite violently. It's not a black and white situation. I shall say the blame is shared."

Okay, that wasn't so bad. I wished he had defended me more, but that would have been an obvious lie.

"Nonsense!" Brooke denied. "This guy is her boyfriend, he's covering for her!"

"If she were my girlfriend, why would I let her work here instead of enjoying the party with me?"

That latest argument hit the target. Everyone seemed to believe Brooke wasn't so innocent, after all.

"I must rephrase," she kept going, "he's not her boyfriend, he has sex with her. That's why he doesn't take her to parties."

"I'm sorry to have to tell you that, miss," GD calmly answered, "but you are being offensive, and I really don't like being offended."

Why on Earth could he remain so calm?

"Brooke," Kate said, "you'd better watch your tongue from now on, it's a professional misconduct to insult a guest," she turned to GD. "My apologies, sir. You may go now, you've told us everything we needed to know."

"I'd rather stay to ensure there will be no injustice carried out."

"As you wish."

"What?" Brooke spoke again. "No way, he's going to—"

"For God's sake, Brooke!" Matthew yelled. "Shut the fuck up! You've got what you deserved. Stop trying to lie your way out of it! I was there, I know you provoked her!"

The light left Brooke's eyes as she realized Matthew wasn't on her side at all.

"You're defending her?" She shrieked. "You're seriously defending that bitch?"

She tried to get up to throw herself at me but was quickly secured. That's all I needed.

Kate was standing still, aghast.

"Enough," she said quietly but scarily. "You're behaving like children and this hotel is not a kindergarten. I will not tolerate that. You two, come with me!"

We followed her obediently from the kitchen to her office. She spent thirty minutes explaining to us how intolerable our behaviors were, how we should be ashamed of resorting to violence and blah, blah, blah... The only thing I remembered was that I would still be paid but a report of the incident would be sent to the hotel manager and to my employment agency, and I certainly would never be employed there ever again. Brooke's fate was to be decided on the following day.

When I came back to the kitchen, everybody had left, even GD, except for Matthew. He was cleaning the same spot over and over again, pretending to be busy.

"I wanted to check on you before leaving," he explained.

"I'm okay. I will be paid, which is what matters the most."

"Great."

"But there's one thing..."

"What?"

"You know why Brooke hates me so much, right?"

"I suppose she's jealous because she likes me and she thinks you're chasing after me."

"Correct. So, I was thinking, why not commit the crime which I've been so fiercely accused of?"

Without any more explanation, I took the few steps that separated us and pushed my lips against his. My intrusion didn't seem to surprise him. On the contrary, he seemed quite pleased and responsive to my initiative. His muscled arms grabbed my waist and pulled me closer to him. I moaned when his fingers gently dug into my skin.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Abby. Brooke can't be far from here, she could catch us at any time," Matthew said in a deliciously suave voice.

"Then we'll have to be quick," I winked at him and grazed my lips along his jawline.

He looked thoughtful for a short while but quickly recovered.

"I know a place. Come."

He grabbed my hand and led me outside the kitchen. We took the stairs to the second floor and we entered a small storage room. It was packed with used bedsheets and old pillows.

"That's the best place I could think of."

"It's perfect," I assured him.

He locked the door and looked at me with a feral grin. He grabbed my ass and pulled me against his torso. He looked at me in sheer lust and bent down to meet my lips. He kissed me slowly first, then he became more urgent. His tongue slithered into my mouth and I welcomed it happily. His full lips were amazingly soft and sweet against mine.

Our bodies started to sweat, our breaths started to shallow, and our skins started to burn. I was holding on to his mighty arms, I could feel his muscles relentlessly contract as he touched every inch of my body he was able to reach. But I wanted more than just feeling them, I wanted to see them.

I unbuttoned his black shirt and took it off him. It revealed a beautifully chiseled torso that made me want to taste it. He had a tattoo on his left upper arm that went down to his pectoral.

"Dios mío!" I exclaimed. "You're so hot!"

"So are you, beautiful."

I stroked his gorgeous abs that reminded me of a chocolate bar with one hand and left the other on his pulsing arm. I enjoyed touching him, his Greek God body was one of a kind and made me wet with desire.

He took my hand that was resting on his stomach and placed it on the bulge poking through his black dress pants.

"Look how you make me feel, baby," he whispered in my ear as he thrusted into my hand. "And you're not even naked."

His erection was pulsing in my fingers. It was hard. Really hard. I squeezed it gently. He moaned in response and flexed his muscles once more.

I unzipped his pants and slid them down his legs as well as his boxers. He stepped out of them and kicked them away. There he was, completely naked before me. His penis was beautifully huge. Almost scarily so. His butt was round, firm, and mouth-watering. I could have taken a bite of it right away.

I knelt down and brought my lips to the tip of his penis. I licked it a couple of times before taking half his length into my mouth. He shuddered when my tongue piercing hit his slit. I started pumping up and down, feeling him harden even more between my lips. He turned into a blubbering mess in a few minutes.

Before I could bring him to completion, he pulled me back on my feet. He grabbed my jacket with both hands and sent its only button flying when he opened it.

Uh, oh... GD will kill me for that.

He unhooked my bra and took a moment to take in the sight of my breasts.

"Wow," he said.

"I know," I replied.

I by no means had big boobs, nor exceptionally beautiful ones. However, when I was much younger, I had my nipples pierced. That never failed to impress my many sexual partners, male or female. Matthew was no exception and spent a lot of time giving all his attention to my breasts. Like many people before him, he enjoyed tugging on the metallic bar that went through my nipples. He seemed to love how my body reacted to the stimulation, too.

When he was done playing, he freed me of my skirt and panties in one swift gesture. Only my shoes remained on my body.

"Lie down," he told me.

I obeyed and laid down on the stack of bed sheets, my legs spread. He placed his face between them and started licking my vulva. The tip of his tongue found my clitoris without trouble whatsoever and a first shot of electricity rippled through me. With fast circular movements, he got me close to orgasm in no time. I was shaking beneath him, pulling his head closer to my vulva and begging for him to make me come. He obliged after a few minutes. My body tensed up, the wave of pleasure racing under my skin. My respiration took a short while to even up and then I was ready for another round.

Without me needing to tell him anything, he got up to retrieve a condom from his pants and put it on, then came back between my thighs. He kissed me as he entered me to the hilt in one brisk thrust. I whined. His very long cock touched the bottom of my vagina before exiting and entering it once again, with just as much power. I had quite the sex history, but this man managed to explore my privates in places they had rarely been explored before.

His hips undulated relentlessly above me, pounding me deeper and deeper, his skin clapping against mine with an obscene sound.

"I want to go on top," I said as he was biting my earlobe.

"Have it your way, baby."

He turned us over and I ended up resting on his stone-hard stomach. I lifted my butt and guided my vagina to the tip of his penis. Then, I let myself glide down his length.

"Puta!" I exclaimed, too overwhelmed to speak in English.

"What?" he inquired. "Is something wrong? Are you hurt?"

"No, no," I reassured him. "It's just... your dick. It feels so good like that! So deep."

He laughed.

"You feel good too. You're so wet."

"You have one of the largest dicks I've ever seen." The only other person I knew who was so well-endowed was Spence. "It feels amazing."

"You say that like you've seen millions of dicks."

There was an awkward silence.

"I guess I don't want to know," he said.

He cut short this embarrassing conversation by suddenly lifting his hips and filling me even more. He frantically moved his pelvis up and down as I accompanied his movements. When he was about to cum, he pulled me down onto his chest. He palmed my butt cheeks and grinded his rough crotch against my vulva. The friction it created on my clitoris made me come almost instantly. It took him a few more thrusts into me before he ejaculated in the condom.

While I was catching my breath on his chest, he took the condom off, tied its end, and placed it on the floor.

"That was... intense," I commented. "Pretty amazing, actually."

Very rarely sex with strangers was noteworthy, especially with men. It was always good to let people know when their performance was outstanding.

"Did I make your top ten?" He asked.

"Yeah, I think so. Even the top seven, maybe."

"I was kidding. Do you really have a list?"

"Yes. It's not a real list per se, just some random notes on my phone."

"Brooke was right, you are a slut!"

I smacked his upper arm.

"It was a joke!" He laughed. "Since I'm in your top seven, can I have your number? Just in case you want to, you know, get some of that again."

"I don't do repeats, sorry," I turned him down.

"Then why keep a list of your former partners if you don't see them again?"

"It's a good way of keeping track for my future autobiography."

"I really hope you're joking."

"Of course, I am."

"Have you ever slept with a guy more than once?"

"Yes," I answered truthfully, fighting the pain this subject always inflicted me. "But only two. And they are special exceptions."

"Those are lucky men," he sighed. "You're sure you don't want to raise that number to three?"

"Positive. But consider yourself lucky, usually I would be out of here before you've even had the time to take off the condom."

"Savage."

I didn't respond and got off him to get dressed. When I put on the jacket, I saw its button was missing. I found it on the floor.

"Shit!" I swore.

Matthew, who was still lying on the pile bedsheets, asked what the matter was.

"You damaged this jacket and it's not mine. It's very expensive!" I would know.

"It's only a button, it can be sewn back on easily. Whose jacket is it?"

"One of the guests lent it to me because my clothes were ruined after the fight."

"The redhead?"

"Yes."

"He wants your ass, you know?"

"Not a chance. I'm too badly-mannered to be his type, and he's too self-righteous to be mine."

"Still, he wants your ass. Just as much as I do."

"You've already had it."

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me back on top of him. He slipped his hand under my skirt right into my panties. Once there, he pushed three of his fingers inside of me. It startled me but it pleased me as well.

"I want it again," he murmured while teasing my G-spot.

I let him touch me until I came a second time, rocking on his hand. He had a sly smile that could only mean he thought he'd won. I put his hand away and hopped off him.

"I need to go. Thanks, Matt." I kissed his cheek.

He laughed. "Oh wow, I didn't see that one coming. I hope I'll see you again some time, Abby."

I collected my stuff, put on my tee-shirt under the jacket, and left the hotel.

It was around six a.m. when I made it back to my building. I climbed the stairs twice at a time and went straight to my bathroom. I took my makeup off and untied my hair, but only when I undressed did I realize I was still wearing the red Louboutins.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A/N: Fun fact, I'm posting this while I'm on the coach, on my way back from a rugby game. We lost, by the way.

Next chapter is out on Friday, it will be a short one.

Love,
Charlie.