The hotel where I took her was a tower of glass and gold, the kind of place where the staff knew better than to ask questions. I'd booked the presidential suite.
The moment the door clicked shut behind us, the city noise faded into silence. It was just us. The air between us was thick with anticipation, with the scent of her perfume and the ghost of her moans still clinging to my skin.
Julie hesitated in the foyer, her fingers twisting in the hem of her dress. "I want to take a shower, but I don't have any clothes," she admitted, her voice small.
I cupped her face, tilting her chin up until her eyes met mine. "I know." My thumb brushed her lower lip. "Go shower. I'll take care of everything."
She searched my face for a long moment, then nodded, slipping into the bathroom. The sound of the water starting up filled the silence, steam curling under the door. I waited until I heard the distinct click of the lock engaging—Julie, ever cautious—before I moved.
