Sitting in the semi-lit hotel room, Ignatius Ramirez-Santiago once again wondered why he had come. He didn’t know how he’d let his smokejumper captain talk him into this cockamamie idea or paying for the ridiculously high-priced suite. Well maybe the, “you don’t get your ass laid while you’re on vacation, I’m benching you,” was what did it. I wish it was only that simple. Eying the wide bed, he wondered if he could go through with making love to a woman he barely knew. Sure his cock was more than ready to have its yearlong celibacy broken, but he wasn’t. My cock doesn’t have to deal with a cringing lover when she realizes how fucked up I am. That’s why this date with 1Night Stand is ideal. I won’t have to explain how my dumb ass got burned trying to help put out a canyon fire. He’d filled out the stupid survey Madame Evangeline emailed him in hopes of finding his fantasy fuck and she’d delivered. Or so she claimed. His date still hadn’t shown.
He didn’t know much about the woman 1Night Stand had paired him with other than her willingness to go along with his groping-in-the-dark scenario. Before his accident he’d been the type of lover who detested screwing with the lights off. A visual creature, he wanted—no, he needed to see every emotion cross his lover’s face. Amazing what a few scars will do to that. He hadn’t thought the scars along his neck and down his left shoulder were all that bad. He’d seen much worse in the burn unit at the hospital, but his lovers proclaimed otherwise. These days he’d settle for temporary release—just enough to take the edge off. Maybe a whole night of fucking will get me back on track for a while.The brisk knock on the door just before the spill of light from the hallway jerked him out of his thoughts. His shoulders tensed, his attention glued to the shadowy figure. Was it her? The man at desk had assured him she would have a key to his room.
“Mr. Ramirez-Santiago?” The outline of what only could be a man appeared in the block of illumination. His shoulders slumped even while a bit of unease filled him. Who the hell is that?
“Yeah.” His response came out much rougher than he intended and the person flinched. Now that the guy had entered farther into the room, Nate recognized the front desk manager from his earlier check-in.
“Your date….”
©Dakota Trace All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.
