Submitting to My Ex's Dad novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Room 1412

Hallie spends the night with the stranger and learns his surname at dawn: Smurthwaite, the same as the groom.

The elevator doors opened on fourteen, and he did not let go of me.

He walked me backward down the hallway with his mouth on mine.

My heels skidded on the carpet, and his arm locked around my waist and held me up.

At the door of 1412 he fumbled the key card once, swore softly, and got it on the second try.

The door swung in, and he pushed me through it.

It shut behind us with a heavy click.

His jacket hit the floor, and my purse hit the floor, and I did not hear either one land.

He pressed me flat against the wall and held both my wrists above my head in one hand.

"Say what you want," he said against my jaw.

"I want you to stop being polite."

"I'm not being polite."

"Then take my dress off."

He let go of my wrists and found the zipper at my back.

He drew it down slowly, one tooth at a time, until the dress slid off my shoulders and pooled at my feet.

I stood there in my bra and my underwear and my tangled hair.

He stepped back and looked at me.

It was a long look, the kind a man gives something he means to keep for the whole night.

"Hands on the wall," he said.

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

I should have bristled.

Instead, a hot shiver ran straight down my spine, and I turned and put both palms on the cool wallpaper.

"Good girl," he said behind me.

The words went through me.

He unhooked my bra and dropped it.

His palms came around and cupped my breasts, thumbs dragging over my nipples until they were hard and aching.

I pushed back into him and felt how hard he was through his trousers.

"Look at you," he said, his mouth at my ear. "Ten minutes ago you were someone's fiancee."

"Don't talk about him."

"Then tell me what to do instead."

"Touch me."

"Where?"

I swallowed.

"Between my legs."

His hand slid down my stomach and under the lace, and two fingers pressed straight over my clit.

I cried out, and my forehead dropped against the wall.

He rubbed me in slow, firm circles, and he did not hurry, and I could not breathe.

"Wet," he said. "You're soaked for a man you just met."

"Yes."

"Say it again."

"I'm soaked for you."

He pulled my underwear down my legs, and I stepped out of it.

Then he turned me around, lifted me by the backs of my thighs, and carried me to the bed.

He laid me down on the white duvet and stood over me, tugging his tie off.

He undid his shirt button by button.

His chest was broad, with dark hair going silver in the middle and a long pale scar low on his ribs.

He was forty-something and built.

I didn't know why that undid me, but it did.

"Open your legs," he said.

I did.

He knelt on the carpet at the foot of the bed, hooked his hands under my knees, and pulled me to the edge.

Then he put his mouth on me.

I screamed.

He licked me in one long, flat stroke from my entrance to my clit, and my hips came up off the bed.

"Stay down," he said.

He pinned my hips with his forearm and did it again.

He sucked my clit between his lips and flicked it with the tip of his tongue until I was gripping the duvet in both fists.

"Please," I said.

"Please what?"

"Don't stop."

"Wasn't going to."

He pushed two fingers inside me and curled them up, finding the spot on the first try, and my whole body locked.

I came with a cry that echoed off the windows.

He kept going.

He worked me through it with his mouth and his fingers.

I came again, shaking and wrung out, saying a name I didn't even know.

"I don't know your name," I gasped.

He lifted his head.

His chin shone wet, and his eyes were nearly black.

"Benedict," he said.

"Hallie."

"Hallie." He said it like a man tasting something. "Take off my belt."

I sat up on trembling arms and undid his belt buckle, then his trousers.

He stepped out of them, and I took his cock in both hands.

He was thick and heavy and hot, and I could barely close my fingers around him.

"Look at me," he said.

I looked up while I stroked him, slow, from the base to the tip, and a bead of wetness gathered there.

He breathed out through his teeth.

"That's enough," he said, and he tipped me back on the bed. "I'm not coming in your hand."

He climbed over me.

He stretched my wrists over my head again, pressing them into the pillow with one hand, and he lined himself up with the other.

"Eyes on me," he said.

He pushed in.

It was slow, and it was so deep that my breath left me in a gasp.

He filled me all the way to the root and then he held there, trembling, his forehead against mine.

"God," he said. "You're tight."

"Move."

"Not yet."

"Benedict, move, please."

He pulled out almost to the tip and thrust back in, hard, and I cried out and wrapped my legs around his waist.

He set a rhythm that was deep and steady and unforgiving.

Every stroke dragged over the place inside me that his fingers had found.

"Harder," I said.

"Say it louder."

"Fuck me harder."

He did.

The headboard hit the wall.

His hand left my wrists and slid under my hips, tilting me up, and the angle was so good that I forgot how to speak.

"There," I managed. "Right there. Don't you dare stop."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

I came again, clenching around him, and he groaned and buried his face in my neck.

"Not yet," he said, through his teeth. "Not yet. Not until I say."

"I can't wait."

"You can."

He slowed down, almost to nothing, until I whimpered, and then he rolled us over in one smooth turn.

I ended up on top of him with my hair falling around his face.

"Your turn," he said, and his hands settled on my hips. "Show me what you want."

I had never been told that before.

I rose up on my knees and sank down on him, and we both groaned.

I started slowly, rolling my hips, learning the shape of him.

He watched me with his lips parted, his hands gripping tight enough to bruise.

Then I found the angle that made my clit grind against his body, and I rode him faster.

"That's it," he said. "Take it. Use me."

"You like this."

"I like you."

"Say it again."

"You're beautiful when you take what you want."

I leaned down and kissed him, rocking harder, and the room narrowed to the slap of skin and the sound he made in his throat.

His hand slipped between us and his thumb found my clit.

"Come for me," he said.

I came apart on top of him with a long, helpless cry.

That did it.

He thrust up once, twice, his grip bruising my hips, and he came with a shout, pulsing deep inside me.

I collapsed on his chest.

His heart hammered against my cheek.

For a while neither of us said anything.

Then he pulled me against his side, and he kissed my shoulder, and my hand found him hard again.

"Greedy," he said.

"You said I could take what I want."

"So I did."

He put me on my stomach with a pillow under my hips.

He entered me from behind in one long push, and I moaned into the sheet.

His hand wound into my hair and drew my head back just enough to feel it.

"Tell me how it feels," he said.

"Full. So full. Benedict, don't stop."

"I won't."

He fucked me slowly, deep, his other hand reaching around to stroke my clit in time with each thrust.

I came on his fingers, sobbing his name, and he followed with a low groan against my back.

We did it once more before the sky turned gray, quietly, face to face, neither of us saying a word.

I fell asleep with his arm across me.

When I woke up, the window was pale and gold.

He was asleep on his back, one arm flung over his head.

I slid out from under the sheet as quietly as I could and found my dress by the door.

My phone said 6:12.

I was wrapped in a hotel robe, hunting for my other shoe, when I knocked his wallet off the nightstand.

It fell open on the carpet.

His driver's license lay on top.

I picked it up to put it back.

The name was printed in block capitals.

BENEDICT SMURTHWAITE.

Preston's father was flying home from Dubai on Friday night.

I had never met him.

I stood very still.

I had walked past the easel in the lobby last night, without really seeing it.

I saw it now.

A cream card in a gold frame, with curling letters.

THE WEDDING OF PRESTON SMURTHWAITE AND HALLIE WHINCUP. GRAND BALLROOM. 2 PM.

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