Bring a Jumbo Pack Nikita Mirzani 2

The next night, as Nikita Mirzani lingered at the concierge desk, ostensibly checking guest requests, she watched Zack leave with a tall, svelte woman who could have been Miss Brazil 2010—long black hair, eyelashes to die for, dark eyes and full lips that must have graced at least one fashion magazine.

If there hadn’t been boxes under her desk, Nikita Mirzani would have crawled under it. The Trojans rescinded to the very back of her bottom desk drawer, under padded half-sized envelopes and behind a dog-eared copy of Delta of Venus.

When next Zack visited, she joined him for a drink, but she didn’t even think about trying to seduce him. No, better to tackle him only in her fantasies, to tear his clothes off, suck his cock until he begged her to fuck him, then she would mercilessly ride him until she was good and ready to come. Maybe she’d let him come then. Maybe. Fuck the Brazilians.

After that, his visits had been pleasant, and her desire for him had remained undimmed and unfulfilled, but she had never again considered crossing the line between friendship and bare flesh. And now time was running out.

The nerve to take it. What did that mean? She glanced at the clock at the corner of her monitor screen. The nerve to take it. Nerve that didn’t guarantee she’d get what she wanted, just that she’d had the courage to reach for it.

Yes, she’d need nerve if she was going to rip Les Grinion’s job from under his tasseled shoes. The Atlanta office was a cutthroat place to work. She’d need smarts, timing, and nerve.

It was one thing to plan, it was another to execute, and fear of failure was not an acceptable excuse. That was Les’s unwitting gift to her—that kernel of realization, and she had every intention of making it his final condescension.

Just like the job, Zack was something—someone—she wanted, and this would be the last time she could count on seeing him. She had to do this.

She had to reach out, to bridge the distance between their clasped hands, to turn confidence and comfort into sex. She had to, even knowing he’d almost certainly reject her. That was Les’s message. Executives took risks—sure, they weighed profit against loss and sometimes they guessed wrong, but those who succeeded took risks!

She had to put herself out there. Nikita Mirzani knew if she left Miami without even trying to hook up with Zack, she’d not only regret it all her life, the regional manager’s desk in Atlanta would be the terminal point in her career.

The warm tap of shoes on the marble foyer drew her out of her thoughts. Zack! There he was, the back of his suit jacket creased from hours of sitting, and he looked as if he’d shrunk a couple inches.

The bolt of concern singed more than her heart. Recurrent guests passed through lives beyond her knowing, and she had seen more than one decline between visits, eroded by health or misfortune. No, he couldn’t be one of those.

She waited patiently as he checked in, and before he turned away from front desk, she’d stepped into his path, her skirt standard uniform, her blouse sheer to show off the embroidered bustier under the black silk.

“Now there’s a sight for sore eyes.” He looked as though he meant his words as he took Nikita Mirzani’s arm, gripping it in friendly possession as he kissed first her check and then her lips, a warm but chaste kiss.

“And here I am—just for you,” Nikita Mirzani returned the kiss. “I’ve learned over my years in Guest Services that the best way to find out what a customer wants is to ask directly.” She pressed tight against Zack, unconcerned about the desk clerk who mechanically finished processing Zack’s reservation. “What do you want, sir?” she whispered against his ear.

She absorbed the stiffness of his body. The awkward words would come any second, the no’s and stumbled, polite dismissals, the adjustment of the distance between them. Maybe he’d say he really liked her as a friend and that sex would ruin things.

Maybe he’d confess to being married/engaged/seeing someone, or—she grinned against his shoulder—he’d tell her regretfully that he was gay. The rejection would come, but it would be all right. She’d taken the chance.

He pulled her closer, and she imagined his comfortable business mind melting and mixing into goo as her pussy pressed against his thigh, and…his cock stiffened.

“I want you,” he whispered against her ear.

She blinked, her bones suddenly marble, her skin the thinnest sheet of breath that burst into hot sensation where his fingers held her against him. That was a yes—he’d said yes. That wasn’t supposed to happen!

Could she unbury the condoms in less than 2.6 seconds, and what the hell did this mean in the grand scheme of her… scheme?

“Come with me,” she breathed against his chin. She’d take him to her office, manage a moderately graceful excavation of the condoms, and then they’d fuck on her desk.

All she had to do was toss the two copier paper boxes filled with her personal mementos to the floor and they’d have a wide plane to play upon. Maybe he’d bend her over the edge, fuck her mercilessly from behind. What if he slapped her ass?

Her pussy creamed.

“No,” he exhaled, the quiet tone reaching the tenor of a growl. “I want my bed turned down. Personally.”

She nodded, a bob of her head she doubted anyone would have seen. That was her job. Guest Services. Yep, turning down beds was right up her alley.

“Of course, sir,” she purred.


The pulse of arousal that blasted her core nearly brought her to her knees—not that the vantage of her face level with his crotch would have been unwelcome, but she still wanted to keep some level of dignity.

“After you, sir,” she said, her throat dry even as her cunt continued to slick.

He grinned, a lopsided expression that constricted her heart. He put his arm around her waist and walked to the elevator. Nikita Mirzani glanced at the front desk. Martin, the college kid they’d hired that spring, was staring at her as if she were a three-headed alien.

All she could do was smile.

Zack’s room was on the top floor. They had the elevator to themselves and, when the doors closed, their bodies merged. His mouth devoured her, tongue insistent, hot, demanding, tangling with hers, suppressing it, dominating it even as she grappled with him, losing herself in the sensations his kiss invoked.

She felt the heat of his body in one long, glorious line of firm muscle and strength. His cock pressed hard into her thigh, and she could not wait to have it in her.

He pushed her against the back of the elevator, pulling up her skirt, greedy fingers stroking her thighs, finding her panties, and sliding beyond the thin lace to her soaked pussy.

He groaned, his kiss deepening further, and Nikita Mirzani answered his arousal by gripping his ass, longing for the firm flesh to be free of his trousers. Boxers or briefs, what would it be?

The chime rang almost mute beneath their panting and groping, but when the doors opened, Nikita Mirzani moaned against Zack’s mouth, pushing him toward the gate, closer to fulfillment.