The keycard clicked, and Misty stepped into the hotel room, the thick carpet muffling her skyscraper heels. The AC hummed, cool against the flush of anticipation on her skin. She’d waited for this for years—tonight, James would finally taste her. Her fingers shook as she unzipped the garment bag hanging in the closet. The white lace lingerie clung to her curves, sheer enough to show every inch of her smooth, shaved skin beneath. The stockings stretched taut over her calves, the nylon darkened by weeks of sweat and musk—James’s obsession. She fastened the padded cuffs around her wrists, then her ankles, pulling her legs back until her cock and tight hole were shamelessly exposed. A drop of pre-cum glistened on the tip. Last touch: the black ball gag, biting down as her jaw stretched wide. She took one last glance at her reflection—legs splayed, cock hard, completely at his mercy—before dialing the bar. James picked up instantly. “Room 412. Now.” The click of the receiver sent a shiver down her spine. The wait was agony. When the door finally swung open, she whimpered around the gag. James stood there, shirt unbuttoned, his hungry gaze locked between her legs. Without a word, he dropped to his knees and crawled to her. His first touch—hot breath, then wet lips grazing her balls—made her jerk against the restraints. His tongue traced the base of her cock before sealing over the head, sucking hard. Misty’s moan was muffled, desperate. He wasn’t going to stop until she was wrecked.