CRAVE Temptation Collection

PROLOGUE 

All I wanted was a weekend away. No exes. No stress. Just me, a vibrator, and the quiet luxury of the Hotel Aurelia.

Then I got the text.

Room 406. Strip. Kneel. Don't speak unless told.

It wasn't meant for me. But I went anyway.

And when I opened the door, he didn't ask questions. He just gave orders.

Rough hands. Quiet voice. And a mouth that ruined me for every man who ever tried.

He didn't give me his name. Didn't ask for mine.

And when I told him I wasn't who he was expecting-he smiled.

And said, "You are now."

What started as a mistake becomes a weekend of obedience, bruises, and bliss.

But this stranger wants more than my body. He wants my control.

And I... want to give it to him.

Chapter 1 

The Wrong Text

There's something about a hotel bed that always makes me want to misbehave.

Maybe it's the way the sheets are tucked too tight, how the pillows smell like bleach and strangers. Maybe it's the freedom of knowing I'm anonymous in a luxury building full of men in suits who wouldn't dare look twice at a woman traveling alone.

But tonight, it's the text.

I'm two sips into overpriced wine, legs bare under my robe, vibrator already charging on the nightstand, when my phone buzzes.

Room 406. Strip. Kneel. Don't speak unless told.

That's it. No name. No emojis. No apologies.

I reread it three times, sure it must be a mistake.

But my thighs press together.

Whoever it was meant for... is lucky.

I reach for the wine again, trying to ignore the heat between my legs-but the thought takes root.

Strip. Kneel.

Would I? Could I?

The soft hum of city noise outside my window fades. The room feels smaller. My robe slips open as I shift on the bed, and my nipples harden in the cool air. I stare at the phone screen again, at the bold confidence of that message.

It wasn't meant for me.

But maybe I want it to be.

I don't overthink it.

I don't even hesitate.

I pull the robe from my shoulders, letting it drop into a puddle on the floor. My bare feet slap softly on the marble tile as I cross to the mirror. My pulse is already thudding low in my belly, and my fingers tremble as I pick up my keycard.

I'm not drunk. I'm not high.

I'm wet. Curious.

And completely out of my fucking mind.

But when I step into the hallway and the elevator dings, I don't look back.

Room 406 is halfway down a dimly lit corridor. Clean carpets. Quiet.

My heart's racing as I reach the door.

This is insane.

What if it's a setup? What if someone's playing with me? What if I knock, and some middle-aged businessman in tighty-whities screams and slams the door in my face?

But worse than that...

What if it is real?

I don't knock.

I press my palm flat to the door, lean in, and breathe.

Then I slide the card in the lock, and the green light flashes.

The door opens.

The room is mostly dark-just the lamp by the bed casting a low amber glow. And there he is.

A man, tall and dressed in black, sleeves rolled to his elbows, sitting in a chair by the window like he's been waiting. Legs spread. A glass of whiskey in one hand, phone in the other.

He looks up.

And smiles.

Not surprised. Not confused.

Like he knew I'd come.

"You're late," he says. His voice is low, rough. The kind of voice you want against your throat while his hand is between your legs.

My mouth parts, but I can't form a sentence. My whole body is already buzzing, nipples tight, skin hot.

He sets the drink down and stands slowly.

"Clothes off. Kneel."

It's not a question. It's a command.

And I obey.

The carpet burns my knees a little, but I barely notice. I strip without hesitation, pulling the tank top over my head and stepping out of my panties. I leave them in a soft puddle at my feet and lower myself down. Exposed. Open.

He circles me slowly. Like a predator. Like I'm already prey.

I don't know his name. I can't see his face clearly in the low light.