It was a welcome relief, sitting in the quiet hotel bar. I was going to be here, in godforsaken Ohio, for at least a week. It might even take two or three. Sipping my wine, I thought about Steve again. He’d taken me for dinner, hoping to convince me not to shut down his company. He even tried to seduce me, though whether that was because he thought it would work, or he just wanted in my panties, only he knows.
Poor Steve! He’d thought we were going to absorb his business. Jack acquired this obscure little software company because they had an analytics program we need. They also had any number of other platforms, some of them, admittedly quite good, but we don’t need those. I had my orders: get what we need, find any assets, and get the company ready to close.
I’d let the ritual play out. Expensive restaurant, plenty of wine, the tentative hand on my thigh … His crushed look when I said, “Babe. You got more for your company than you could have dreamed. Go home to your wife. Tell your employees to send us a resume. ” He looked miserable, but nodded. He was defeated. I waved the waiter over, and asked for the check. Steve did not object when I threw my corporate card down.
My reverie was interrupted when I heard a deep voice next to me say, “Can I get a vodka martini.” I glanced sidewise and was pleasantly surprised to see an attractive, late 30ish man. My eyes traversed his body. He was tall, and lean, and wearing a pair of jeans that hugged his hips just the way I love. His tee moulded his chiseled chest, and his bare, well-muscled arms made me want them wrapped around me immediately. I knew he knew I was checking him out.
“May I?” he asked, settling on to the bar stool beside me. The bar was nearly empty, so this was encouraging.
“Oh, sure,” I said, shifting my purse on the bar.
“Another glass of wine, too, please,” he called to the bartender, pointing at my nearly empty glass.
“Thank you,” I said, looking into his eyes. They were blue. I have a weakness for tall men with blue eyes. A Friday night in Bumfuck Ohio suddenly held some appeal.
“I’m Brett,” he said, flashing a dazzling smile.
“Hi, Brett. I’m Rowena,” I responded, holding out my hand. His hand was strong and warm, and his handshake was firm. I did the apply pressure thing, as well. He gave me a wry smile and scrutinized me through half-closed eyes. I wondered if he’d made the same mistake so many men do, assuming that, because I dress the way I do, I was going to be easy.
I mean, I am easy, but I get to choose. Brett, looking as yummy as he did, was already on the short list, but he still had to convince me. There are certain things I look for, to make sure that a confident man isn’t really just a selfish, conceited prick. Selfish men are the worst in bed!
We chatted over drinks. I learned that Brett was self-employed, also travelling for work. He was in town to sign a new client. He lived on the east coast, but most of his clients were in the Midwest, so he was frequently in the area. He was bright, and friendly, and his deep voice was sexy as hell.
“So, Brett,” I said, tossing back the rest of my wine. “Would you like to come up to my room with me?”
He smiled, and turned so he was facing me. I turned in my seat as well, until my legs were between his. I dropped a hand, and ran it up his thigh, in case he had any question as to what the invitation entailed. He surprised me by taking my hand in his and lifting it from his leg.
“You’re an attractive woman, Rowena,” he said, interlacing his fingers with mine. I was shocked! I hadn’t thought I’d misread the signs. Maybe I was losing my touch. There had been the incident with Zach a couple of months back … I was disappointed, though. Brett was positively exquisite, and I really wanted to get him out of those jeans.
“Wow,” I said. “Really? I got this wrong?”
“If you mean that I want you,” he said, bringing my hand to his lips, “then no. You’re not wrong.” I squirmed on my seat when his tongue slipped out over his full, sensuous lips, and he licked from the palm of my hand to the tip of my middle finger.
“Oh, damn, Brett,” I said, my voice breathy and deep. “Then what?”
“I like the way you wear your nails,” he said, examining my hand. “I usually have to send my dates to the salon, so they get a proper manicure. You’ve already nailed it. Excuse the pun.”
He smiled, and turned my hand over, tickling the palm with his long, tanned fingers. The intimacy of his casual touch sent a jolt of desire through my body that settled deep between my legs. He wore no wedding ring, and his caresses were deliberate. Why was he hesitating?
“I have certain … proclivities,” he said. The way he was looking at me! I could see my own desire reflected in his eyes. There was no warning flare, just curiosity. What unexpected fetish did this Adonis have?
“Such as?” I prompted.
“I’m sure you struggle to find men who appreciate your confidence and independence. I like those qualities in you.”
“Brett …” I had no idea where he was going.
“I need to be in control,” he said, his eyes meeting mine.
“Oh,” I said, turning back to the bar, and flagging the bartender to bring me another glass of wine.
“Does that bother you, Rowena?” he asked, his lips close to my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.
“It doesn’t bother me, necessarily,” I said. “I’m just not sure what you mean. Are you talking about the BDSM all the girls are twittering about?”
He laughed. “No, that’s not it,” he said. “I would never hurt or humiliate you. I just want you relinquish control. I want to show you the pleasure of submission.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. Don’t get me wrong. I like to be pushed up against a wall, my hands pinned over my head, and kissed passionately as much as the next girl, but sometimes I want to push him back in the pillows and pin his hands.
“You’re an open-minded woman,” he said. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
“You know what?” I wasn’t sure what I was going to say. I paused, worrying my lower lip between my teeth. “Okay.” I held my wine glass up, noting the sparkle in his eye as he smiled, and tapped his glass to mine.
We lingered over our drinks, and the sexual tension was palpable. Every smoldering look, every casual touch, every charged word. I wanted him so much! I couldn’t believe I wasn’t going to have him in my bed that very night.
“The anticipation is just part of the fun, Rowena,” he told me, sensing my need. “I want you to do something.”
“What?” I asked, knowing in that moment there was very little I wouldn’t do, if he asked.
“Go into the ladies room and take your panties off.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Do it,” he commanded. His voice, which had been gentle and caressing up until now, was forceful.
I stood up and looked at him. Judging by the look on his face, he was completely serious. Well, I’d told him I was down to try this. I might as well embrace it. It’s not like I had never been in a bar with no panties on before, after all.
I walked across the room, feeling his eyes follow me. In the stall, I wondered if I was going to be able to follow through. I was not used to, nor was I particularly fond of, being told what to do. Pursing my lips, I slipped my lacy black panties off. Crumpling them in in a fist, I returned to the bar, where Brett sat, waiting expectantly.
He held his hand out, as I stood before him. I reached up and pushed the panties in to his waiting hand. He took them, and I glanced furtively round the bar to see if anyone noticed as he shook them out, then lifted them to his face, inhaling deeply.
“Good girl,” he said, slipping my panties into his pocket. “These are mine now. Sit back down.” He patted the stool. “Let’s talk about tomorrow.” He handed me a slip of paper. “This is the restaurant where I want you to meet me. 7 o’clock.”
“Is there anything I need to do,” I asked. “You know … to …Should I do anything before we meet?”
He put his hand on my chin, and turned my face up to him. “I’m going to let you dress yourself, Rowena,” he said. “Just keep in mind that I like heels.”
“Okay,” I said.
He smiled, then leaned in and tenderly brushed my lips with his. My body trembled at the touch of his mouth. I wanted him to really kiss me. I wanted to feel his lips crushing mine, wanted some indication that he wanted me as badly as I wanted him, but he pulled away. My eyes dropped. I clearly saw the outline of his hard-on pressing against the front of his jeans. It was the sign I needed. I smiled and licked my lips.
This, I thought to myself, might be well worth the wait.
I tossed and turned in bed that night. I was titillated now by the game Brett had suggested, and curious to see how it would unfold. I kept hearing his voice, “I want you relinquish control. I want to show you the pleasure of submission.” It sounded so sexy when he said it.