A business woman attends a company party and soon finds herself in the closet, having a sensual encounter with a handsome man she’s just met.
I pull my car over and shift into park, leaving the engine running. Opening the door I turn and slip my legs out. The valet offers me his hand and I take it, letting him pull me from my seat. His hand is soft and he’s young. Handsome but young. With Braystone International I expect nothing less. I smile at him and grant him a polite, “Thank you,” as I toss him the keys.
His cheeks turn a soft shade of pink. He’s flustered and I can’t blame him. I stand before him, a powerful woman with the looks to back up that power. I’m tall, thin, with perky breasts and long legs. My eyes are dark and my lips lustrous. The top half of my hair is pinned up, professionally done, while the rest hangs loose to the middle of my back. It’s black with one blood red stripe that’s woven through the complex crown my hairdresser’s created, its delicate beauty leaving most men and a good number of women awestruck.
I know it.
They know it.
Everyone knows it.
“Okay,” says the young man. I haven’t asked a question so I have no idea who he’s talking to. I ignore him and strut past him. He’s in charge of my car. I have no use for him. Besides, all the action is inside.
There’s an award dinner and charity silent auction tonight. I’m neither early or late but right on time, exiting the elevator on the seventh floor to a large room full of people. I know most of them though few are actually worth knowing. I inconspicuously smooth out my dress and straighten my shawl. The dress is expensive, handmade with materials only found overseas. What can I say, I have expensive tastes. It’s silver, long enough to brush my ankles, and hugs my curves in all the right places. Its material is light and airy, one clasp connected at the back of my neck holding the top up. My ample cleavage is deep, not much left to the imagination. The shawl is black with silver threads, sparkling under the lights. Even my shoes are unique. One of a kind four inch heels I can barely tell I’m wearing. Just as it should be.
“Mania,” calls someone from a few yards into the throng of people. It’s Christopher, a co-worker to my late husband. He’s raising his hand and waving me in. My shoulders high, my back straight, and with a smile on my face I make my way over to him. When we’re near enough to each other to speak he leans forward and kisses my cheek.
I hate his kisses. He always leaves behind a hint of slobber and politeness requires I leave it there until I can discreetly wipe it away without giving offense.
“Mania, I’m glad you could make it. It wouldn’t be a party without your presence. You always outshine everyone. So regal, so beautiful,” he says, raising his glass of wine to me.
“You flatter me, Christopher,” I say.
“Chris. You can call me Chris,” he tells me.
I ignore that but for a slight nod of my head. I’ll never call him that. I can’t abide nicknames. A waiter walks by and I pull a glass off his tray. After giving it a sniff and a swirl I take a sip. Not bad. They haven’t skimped. Not that they won’t put out the lower quality liquor later once most attendees are too drunk to tell the difference.
I take another sip and let my eyes dance around the room. I’m not looking for anyone in particular, just looking. Already bored I need something to liven things up, to keep me from losing my sanity or, more likely, to keep me from walking out.
“So you’re being recognized tonight, right? Surprised?” asks Christopher.
“No,” I answer. “Not surprised at all.”
He blinks. No doubt he expects me to play coy, or to pretend I am one of those sad, pathetic women who need reassurance or compliments in order to prove their self worth. I’m not that kind of woman. He should know that, having known me for years, but he refuses to learn.
I glance at him. His balding pate is sweating. He’s probably already had too much to drink. His stomach, bigger than it should be, is bulging under his expensive suit. There’s a wedding ring on his finger. Again. He’s gone through four marriages, all of which have ended in divorce. Understandably so, from what I can tell.
He puts his hand on my arm and I fight the urge to instantly pull away. Christopher likes to touch. A womanizer I caution those I can about being left alone in a room with him.
I’m just about to make some polite excuse as to why I must step away and make my way around the room to speak to the other attendees, when a different hand finds my elbow. This one doesn’t make my skin crawl. The grip is firm and the skin worn as if from hard work. My head turns as the body attached to that hand comes into view and speaks.
“You’ll have to pardon Ms. Durova. I’ve been sent to fetch her. She’s needed in the other room immediately,” he says.
He’s Spanish, I think, or something close. His hair hangs in long waves, brushed to shine, to his shoulders. The black suit he’s wearing is filled out near to bursting but is well-tailored and flattering.
I smile at him and then look at Christopher, who stands with his mouth hanging open. The two men could not be further apart in everything other than their gender. “If you will excuse me,” I tell him. He nods and I let myself be led away. Once we’re out of earshot I ask, “Who sent you to fetch me?” I’m not fond of that word. It makes me feel like a servant and I am not a servant. Never again will I be a servant.
He grins and comes to a stand still, dropping his hand from my elbow. “No one. I just thought I’d come to your rescue.”
“Yes,” he says, bold for a man I’ve never met. He lowers himself in a bow, arms extended and hands flipped up. “Claudio Salazar, at your service.”
This party is no longer boring. A distraction has landed in my lap. I smile. “I could have escaped easily, had I desired to,” I tell him.
He rises up and crosses the distance between us. I can smell his cologne. It’s strong and musky. “I know, but a real man would never give you a reason to desire it.”
I’m instantly damp between my legs, wet and eager. I certainly hadn’t planned for sex tonight but there’s something about this man that lights my body on fire. Reaching my hand up I run my fingers through the locks of his hair. I watch what I’m doing, looking away from his crooked smile and smoldering eyes.
I feel his fingers dancing along my hip and inhale sharply.
“A real man would show you what true desire is,” he says, his words romantic and tinged with accented hunger.
I’ve had lovers, many of them, but this is new to me. I’m on the verge of dropping my dress right where I am and begging him to bend me over one of the tables. The craziest thing is that I don’t beg. I’ve never begged. But for him, for this Spanish god in human form, I believe I would.
My tongue comes out, slowly tracing along first my upper lip then the lower one. Claudio watches the movement with interest. It’s like we’re the only two people here, the world slipping away. I want it to be that way but I’m also a practical woman. We’re not alone. This isn’t private.
“Come with me,” I tell him. There is a double meaning in the sentence, in the command, and he hears it.
“Of course,” he says. “Lead the way, my beauty.”
His words are like syrup, honey, something sticky that coats my body. I’m merely walking but even doing that seems to offer a heightened experience. Sights, sounds, all of it bombard me. People. Drinks. Food. My own sex. I smell it. I hear it. My mouth opens slightly and my breath quickens. He walks behind me so he cannot see the hand I put on my chest, checking to be sure I’m not imagining how fast my heart is racing. I feel like a maiden about to be ravished by some knight passing by.
I plan to take him to my office but we barely make it down the hall. I catch sight of the closet. I’ve never opened it. I don’t know what it contains. I don’t even know if it’ll hold both of us.
It doesn’t matter.
This has to happen right now.
I pull the door open and step inside. I’m surprised. There is more room than I would have pictured. Everything is organized and in its place. The floor is clutter free. Claudio follows me in and shuts the door. He must have looked for the light switch because the dark only lasts a matter of seconds before we’re bathed in a warm glow from overhead.
Time stands still as we stand there looking at each other. His eyes scan me up, down, then back up again. I feel a shudder run through me.
“You’re exquisite,” he tells me when he finally breaks the silence. My usual response would be to agree with him but I don’t feel like the usual me. I watch as he takes off his jacket and gently places it on a shelf. He’s not wearing a tie. Propriety says he should be but he’s not. Next he removes his shirt, first untucking then unbuttoning it. Underneath his skin is smooth save the tiniest patch of dark hair on his chest. There are no scars or blemishes. He doesn’t seem human.
I lower my gaze to his pants. He sets his shirt aside, laid out nicely, then proceeds to unbutton and unzip those pants. When he steps out of them he gives them the same treatment. He’s a man who cares about his appearance. I like it. He’s going commando, no boxers or briefs to remove.
Claudio stands there in all his naked glory. His cock points at me and I stare at it, like a schoolgirl. It’s thick, rippled, and I swear I can see it throbbing with need. Giving his hips a thrust forward he watches me as my eyes go wide and I bite my lip like an innocent creature. Which I am not. Far from it in every aspect of my life.
“This is for you, my beauty.”
My eyes finally rise and I meet his gaze.
I set my shawl aside, folding it nicely and putting it beside his clothes. Outside I know we’re missing the awards and the auction. I don’t care. As a recipient I know I will be missed, but it doesn’t matter. Reaching back I unhook my dress. It doesn’t just fall. I have to help it down, leaning forward once it catches on my hips. My large breasts dangle in front of Claudio but he doesn’t reach out. Not yet. I step out of my dress and hang it on the corner of a shelf.
“Beautiful,” he says again, moving closer. He walks with confidence. I can tell despite the fact he’s only taken a couple steps. Both of his hands lift, fingers sliding up my neck and into my hair. Massaging gently he soon has me swaying left and right. Thumbs caress my cheek line and just beneath my earlobe. The gesture is sensual and with every touch I feel a shock run through my pussy. A fire is lit and my clit begins to throb, aching. A new rush of fluids dribble down the inside of my legs. The sensation is intense and precise.
I expect him to kiss my lips but he doesn’t. He kisses next to them, first to the left and then to the right, his tongue flicking out each time. I can’t help it. I moan. What he’s doing to me I’ve never experienced before, not in all my lovers combined. He’s sensual, erotic, and he’s making me feel as if I were a precious jewel only he could enjoy.
His hands finally roam lower, each taking a breast in hand. The nail of his thumbs scrape over my nipples, causing my back to arch and my mouth to open in a gasp. I lose track of time, now focused solely on what this man is doing to me. When he’s got me panting, on the verge of begging for him to hurry up and shove his cock inside me, he finally does what I want him to. Pushing me back against one of the shelves, the wood digging into my back, he lifts one of my legs, spreads me and thrusts forward.
He enters me slowly but at a consistent speed. Once he’s buried balls deep inside me he finally kisses me on the lips. It’s sweet and sensual. Pulling away he whispers, “I’m going to make you feel so very good.”
All I can do is nod as he begins to piston in and out of me. Soon we’re covered in sweat and I’m clawing at him, awaiting my release. He keeps hitting just the right spot, rubbing me raw inside. The floor is slick with my juices, a puddle formed, by the time I’m biting his shoulder to keep from screaming, my orgasm splitting me in half. I see stars, my body tense and vibrating like a tuning fork. He most certainly has made me feel very, very good.
“I’m not done yet, my beautiful plaything,” he says. His free hand dives once again into my hair, tilting my head so he can kiss me with more passion than he’s yet shown and that’s hard to top. My lips feel like they’re going to bruise but it’s so erotic I have no complaints.
After a couple more shoves into me he spears me to the shelf, freezing in place as he sprays his hot semen into my core.
“God,” I cry out against his lips.
“One more time for me, precious,” Claudio says.
I’m not sure how he does it but that command alone makes me come again, this climax fiercer than the last. He pulls me tightly to him, holding me as our combined juices leak out around our sexual seal. When I’m finally wrung dry I hang from him, completely wiped. He kisses my forehead then pulls out, stepping back and away. Grabbing what looks to be a clean piece of cloth from one of the shelves he wipes himself off and begins to get dressed. Wobbling on my feet I watch him, unable to catch my breath.
“You’ve missed your award,” he tells me.
“It was worth it,” I whisper back.
He smiles, slipping on his jacket.
“Perhaps there will be a next time,” he says.
I’m left alone when he opens the door and leaves. Two fingers touch my lips, testing the pain level. They hurt but I smile.
What a wonderful party. I’m glad I chose to come, glad I chose to stay.