A Taste of Pleasure (9 page)

London loved Deacon more than any other man, but she still loved men in general. She loved their smell, the way they tasted and felt next to her body, and their strength. The endurance of a man really appealed to her. She loved to be taken, controlled, and ravished by them. Her gaze traveled back to the room and along the table, assessing all of the men, these men who were so consumed and controlled by their jobs that they only glanced fleetingly at her, which was fine. She was certain that most of them were far too intimidated by her power to even approach her, and her palate was far too refined for any of them anyway. She had her Deacon, and of course, other provisions.

As her mind wandered, she thought about how she loved certain words and the moments that they signified: “
Connection
,” when a guy's eyes met hers and she savored the feeling of that tingle in her tummy; the thrill of “
anticipation
” of his first touch and the taste of his first kiss; and “
penetration
,” the moment when he filled her emptiness with sustenance and satisfied her voracious appetite.

The man in the pub never left his table, but he drank when she drank. His eyes pulled her toward him, taunting her, teasing her, playing with her as she played with him. She took her finger and slowly dipped it into the wine and then touched her lips with it. He did the same. Her wetness increased despite the ring she noticed glimmering on his left hand. Even if he was married, she wanted him and he knew it. She felt herself reverting to her old habits.

When her meal came, she was no longer in the mood for food, as she had a growing hunger for something else. She toyed with her shrimp, dipping it in the sauce and placing each piece into her mouth as if it were his hardness on her lips. She sucked on it, nibbled on it, took bites, and then dipped it again and again in the sauce, licking it clean every time. She tore off a piece of bread and buttered it. Placing it in her mouth, she chewed it slowly piece by piece, then back to the shrimp, dipping and sucking over and over again. She enjoyed this game.

She noticed him squirming and she smiled. She watched him take off his jacket and loosen his tie and collar on his off-white shirt. She smiled as he patted his forehead with his napkin. She touched her drink, stroking her fingers slowly down the condensation and around the fullness of the glass. She brought it to her lips, sipping and lightly skimming the rim with her tongue. He slid back in his booth, never taking his eyes off her. She smiled and finished her meal with bravado, slipped on her jacket, and paid the bill. She could see his anxiety rising as she headed for the door, his eyes ablaze and narrowing with a sinister infatuation.

She was headed for her car when she suddenly felt an arm pulling her into the alley. It was him. He pulled her to him.

“I'm going to fuck you right here,” he whispered in a
husky voice, his hot breath panting on her neck. He slid her skirt up, pawing at her butt, her tummy, her slim waist. His kisses were long, deep, and slow. His lips were soft, warm, and lusting for her as she touched his tongue with hers and tasted the wine. His breathing was harder now against her skin as his lips followed all the way down as far as he could go, kissing the tops of her breasts. She heard him unzip his pants. He touched her bare sex with his fingers, massaged her, inserted his fingers deep inside her, and moved them in and out. He penetrated her with his hardness as a deep moan escaped from his throat, then he pulled out, zipped up his pants, and gave her a devious look. He kissed her again, tugging at her tongue with his teeth, then pulled away and handed her a card as he turned to leave. She stood there numb, feeling weightless and breathless. Looking at the card, she blinked, her dazed eyes adjusting to the light, and the wine, and the almost-sex. The card read,
COME TO ME TONIGHT 7:30 AT THE YORK PALACE HOTEL, ROOM 703, MATTHEW
.

She composed herself and went back to the office. The meetings resumed as her thoughts roamed again, this time thinking of Matthew . . . the feel of his fullness and how the void space between her legs would soon be full again. Her anticipation was overwhelming. The monotony of the meeting continued, but her mind never left the alley. She turned her head, leaning into her shoulder, and she could still smell his cologne on her blouse. Her tummy tingled. She ran her finger across her lip and nibbled at her fingernail, remembering the bar.

Soon the meeting was over and she left early, racing for home. Once she'd finally made it inside, she collapsed on the couch, opened her legs, and touched herself. Yes, she was ready for Matthew. She wondered if she should wait for him, or
satisfy herself now. She scoffed as she opened the drawer and took out her toy. She rubbed it across herself as her body trembled and she released a sensual moan. It felt so good. Her tender part had been excited ever since this afternoon and needed taking care of.

She inserted her toy inside her hot, wet sex, one part touching her arousal zone as the other went deep inside. She trembled as it massaged her into a long and smoldering climax. Her body relaxed as her juices flowed. She touched them and took her toy up to her mouth, tasting herself and thinking about what was waiting for her tonight. She tidied up, undressed, and turned on the bathwater and music. Soon she was submerged amid the sudsy bubbles, relaxing and enjoying the music.

Revived, she stepped out of the tub and dried herself with a big fluffy white towel. She walked into her adjoining bedroom to select her outfit for the evening. She chose her black silk strapless dress with a full skirt, black thigh-highs, stilettos, and her silky wrap. She hustled out the door, hopped in the Beemer, and sped off toward the hotel.

Standing in front of the door to his room, her heart was suddenly beating out of her chest. She thought she might just have a heart attack right there as she knocked. After a moment, the door swung open and there he stood, wearing only casual pants that hung low, his broad shoulders and chiseled abs revealed and glistening. He was a decadent dessert waiting to be devoured. Her mouth watered and her mind was back in the alley again. Her pulse raced faster, and she was certain she could feel her blood turning into hot, liquefied caramel.

His eyes pulled at her, his arms embraced her without a word, and his lips found hers. They were warm and soft and so full of passion. She melted in his arms. He walked her over
to the couch, his lips pressed against hers all the way, never losing touch. He sat her down, pulling her legs toward him, and reached under her skirt to find no panties. He smiled approvingly as he touched her, rubbing her gently, searching for her opening, her hot spots. After a few minutes he asked her to touch herself. She complied, placing her finger on her button and then inside.

“Fuck yourself,” he said as he unzipped his pants and took out his hardness. She wanted it so badly as her fingers were working their magic on her hot spots. He tugged at her hand and licked her fingers. He grasped a handful of her hair as he pushed his sex toward her mouth. She took him in her other hand and eased him into her eager mouth. She sucked hard as he continued sucking on her fingers, nibbling and teasing. She lingered at the thick head of his hot member, lapping the precum. It was throbbing as she sucked it down to the base and back up. He reacted with low moans. He took his fingers and penetrated her, fucking her deeply as they both trembled and climaxed together. Her body shook, his maleness ejecting his juice into her mouth so fast she could hardly contain it. He looked at her adoringly, stroking her face and hair, and still yearning to be inside of her again.

She snuggled deep in his arms, his hands massaging her back and her breasts. He teased and sucked at her nipples, bringing them to hardness. She groaned as her body prepared for his. He kissed her neck, her throat, and then her lips. He backed away, touching her lips with his long, slim fingers. He smiled at her while his fingers outlined her full warm lips. Then he kissed her. Their tongues played with each other momentarily, then he licked his way to her sex. He pulled her legs apart and sucked on her sensitive parts. She was hot and ready for him. He was savoring the effect he had on her. He placed
his mouth over her button and sucked hard. She moaned, begging for his sex, which was already thick and hard and ready for her again. She couldn't wait until he took her, to have him back inside of her again the way he was in the alleyway.

She whispered. “Please, hon, I need you so badly.”

He smiled and responded, “Soon . . . very soon.”

He continued to suck on her until she almost screamed, then he pointed his protected hardness between her legs and entered her. Her body swelled as they moaned together. He pumped into her slow, then faster and deeper into her wet, silky walls, which hugged him tightly. She relaxed her muscles as he penetrated her, then she tightened them as he pulled out, again and again until her whole body tightened up and she could feel the pending explosion about to happen. He flashed that sinister look at her again as he shot into her, her body convulsing around him. She smiled as he kissed her again and again, lying on top of her with his hands cupping her face and his mouth on her lips.

After the second round, Matthew explained that he was only in New York on business and he had to leave in the morning. He said that he would look her up again should he ever return to the city. He didn't ask her to stay, and she didn't want to. She knew he was married and didn't want to be there if his wife called.

London smiled as she headed home, satisfied with the night, even if she did feel slightly used and abused. She'd gotten what she needed and so had Matthew.

A
lmost two months had passed after the magical weekend at La Fontaine Hotel with Deacon. She hadn't heard a word from him since he'd returned to England. It was late and her mind was consumed by thoughts of him as she tidied her desk and turned out the only remaining light in the building. As she made her way through the darkness and down to the parking lot, she thought of how the looming storm outside resembled her brooding emotions. She usually contained her feelings well, but the loneliness, coupled with the gloominess of the weather, was beginning to dampen her spirit and challenge her resilience.

As a security guard escorted her to her car, against torrential rain and winds gusting to fifty miles per hour, she made a feeble attempt with her umbrella. It flipped inside out as she scurried, cursing her high heels as she lunged through the puddles.
Why didn't I wear boots today
? she wondered.

“Good night, Ms. Shelby. Drive safely,” the guard shouted over the wind and thunderous sounds booming overhead.

“Thanks, George,” she replied with a smile as he closed the door on her black Cadillac Escalade, her winter car.

She felt safety and comfort in the big SUV, protected against the storm as the downpour continued, raging through the sky and pounding relentlessly against the rooftop with a force that was almost deafening. She was glad for the heater, which was beginning to warm and dry her legs and feet. She shuffled in her seat, kicking off her shoes to let them dry. She checked her image in the mirror, stalling as she hoped the rain would let up. Her mascara was smudged and her hair was drenched. She sighed as she flipped the visor back out of her face. She flicked on the radio, and it was as if the music had read her mind. Alison Krauss and John Waite belted out their duet of “Missing You.” As the rain washed over the windshield, blurring the city lights, she finally released the tears that had been welling up over Deacon, letting them fall freely down her face.

She sniffled into a tissue as she sang along with the lyrics, trying to reassure herself. Regaining her composure and changing the station, she set off for home. She found a station with news, traffic, and weather to get an update on the storm that continued to hammer the city. She heard “Emergency alert!” followed by several beeps, and the newscaster warned of the severe thunderstorm. He reported lightning, gusting, damaging winds that had caused downed trees and power lines, and encouraged people to stay inside. She scoffed at the announcer. “Some of us have to get there first.” The traffic report followed, informing her that the interstate was closed due to a jackknifed semi-trailer and the subsequent pileup. She was relieved to know beforehand so she could cut through East Irvington up to Tarrytown and avoid the traffic jam on the highway.

Up ahead, she caught a glimpse of a sea of red taillights and the flashers of the state troopers at the accident. She exited the freeway just in time and headed down her alternate route, a
deserted stretch of road near the Taxter Ridge Park Preserve. The storm raged on as she slowly made her way through the darkness. Suddenly, she slammed on the brakes as a tree branch blew across the roadway in front of her. Startled, she crept ahead, noticing more blinking lights. As she approached, she could see the emergency flashers on a wrecked pickup truck that was blocking the right lane. She slowed almost to a stop as she proceeded into the left lane, where she could see that the truck had crashed. A large tree had fallen onto the shoulder of the roadway and the front right tire of the truck was lodged up onto the trunk of the tree: it looked as if the tree had swallowed up the truck. Branches had crashed through the windshield, and behind them she thought she could see the driver stirring to get out. London pulled off to the shoulder in front of the accident and grabbed her cell phone, dialing 911. The phone beeped and flashed
NO SERVICE
.

“Damn it!” she yelled in exasperation as she slipped her still-wet shoes back on. She hesitated, then jumped from her SUV to go out and check on the driver. He saw her coming and eased down the window. She climbed up onto the running board and eased into the window slightly, ducking out of the rain.

“Sir, are you okay?” she asked.

“Yes, I think so. I'm not sure,” he stammered, disoriented from the collision and holding his head in his hands. “I tried calling for help, but . . .”