On the eleventh day, he stopped dictating mid-sentence.
I thought we were stopping for a food break, and turned on the tea kettle, but Smith put on his shoes.
“Are your feet sore from pacing?” I asked.
He said, “I'm calling it a day. Montreal awaits. Come on, I'll take you on a walking tour.”
We'd been out of the hotel room plenty of times, but there's something about a hotel that gives you cabin fever if you spend much time in it beyond sleeping. They'd decorated the place to resemble a stylish condominium, but everything matched too perfectly. The gleaming dining room table bore no scratches from a family dinner, no love scars from a real life.
I ran to the washroom to fix my makeup, and noted the time and weather by a quick visit to the patio. The sun was high overhead, as it was barely past two o'clock, so I put on extra sunscreen and grabbed a big, floppy sunhat.
Smith grinned at me as we stepped into the private elevator. “You look ridiculous,” he said.
I pulled the hat down further and peered at him from beneath the ruffled brim. “And you're going to have a red nose if you don't let me put some sunscreen on you.”
He took off his sunglasses and fixed me with those deep-as-the-sea blue eyes of his. “Hit me,” he said, and he pressed the button to stop the elevator between floors.
I pulled the tube of lotion from my purse and squirted some onto my fingers. My heart was beating faster already, simply at the idea of touching him. He closed his eyes and I rubbed the lotion across his temples and forehead first, taking my time. He had great skin for a fair-faced man who didn't take care of himself beyond water and whatever soap happened to be in the hotel bathroom.
I rubbed the lotion down his cheeks, using both hands to apply and massage both sides of his face evenly. With my fingertip, I applied the lotion near his eyes and then down his nose, stopping to feel the cartilage at the pointed tip. It felt so different from the tip of my own nose, which was soft and squishy by comparison.
The air inside the elevator hung around us, warm and still, as though we were paused in time, encapsulated away from the rest of the world. I heard nothing but the whir of something electrical, and our breathing.
Smith licked his lips, and when my hand passed near his mouth, he caught my wrist in his hand and stuck one of my fingers in his mouth. He sucked my finger as he gazed into my eyes, and I felt like he was consuming me, devouring some intangible part of me, like my soul.
The sensation of his wet tongue and lips on my finger excited me, the flesh between my legs swelling as quickly as if he'd been sucking my clit.
Closing my eyes, I said, “That feels good. And it's just my finger.”
In response, he moved my finger to the side of his mouth, between his teeth, and he gave me a gentle bite. The points of pressure gave me a flash of fear, like the crack of a bull whip, and my eyes flew open.
He released my finger and pulled me into him, his arms tight around my back and his hands rough on my bu**ocks. I rocked my h*ps up and against his, a pleading moan escaping my lips. I'd been waiting so long, and as he kissed me, I opened myself to him, inviting him to devour me.
He pulled away and gazed down into my eyes.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said.
I reached between our h*ps and stroked his hardening shaft through his brushed-cotton trousers.
“Surprise.”
He chuckled. “Not that. We're going to a show tonight. A concert. And we're meeting some friends.”
I kept kneading his c**k through the fabric, only partially aware of our conversation.
“I'm meeting some of your friends? Tonight?”
“They're more… well, they're your age.”
“Going out on a real date? Oh, Smith. You naughty boy.” I unbuckled his pants and pushed him back into the corner of the elevator. “Are there cameras in this elevator?”
“Probably.” He grinned at me. “Hey, would you let me watch you have sex with another man?”
I was getting down on my knees in front of him, and I paused, my face at his crotch. I looked up into his dark sapphire eyes.
“What other man?” My mind raced. Was he planning to take me to a sex club? A swinger's dungeon? He didn't answer, so I said, “What the f**k, Smith? What other man?”
He reached down and pulled off my hat, tossing it to the elevator floor. He stroked my hair and stopped with one palm on the back of my head. With gentle pressure, he pushed my head forward at the same time as he pulled down his boxer shorts, and his bare c**k was at my lips.
I felt so many emotions raging within me at the same time. There was his manhood, hot and hard and in my face, and already I was kissing and licking the shaft, unable to resist. He's just messing with my head, I told myself. The mention of this other man was to make me angry, because it excited him to irritate me.
Now he had both hands on my head, and he was pushing more insistently against me, the slippery tip of his c**k at my lips, driving against my closed mouth.
“Sure, you can watch,” I said. “I'd love to f**k some guy while you watched. It would be good for you to see how to treat a lady. Maybe you'll learn something.”
Before he could respond, I dropped my jaw and took him deep into my mouth. I remembered how sensual it felt to have my finger sucked on, and my pleasure doubled. The tension in my pu**y turned to intense pressure, and I alternated between sliding him in and out of my mouth, then giving a hard suck to the tip, my lips and tongue making wet, smacking noises.
He groaned. “Tori. Oh, Tori. I thought you were innocent, but you're not. You're wicked. You're my wicked little redhead cumslut.”
I popped his c**k out of my mouth and blinked up at him. “Beg pardon?”
He grabbed the back of my head again and stuffed his c**k into my mouth as he immediately came, shooting his hot fluid down my throat.
When he was done pulsing and withdrew, I wiped my mouth with my hand as I stared down at his shoes. He was wearing leather sandals with walking soles, his toes visible. I thought about spitting his fluid back out on his feet.
Do it, said the voice in my head. Spit on his sandals. Soak them.
No, it's exactly what he wants you to do, another voice countered.
I swallowed. And instead of giving him the glare I wanted to sear him with, I look up and smiled sweetly. Like an obedient dog. Like a f**king Border Collie.
“Good girl,” he said, patting my head.
He did up his pants, without any mention of doing anything for me. Not that I was in the mood anymore.
I got to my feet, dusted off my bare knees, and picked up my purse and sunhat. I retrieved the tube of sunscreen and squirted a dollop onto my fingers.