Suite Encounters Read online

  “Well,” Tom said, getting up to pull on just his underwear. “I thought you might like to see the video.”

  Mia’s mouth fell open at the same time that she frowned. “What?”

  Tom, grinning, held up an actual key on a stick, not a magnetic card. Mia shook her head, not understanding.

  Tom pointed along the wall with the mirror, just to the left of the desk where the adjoining room’s door was located, an inside door that still opened with a key on a stick.

  Mia looked from Tom to key to door to mirror, mouth opening farther, shock turning to delight and disbelief.

  “I thought for sure you’d seen the ice machine we passed coming in here and wondered where the hell I’d gone.” He grinned. “Cost a bit to get them to go along with this, but Derrick’s still assistant manager.”

  She sprang at him, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard. “I’ll bet it’s an excellent video,” he said at last, untangling himself from her and heading to the room next door.

  “I’ll bet it’s cause for instant replay,” Mia said, and sat waiting for Tom to come back into the hotel room where, for once, she was content thinking it was just the two of them watching.

  SELFISH

  Donna George Storey

  There’s a first time for everything.

  Isabel adjusted the strap of her shoulder bag. It was heavier than usual, which was not surprising given all the extra “supplies” inside. Squaring her shoulders, she turned to Christine, who was on duty at the register.

  “I have an appointment at the bank, then some errands. I should be back by three.”

  Christine’s forehead creased into a frown.

  “They’re not planning foreclosure or anything,” Isabel said lightly. It was such a shame to mar that perfect, twenty-four-year-old skin with unnecessary worry. “It’s a routine matter. No big deal.”

  But, of course, it was a big deal. A big fucking deal.

  Do one thing for yourself every day. Something selfish. Simply because you want it.

  As Isabel pulled into the Hyatt’s underground parking lot, she figured she wasn’t the only woman on earth who heard her therapist’s voice in her head at critical moments. Wasn’t that the point of therapy—to replace negative self-talk with a positive, life-enhancing monologue?

  So far she’d carried out Tracy’s assignment for the week perfectly. She’d asked her husband to make dinner and clean up when she hosted the last reading at the bookstore. She’d enlisted her daughter to pick up the organic veggie box from the farmers’ market on her way home from play practice—a big time saver. She’d bought herself a new coffee mug, just because the color made her happy.

  Today’s indulgence was far more ambitious, however: rent a hotel room, seduce a stiff and proper banker, sweeten the deal with a very naughty ensemble of lingerie. She wasn’t so sure her therapist would approve of that.

  Isabel pulled up to the valet stand and shut off the engine. Her pulse was racing. And she hadn’t even gotten to the hard part yet.

  But there was a first time for everything. Even when you were forty-four.

  Although at the moment, handing her keys to the chipper teenager in the valet’s shirt, she felt more like eighteen, the age she was the first time she seduced a man, desperate to shed her virginity like a yoke before she went away to college. Dave had been twenty-nine, separated from his wife, a friend of her older sister’s husband. She could tell he was attracted to her so she invited herself to his place, teased him into kissing her after a drink or two and then laid her cards on the table. She actually dangled a maraschino by the stem in front of him and said she wanted to lose her cherry to him. A long, heart-stopping moment passed before he said, in his wise and weary older-man way, “Sure, Isabel, I’d be honored to make love to you.”

  The memories of what happened then were hazy, like snippets of a movie all bathed in the golden light of a summer evening: Dave’s eyes closing as his lips opened under hers. The lazy glide of his finger between her breasts. The way she’d trembled, as if he’d touched her heart. But she knew better now. Though he’d kissed her breasts and sucked the nipples languidly, sending sweet twinges of pleasure to her pussy, though he’d parted her legs and eased himself into her oh-so-gently, he’d never really touched her. They’d both stayed locked in themselves, Isabel watching and thinking, Is this fucking—is this all? Dave moved so slowly, as if enchanted by her, but she realized now it was probably because he was depressed, guilty, confused by his own demons and desires.

  There was one moment she treasured, though: the vision of her first lover’s face against the pillow as she straddled him, her cunt sliding so easily around him now, her erect, rose-colored nipple dangling before his lips. He looked so happy as he gazed up at her, profoundly content, and her heart soared with the power of it.

  Was that what she wanted today? To recapture that power?

  Isabel walked up to the reception desk and gave the fresh-faced clerk a smile. Everyone she met seemed so young today, although at second glance, this man was thirtyish, Dave’s age back then. She felt a twinge of nostalgic lust.

  “I have a reservation for Isabel O’Shea. I was told you could have a room ready for me before the official check-in time.”

  “Yes, ma’am, it looks like we can do that for you today.”

  Isabel glanced around the lobby, head held high. Surprisingly enough, at this moment, she felt confident, nothing like people in the movies who were renting their first hotel room for an afternoon’s indiscretion.

  “How many room keys will you be needing?”

  “Two, of course,” she replied, leveling her gaze at him.

  His eyes flickered. “Certainly, ma’am.”

  Middle age had its benefits. She’d gotten much better at flirting, especially when it didn’t matter, and toying with the clerk was definitely good practice for the real thing. The packet of card keys in hand, she turned and sauntered over to the waiting elevator. A group of businessmen slipped in beside her, three of them, enough to fill the small space with the faint smell of wool, aftershave and male sweat.

  Isabel swallowed, her knees weakening from the heady scent. Maybe she should skip the banker and invite this group back to her room? A gang bang—on her terms, of course—was a long-time fantasy. She’d gather them all around her, order them to strip and then feast upon their cocks with her eyes first, comparing the thickness, the curve, the color of the swollen, weeping one-eyed heads. Then she’d take them inside her, one in each hole, willing them to move at her pleasure so she was filled and satisfied, totally, completely and forever.

  Do one thing for yourself every day. Simply because you want it.

  The elevator stopped at the sixth floor and the men filed out, the last, a curly headed charmer, turning to give her a nod and jaunty smile. As if he knew.

  Yes, I am a horny trollop planning an afternoon of shameless carnal pleasure with a suit just like you—jealous?

  But she didn’t say this out loud, of course. She only nodded back with her bookstore owner’s smile. It paid to be polite to strangers, who could be potential customers. Isabel had no doubt her business was doing well because of her “nice girl” courtesy, her willingness to take time to cater to her customers’ dreams, for that’s what a book was—a doorway to another land.

  She paused outside the door of room 815. She had a good guess as to what lay on the other side of that doorway. Hotel land. A king-sized bed, a black-and-white art photograph of a city canyon on the wall above it. It was empty now, silent. But later? Would a passing guest hear squeaking bedsprings, male and female grunts and moans as intermingled as their flesh, all the sounds of illicit coupling?

  She could only hope.

  The room was indeed tasteful, but unremarkable, just as she’d imagined. Unzipping her shoulder bag, she pulled the corset out and laid it out on the bed. It was a whore’s corset, red satin trimmed in black lace and scooped low to expose the breasts. Next came the garter b
elt and the unopened package of silk stockings. Last of all, the condoms, ribbed, for her pleasure.

  Which was the purpose of this whole thing anyway.

  As she undressed and peeled off her plain, white, married lady’s underwear, Isabel couldn’t help remembering the first time she and her husband had made love in a hotel. They’d been fucking merrily for almost two years, so she wasn’t expecting her wedding night to be a big deal. They’d probably be too tired to do it after the wedding anyway. Her married friends hinted as much.

  They were indeed tired, but Isabel wondered, with a poignant smile, if that hotel room was still glowing and throbbing from the incandescent sex they had that night. “It’s not like the old days,” she’d whispered to him as they fell on the bed together. “I’d have come to you shy and untouched. There’s something sexy about having your wedding night be the first time.”

  He’d smiled and lifted her on top of him. “I’m glad it’s not like the old days. Because I know you’re going to enjoy it. I know I’m going to make you come.”

  Which, Isabel had to admit, hadn’t happened her real first time. But on her wedding night she did come in a searing, somersaulting rush of sensation she’d never felt before. It was the first time a man ever talked her through it, the forbidden words inflaming her desire as much as the caresses. I’m going to touch your pussy now. The lips are so swollen and wet. Your clit’s hard, like a little diamond. Do you like it, do you like the way I’m rubbing it?

  Yes, oh, yes.

  The virgin confession of her lust he’d coaxed from her lips aroused her even more. She began to babble obscene words, she cursed and cried—Fuck my twat, fuck it hard, oh, god—dimly wondering how she’d ever managed to be so prim and quiet before. She bellowed like an animal when she came and collapsed in his arms, nearly weeping. Had that silly marriage license, unbelievably, made such a difference? Or was it that they knew, without a doubt, they belonged to each other now?

  Was that what she craved today? The surprise? The total abandon?

  There wasn’t much of that in her life anymore. In many ways, she and her husband were different people now. They led different lives. Isabel’s therapist assured her this was very common. Marriage takes work. But in Isabel’s eyes, work was the problem. Her husband was a busy, important man. He often traveled and who knew what he did away from home? She never asked. They didn’t talk as much as they once had.

  How much of it was her doing? Isabel pressed her lips together and banished the prickle of guilt in her belly. After all she’d put up with, he owed her this one transgression. Until now she’d been a good wife. Some might even say she was too accommodating and sweet. Could she be selfish and demanding for a change?

  There was a first time for everything.

  The banker’s admin gave her a broad smile when Isabel walked into the office. Isabel thought she detected a bit of a smirk, but how would the young woman have the faintest idea she was wearing a corset, garters and stockings and no panties under her simple, off-to-the-bank, dark-blue dress? Isabel felt her shoulders tense, her nose wrinkle. She disliked this place and its tinny, impersonal odor of a realm where the lure of money itself won out over any softer, human desire.

  Of course, today she was here to change that.

  “He can see you now, Ms. O’Shea.”

  When Isabel opened the door to the inner office, the first thing she saw was the nameplate, ALEXANDER K. TALBOT, resting on his desk like a caption for the man behind it. A perfect banker’s name, a perfect banker’s face: classic WASP features, overbred blond hair fading to silver at the temples, and of course, the well-tailored suit on that tall body.

  She bit back a laugh. This was no time for levity. She had a hotel room waiting.

  “The quarterly sales report just came in,” Isabel announced, making her voice low and grave.

  Alexander K. Talbot frowned. “For the bookstore? Is there a problem?”

  “We need to talk.”

  He cocked his head, his eyes narrowed in concern. Money trouble. She knew that would get his attention. It was time to move in for the kill.

  It was easier than she’d thought it would be. That shameless eighteen-year-old adventuress was apparently still alive and well inside her.

  Do something selfish. Simply because you want it.

  She walked behind the desk and stopped just a few inches from his arm. “Mr. Talbot, do you find me attractive?”

  His head snapped back in surprise.

  She held her breath. In a moment, everything would be decided.

  Then his lips lifted into a smile. He swiveled his chair to face her, his eyes twinkling.

  She exhaled.

  “Who wouldn’t find you attractive?” he said gallantly. “You’re a lovely lady.”

  He probably assumed he could get off with trite flattery, but Isabel pressed on. “I do need to speak with you, Mr. Talbot. Alone. Do you have any important appointments today? Meeting anyone for lunch?”

  “No,” he replied cautiously.

  She pushed the card key across the desk. “Then meet me in room 815 at the Hyatt.”

  He paused. “All right.”

  After three days of worrying and plotting, in the end it was as easy as that.

  His ready acquiescence made her bolder still. She took his hand in hers and pressed it to her knee. Hands stilled clasped, she helped him slide her dress up over her thigh to the point where the garter belt met the black silk stocking.

  He swallowed, staring.

  “You will come, won’t you?” It was a command more than a question.

  “I’ll be there. Give me ten minutes.”

  Isabel dropped his hand, her eye catching the glint of his wedding band. What did that ring mean to him, after all?

  She’d find out soon enough.

  The sheets had barely warmed around her in the hotel bed when she heard the soft click of the card key in the slot. The door opened. In another moment, her afternoon lover was standing at the foot of the bed, blinking in the dim light, an animal unexpectedly set free from its cage.

  “You had something you wanted to discuss?”

  She liked the hesitation in his voice. A touch of fear, perhaps? She sat up, revealing her bare breasts and a glimpse of red satin corset. She waited a moment before she spoke, savoring the look of surprise on his face.

  “We don’t have to talk at all if you’d prefer silence, Mr. Talbot.”

  “I’ll let you decide. It’s pretty clear you’re the one calling the shots here,” he said.

  Isabel smiled. Alexander K. Talbot was right. In bed at home—in her ordinary life—she liked to be dominated, although more and more she chafed at such attempts in other parts of the house. But here she was totally in charge, a woman in the prime of life who knew what she wanted and took it. Selfishly. One day at a time.

  She stood and walked over to him, her fingers grabbing the lapel of his jacket as she leaned up to kiss him. The cloth was cool and smooth, yet vaguely irritating to her skin. She resisted the urge to tear at it, pull away the shell to uncover the warmer, more vulnerable skin beneath it. She would defile it—and him—in a different way.

  “First I want you to turn off your BlackBerry. Then take down your trousers,” she said. “I’m going to suck your cock.”

  His eyebrows shot up. At her tone or the brazen abruptness of the request, she wasn’t sure, but he went for his zipper without protest. She watched as he stepped out of his trousers and boxers, privately delighting in the fact he was already hard. For her. Which was foolish because penises were notoriously impersonal in their loyalties. His cock would stand to attention for any female in a red corset, no doubt—his admin, a prostitute, whoever.

  “Don’t take off the jacket yet.”

  He stopped, hands on his lapels, and immediately dropped his arms to his sides as if to await her next command.

  She knelt to take his bobbing erection in her mouth. It tasted…different. Faintly bitter, smelling like mo
ney, and yet it was a flavor she craved. It was the first time she’d ever sucked off a man wearing a jacket and tie and the perversity of it spurred her on to a new vigor, lapping and circling the head with her tongue, gripping the base with her hand. She swallowed him and began to hum.

  “Jesus,” he whispered, his hand, the one with the wedding band, stroking her hair.

  She pulled away. “Do you like that?”

  “Yes. Very much.” His hand brushed the corset. “I like this. Where did you get it?”

  She sat back on her heels and gazed up at him. He towered over her, and by all rights, it should have been a submissive position, but, oddly, it didn’t feel that way today.

  “No questions from you, Mr. Talbot. Just answers. Are you telling me that you are glad you took time off from your esteemed job at one of our nation’s finest banks to do naughty things with a hussy like me?”

  “I can’t deny it,” he replied, his lips twitching.

  “Then we’ll proceed. Take off your jacket. Not the shirt or the tie. I want you wearing them while we fuck.”

  His brow creased in a faint frown. Naturally, a fastidious banker would be worried about a mess on his nice, proper uniform.

  “I won’t get them dirty. Just a bit of pussy juice on the shirttails maybe. You won’t mind a little souvenir of me, will you?”

  A smile playing on his lips, he shook his head obediently and took off his jacket, tossing it over the desk chair.

  “Good boy. Before you put it inside, though, I want you to lick me. With proper deference. Get on your hands and knees, please.”

  The smile shifted back to surprise, but he did as he was told.

  Isabel sat at the edge of the bed and parted her legs. The garter straps tightened over her thighs, dark against her pale skin. “Come here. Let’s see how wet you can make me.”

  His cheeks were flushed now as he crawled the three steps to her, his tie dragging on the carpet. If only the bank president could see him now.

  Positioning himself between her thighs, he looked up, as if for a sign to begin. Isabel nodded. His tongue darted out, teasing her clit with quick little flicks.