Room Service

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I stormed into my hotel room in a whirlwind and kicked off one spiky black stiletto heel, narrowly missing the French door panel in the doors separating my sitting room from my bathroom. Yet I still managed to hit the small Victorian style lamp perched on one of the many extraneous side tables throughout my suite. Wincing at the crash, I reached down with one carefully manicured hand to slip the other heel off my aching foot, allowing it to gently fall to the floor and avoid ALL contact with household objects other than the plush carpet underneath. I took a deep breath and curled my painted, hosed toes into the plush, allowing a stretch after having those toes buried in tight, smothering heels for eight hours. A heady scent of musky sweat, stale perfume, and cigar smoke enveloped my nostrils.

“God, I need a shower…but, FUCK, I need a glass of wine more.” I sighed, and my shoulders slumped suddenly, remembering that the small bottles of chardonnay probably had not been replaced yet in the mini-fridge. I had left the “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging off my doorknob without thinking, and I had noticed during my whole stiletto vs. lamp moment that my bed remained unmade, though it was nearing dinner time already. Obviously, housekeeping was true to their word and had not made the rounds of my suite earlier that day.

“Goddammit!” I growled under my breath and walked over towards the phone, tripping over the stiletto I had left on the floor. So much for me not launching it, much like a punted football, so that it might join its mate’s casualty of the day across the room.

“Thank you for calling Room Service at the Grand, your wish is our command!”

The sing-song, cheerful voice on the other end caused me to choke on the sip of water I’d swigged while the phone was ringing.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me? You people RHYME?” The voice on the other end sputtered for a second (what, room service doesn’t get cursed out regularly? Yeah fuckin’ right) before responding with an appropriate Yes, ma’am, we sure do! What can I get for you today?

“Jesus, I’m sorry..I didn’t mean to come off like that. I’ve had the worst day ever.” Smile, nod, smile, nod, yes, ma’am; of course, ma’am; no problem, ma’am.

“I’m dying for a drink — could you bring me a bottle of Australian chardonnay and a fresh wine glass? Great. Umm…yeah, food would be good…how about whatever fresh fruit you have floating around in the kitchen, whipped cream, some of those fantastic Belgian waffles you make, and as much whipped cream that you can fit on them. Can you do still do breakfast? You can? Fantastic! You just TOTALLY made my evening…Shit, you know what? I was planning on getting in the shower…if I leave the door open, could you just let yourself in with the food? I’ll leave the tip on the sitting room side table…the one with the lamp on the floor beside it…oh, and the stilettos. What? Oh, no, like I said…long day of meetings…don’t ask..”

After an enthusiastic thank you, I hung up the phone, walked over to the door and unlatched it, and I grabbed a few dollars from my blazer’s pocket to leave on the side table. With a quick look around, confident that all was in order, and I could proceed with my “detoxification”, the suite’s marble-tiled bathroom was my next stop. It was probably the nicest bathroom I’d ever landed in a hotel suite, with huge mirrors everywhere, a walk-in-shower with four different heads, and the crowning glory, a Jacuzzi tub large enough to comfortably accommodate two adults, and beautifully situated next to a huge window overlooking the city below. I paused to look out the window…the sun was just beginning to set behind the skyscrapers, sending beams of light bouncing off of their windows like captured prisms. Some people prefer the country, but damn, if I’m just a city girl through and through.

“Oh, fuck it. I deserve a bath…and anybody who thinks otherwise can just kiss my ass.” It occurred to me that perhaps carrying on livid conversations with no one but one’s self present was a genuine sign of needing the ultimate “detox”. That Jacuzzi had my name written ALL over it, and oh, my god, if they had bubble bath stashed in the bathroom, I’d be in heaven. I rummaged around for a moment and found lavender bath salts and oh! Could that be it? Yes, sandalwood bubble bath. They must have read my mind.

With the water running hot and the bubbles rising in the tub, I began to undress. I was still wearing my velvet blazer, and that was the first item to go. As I slid the jacket off my shoulders, I paused a moment to run my hands over my stiff neck, squeezing my sore shoulder muscles gently. A sharp intake of breath made me realize just how stressed I had become over the past few days of non-stop marketing meetings and seminars.

Slipping one hand underneath my knee-length black satin skirt, my fingers lingered a moment on the lace tops of my nude thigh high before grabbing the edge of the lace and beginning the slide down the length of my rounded thigh, smooth knee, canlı bahis and softly curved calf. I paused to gently massage the arch of my foot before removing the thigh high completely. I repeated the entire process with my other leg, relishing the cool air and the steam from the water as it hit my formerly confined skin. While God did not bless me with a rail-thin runway body, the advantage was being able to wear stay-up thigh highs without the extra clothing item of a garter belt. My freedom was precious to me, and left to my own devices, clothing consisted of the absolute minimum necessary. It never ceased to depress and amuse me that I found myself in a position of marketing power that required me looking like the First Lady during every single work day.

Leaving both thigh highs in an undignified pile on the bathroom floor, I reached around behind me and began unbuttoning my satin skirt. I loved this skirt because of that one fashion point — the buttons. They were old fashioned and covered in black velvet. I’m all about the texture, and the combination of velvet and satin drove me wild. My fingers played with the buttons for a second, running the velvet over the pads of my fingertips and sending thrills of sensual pleasure up my forearms. Yes, definitely all about the texture. The satin of the skirt felt wet and slippery across my legs as I stepped out of it. I carefully draped the skirt over the wrought iron chair next to the tub and began the tedious work of unfastening the hook and eye latches of my white blouse. It was low-cut, eliminating that many more potential latches, but my fingers fumbled at the tiny hooks. I resisted the frustrated urge that pushed me to just pull and rip, reminding myself that the crisp white linen blouse had cost me the better portion of a paycheck , and remember how much you loved it when you saw it hanging in the boutique window? My conscience whispered rationalities to me. Finally, all the latches were undone, and I shimmied my arms out, laying the blouse on top of the skirt. I walked over to the window in my black satin bra and low cut panties, feeling the cool marble tile on the soles of my feet. As I listened to the sound of the water filling the tub, inhaled the earthy scent of sandalwood that filled the bathroom, and I looked at the red reflection of the sunset on the copper colored windows of the high rise next door, I took a deep breath and felt the first twinge of relaxation begin in the center of my chest. I undo the bra, slip off the panties, and pad my way over to the full tub to turn off the water and sink myself in.

I had completely forgotten about the fact that I had ordered room service until I heard the soft knock on the door, followed by the metal rasp of the doorknob being turned.

“Good evening, ma’am, room service!” A deep masculine voice intruded upon me in the bathroom, arousing me from the drowsy world the warm water had embraced me with.

I shifted slightly, burying myself even deeper into the bubbles. “Yes, yes, I’ve been expecting you. The tip should be on the table right in front of you. Thank you!”

Through the snap, crackle and pop of the bubbles around my ears, I could hear the heavy footsteps of a large man moving around the cart and walking towards the table next to the bathroom door. The footsteps paused for about 30 seconds, and I looked towards the slightly open door to see what was going on.

The silhouette that met my eyes was stunning. About 6 and a half feet of well-toned male build that had excellent posture. A pull in my groin brought a fury of warmth to my face and chest and made me look down at the bubbles, suddenly embarrassed. It had been a while for me, I guess. Yeah, that seems about right – last boyfriend left because I was away on business so often and never had enough time for him. He was a whiny pussy anyhow.

“Ma’am? I’m so sorry to bother you — I need a signature for the wine, though.”

I paused, taking a deep breath. “Umm. Shit. Well, I’m kinda soaking in the tub right now.” A million scenarios went through my fantasizing mind — asking him to come into the bathroom or grabbing a towel and accidently letting it fall to the ground when I was signing. God, I was fucking horny. Of course, practicality always overrode fantasy in my little world, allowing for a protective haughtiness to enter my voice. “Can’t this wait?”

I could hear him say something under his breath, though I wasn’t quite able to make it out. “No, ma’am, I’m sorry, it can’t. I’m not allowed to leave unless I have a signature from the room receiving any type of bottled alcoholic beverage. The Grand policy.”

Fuck. Again with those dozen dirty fantasies. I could feel the New York bitch rise up to the occasion. “Well, we have a decision to make, then, don’t we. Either I get out of this warm tub and freeze my ass off coming out there to sign this receipt, which, by the way I have NO towel anywhere near me, or you come bring it to me, but you better DAMN well bring me a glass of wine at the same time.”

Jesus, did I just say that to bahis siteleri a perfect stranger? His silhouette slumped slightly and I could hear a chuckle from behind the door.

“As you wish.” The silhouette disappeared from the door panel, I heard the clink of a glass and the deeper clink of a glass bottle, and his shadow came back into view in my panel. “May I come in?”

Before I could answer, the door opened and there he stood, bottle of wine in one hand, glass in the other. And of course, naturally, because Murphy’s Law and the Laws of the Universe would never have it anyway else with me, he was stunning. Deep chocolate brown eyes, slightly slanted in the corners, light brown mop of thick hair that had been horribly tamed down by some sort of unsuccessful pomade, and a five o’ clock shadow that covered his angular chin and cheekbones. His tall frame was obviously toned, considering the way his shirt pulled across his chest and shoulders. His legs were about a mile long and ended in a pair of feet each the size of my head. His eyes did a languid once over the tub, pausing to raise an appreciative eyebrow at the tops of my breasts that floated in the water and finally stopping to meet my eyes. A slightly sarcastic smile played around the edges of his mouth, and I could feel once again the heat of a blush on my cheeks and neck. Damn it. So, I did what any self-respecting girl would do…shot my mouth off.

“So, you gonna get me a fuckin’ towel or do I have to sign this shit in the fuckin’ tub, hm?” The sarcastic smile faltered a little at that verbal assault. Score one point for my filthy mouth. He set the glass and the wine bottle down on the edge of the double sink and picked up the huge white bath towel that I had set out earlier on the wrought iron chair. He was only able to take one step towards the tub before I sidetracked him once again, this time unintentionally. His foot flew out from underneath him, having slipped on my thigh highs, left crumpled in a slippery heap next to the chair. The next thing I heard was the sickening thud of his head as it hit the marble floor.

I didn’t hesitate. I flew out of that tub so fast that bubbles and water went everywhere, including splashing my wounded room service flirtation. I knelt down beside him as he lay stunned on the ground.

“Oh my god, are you okay? Are you hurt? Can you move?” I hit him with twenty frantic questions, cradling his head in my hands, checking for blood, looking for bruising. His eyes were closed still, but a shallow breath escaped his mouth…at least he didn’t kill himself, thank god! They fluttered open after a few seconds and focused on my face.

He smiled at me. “You’re naked.” Then he reached up, put his hand on my neck, and pulled my mouth down to his.

His mouth tasted like cinnamon, and I sunk into the kiss for a moment before whispering against his lips, “What the fuck was that? Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Figured as long as you were on the floor with me and naked, it was worth a shot.”

“Are you okay?”

His head slowly nodded against my hands, and I unconsciously ran two handfuls of the soft brown hair through my fingers. “Yeah, I think so.”

“You slipped.”

“I know”

“On my thigh highs.” I rested against his cheek, inhaling the scent of cinnamon and his skin. My lips brushed against his earlobe.

“I know.”

“You shouldn’t have kissed me.” My tongue played with the curl of his earlobe, slipping into the small silver hoop that pierced it.

“I know…but I wanted to. It wasn’t so bad, was it?” His hand played with the back of my neck, fingers twisting into the damp tendrils of hair that escaped the loose bun it was put into. His breath was warm against my cheek. “I picked the lamp up for you, by the way.”

I laughed into his neck. “Thank you. And no, it wasn’t so bad.” I leaned back and looked into his eyes. Their brown depths held promises I couldn’t even put words to. I realized that my naked breasts were cold against his shirt sleeve.

“Your shirt…it’s all wet…” I raised myself up on my knees and playfully toyed with the buttons on his shirt. His eyes never left mine as I undid the top two buttons of his now wilted white dress shirt. Running a finger lightly over the collarbone I had just exposed, I lowered my eyes and asked, “So. What now.” I looked up shyly, suddenly feeling extremely exposed and vulnerable. I realized that I was sitting completely naked in front of a stranger who had just kissed me. I didn’t know what I wanted next. The yearning to immerse myself completely in the pleasures that this man’s body held for me was overriding whatever wisdom of conscience that was screaming at me to reconsider. Luckily, I didn’t have to reconsider because with one swift movement, he wrapped his strong fingers around my wrist, sat himself up, and immersed my mouth within his cinnamon-flavored kiss. His tongue parted my lips, opening it to receive the light caresses of its muscular tip. I felt his hand trail up my spine to where the clip held my messy mound of bahis şirketleri hair. With a gentle tug, the clip came loose and waves of light auburn hair fell around my shoulders and down my back. His hand grabbed the portion of hair at the base of my skull and tugged my head back, arching me backwards into his arm and exposing my dripping cunt to the moist, cool air of the bathroom. It was impossible to turn my head, and I tensed, but only for a moment. His other hand let go of my restrained wrist and cupped my ass, pulling me on my knees across the wet floor towards him. His eyes held such laughter as I looked up into his face over mine, feeling the scratch of his uniform against my inner thigh and the bulge of his cock press into my leg.

He smiled at me. “I don’t know. What next, indeed.”

The bitch flared, as she usual does in moments of vulnerability. “Well, if I’m gonna fuck you, I should at least know the name I should be screaming when I cum.” My eyes met the challenge of his.

“Luke. You’ll be screaming Luke.” He chuckled when he said that, and the bitch flared again. I shook my hair free from his grasp, moved back six inches, and placed a strong hand in the middle of his chest, pushing him backwards onto the floor. I straddled him, pressed my cunt against his cock and my breasts against his chest, and immersed my mouth in his cinnamon kiss once again. I could feel him begin to grind his rock-hard cock against me. I moaned softly into his mouth and he pressed me into him in response. My fingers quickly undid the remaining buttons of his shirt, exposing his broad chest and the soft layer of dark curls that covered it. I ran my hands over his chest and lightly rimmed his nipples with my index fingers. A low growl vibrated in his throat as his tongue thrust deeper and deeper into my mouth, its movement running up and down the length of my inner lip. I pulled back, lightly biting his bottom lip. I slid my ass down his thighs slightly so that I could expose his belt and the taut bulge of his cock, moving my hands from where they were toying with his nipples down to his hard stomach, tracing each and every outline of the muscles with the lightest of touches. His skin trembled under my touch.

I began to play with his belt buckle, moving my mouth to his neck. I buried my tongue and lips in the curves of his collarbone. His skin tasted like motorcycle leather and soap, with a hint of afternoon sunshine. My heart ached as my groin clenched with the very thought of his skin against mine. God, I hadn’t realized how lonely I was.

With an internal determination welling up, protesting the wave of self-pity washing over me, I placed both hands on his chest and pushed him backwards to lie on the cold, hard marble tile. Pinning his wrists at his sides with both of my hands, my mouth began exploring the intricacies of his erect nipples, the patch of hair below his navel, and my mouth covered the bulge his cock made as it pressed against his dress pants, breathing warm air through the fabric and onto his erect member. He moaned and writhed on the floor, never saying a word, his deep brown eyes watching me the entire time. As his upper body strained to get up from the floor, I pushed him harder into the floor.

“Stay, Luke. You’re mine to enjoy.” With that, I saw a spark flare in his eyes, and he pushed my hands away, wrapped his strong arms around my waist, and pulled me on top of him.

“Oh, you think that, do you, my determined little Miranda.” At the sound of his deep voice uttering my name for the first time, I knew from then on that I could quite easily wake up every morning to my name being said, Luke-style, for the rest of my life. Or so I thought in that moment…

I hesitated when he said my name and Luke took full advantage of that, pinning my wrists between the fingers of his huge left hand and using his right hand to entwine himself into a huge handful of my hair. He rolled me onto my back beneath him, and he shoved a knee between my legs to expose my throbbing pussy to him. His eyes took in the extent of my nakedness appreciatively, causing me to blush, but I didn’t have enough time to feel embarrassed. His left hand moved with confidence to the smooth skin of my rounded belly, and with a gasp, I melted to his hand as he slipped his index and middle fingers over the burning nub of my clit. With small, sure movements, he gently stroked as my hips thrust against his hand, begging for more. I moaned with each thrust, my body pleading for penetration that he had only teased me with. His ring finger rimmed the edge of my cunt as his index finger stroked my clit. And then penetration, glorious penetration. His middle finger slid into my dripping wet pussy, gently at first, but thrusting more quickly and more deeply with every moan that escaped my mouth. His index finger continued to stroke small circles on my clit, and I could feel the warmth of the building orgasm begin flooding my abdomen with uncontained anticipation. I reached up and grabbed two fistfuls of his thick brown hair, pulling his face to mine and smothering his mouth with the hunger of mine, drinking in the taste of his lips and tongue. With the rising warmth of my orgasm, I attacked him with my kisses, until I could no longer contain the warmth between my legs.

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