Fashionable Late

Eyes the colour of a tropical sea open slowly. Brilliant white bedding, like summer clouds gently encase long, swimmer’s legs. It’s time. 

You stand before the mirror but you already know what you’ll see. A body sculpted to perfection, you are a god amongst men. Everywhere you go hungry eyes follow you, body temperatures rise, the air saturates with lust. Men are shaken. They don’t know why they want to be near you, want to be taken by you. But they do. You smile at the thought.

In the bathroom, as you clean your perfect teeth, the air fills with sandalwood scented steam. You prefer to bathe, to luxuriate and feel the silky water licking your skin. Stepping into the hot water a sigh escapes you and as you fully recline into the soft, welcoming heat you feel your body reacting. Eyes closed, you submit your hard body to the velvety cocoon that is your bath. Time passes but there will be no relief. Not yet. 

You’ve already decided on the charcoal grey suit with a white shirt. No tie, just a couple of buttons undone at the neck allowing a glimpse of soft, black chest hair that you know will cause men and women to sweat, restraining themselves from reaching out to touch it. Silver and jet cufflinks are the final touch before pulling on your jacket. Time to go.

The midnight blue Mercedes purrs as you pull away. Without checking the time you already know that you’ll be late. But that’s the plan. So, you don’t rush but enjoy the thought that at the restaurant, waiting for you, is a new client, irritated, probably tapping his feet, glancing at the door waiting for you. And he probably thinks that he will dominate this meeting, have the upper hand because you will be flustered in your tardiness. You know that that will certainly not be the case.

Waiting outside of the restaurant stands the parking valet, his white gloved hands clasped behind his back. You pull up, hand over the keys and allow your fingers, for the briefest moment, to touch the young man. You smile as your eyes meet his. He catches his breath, his pupils dilate. You detect a tremor in his hand and an increase in his heart rate. You enter the restaurant, politely brushing away the maitre d’. There is no need for him to seat you at your table. You know that the client is waiting for you in a private booth. 

The client spots you. He stands, hand extended, as you walk towards him. He begins to try taking charge straight away by commenting on your timing but then you take his hand in a firm grip, shaking it slowly. And with each shake the client’s courage collapses like the foundations of a lighthouse battered by the sea. You release his hand and he drops back into his seat. Instead of sitting opposite you slide into the booth so that you are sitting to the left of him and with one arm resting along the back of his seat you lean back, your suit trousers pulled taut across your long, muscled thighs.

The client tries to regain his composure but you know it’s too late. He takes a sip of water, adjusts his tie, fidgets with his cutlery. Again, you smile. This is amusing. The waiter appears and before the client can open his mouth you order drinks and food for both of you. The waiter nods and walks away. The client begins to stutter about liberties being taken. But, you haven’t even started yet.

You lean towards him. With hot breath, your voice deep and quiet, your lips barely touching the shell of his ear, you ask the client what he wants. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of his face. He’s older than you but he’s handsome. And he smells good. He takes a deep breath and turns his head slightly to talk directly to your face only you haven’t moved your lips away from his ear yet and the minute his mouth brushes yours you feel him come undone. His face flushes as he quickly moves his head away. He glances around, nervously. No-one is paying him any attention. Yet.

The waiter returns with champagne. You pour a glass for the client who drains his drink and requests another. You oblige and ask him again what it is that he wants. The man’s eyes are teary and through his mumbling you deduce that suddenly he doesn’t know. You are kind to him, reassuring him that he can think about it while he eats. The client wipes his eyes with his napkin, shaking his head, apologising. The waiter has returned with your food, his gaze lingering on your lap. With a smile that obviously ignites a flame inside him (judging by the way he licks his lips) you dismiss him, courteously, and return your focus to the man sitting beside you. He deserves it.

You eat. You talk. The client relaxes. Suddenly he puts down his knife and fork and places his hand on your thigh. He looks at you silently requesting what he cannot speak out loud. You nod and smile and squeeze his hand. The older man lets out a huge breath. His shoulders slump a little. He knows that he will get what he has always wanted yet always denied himself. It will be all right. He knows that you will take care of him. And you will.

You beckon the waiter over and request brandy. He hurries away to do your bidding. You turn back to the client and find him staring at you, lips slightly parted, his breathing shallow. You can sense his heart racing. You lean towards him as if to kiss him but stop just before your lips touch. There he is waiting, eyes closed, in ecstasy already. Without moving your lips away you tell him to open his eyes. As soon as he does you slowly press your lips against his, your tongue gently licks the seam of his mouth. You feel his body tense and tremble, his skin is hot. You sit back as the waiter places the brandies on the table and once again disappears. 

With a tilt of your glass you toast your companion. The brandy burns smoothly down your throats. Empty glasses are placed on the now slightly untidy tablecloth. Your lunch guest leans back, eyes closed, replete. He turns his head to look at you and smiles. You have him. You sit closer to him, whisper in his ear, bite gently on his earlobe. He shivers and sighs as you nibble and kiss along his firm, clean shaven jawline. He can’t help but turn his head away a little, submitting his neck to you. Your hand burns through his trousers as it grazes his groin. He moans out loud, gasping when you gently bite and kiss his neck. And then your extraordinary instinct tells you that it is time.Your gums ache a little as two needle sharp daggers emerge and pierce the man’s neck like a diver smoothly entering the water without causing a single ripple. He gasps and his eyes roll back in his head, there is no pain for him, only pleasure. You drink fast and hard. The blood speeds through your body enriching and filling. Finally, your teeth retract. The client’s head drops forward. You wipe your mouth with your napkin. Leaving enough cash on the table to pay the bill you make your way out of the restaurant.

Within minutes you are smoothly pulling away in your Mercedes. Foot down, there’s no time to waste. You have an early dinner appointment with a client. And you are already fashionably late.