She stepped onto the train platform and looked around expectantly. Where was he, the tall man in the American-cut suit? A porter made eye contact and made a beeline for her bag. "No, I'm waiting for someone," she protested as he reached forward.
"Nein, fraulein, he's waiting for you. Follow me."
She followed the porter through the terminal, out through the throng of busy people on their way to business meetings and reunions with family and holidays and she felt lost and out of control. She was used to being in charge. She was used to calling the shots. But the train ticket had arrived at her flat with a one word note attached--"Come", and she had. Unquestioningly.
The porter led her to a black S-Class waiting at the curb, and the driver opened the door for her as the porter placed her bag in the trunk. At last she would meet the tall man, the one who had summoned her. The one who thought he could tame her. She felt control returning. She would show him. Face to face at last she could laugh at him.
But the back seat was empty. And the driver closed the door behind her and the uncertainty came back with a vengeance. What was she doing here? Why had she come? Who was this man who dared to think she was at his beck and call? She thought of her tools in the trunk. The ones she had brought to put him in his place, and they calmed her. She would leave him beaten and unsatisfied. She would show him.
She played all the things she would do to him--and things she would make him do to her--through her mind as the dreary industrial city rolled silently past her window. She drew strength planning her torture, and stepped out of the car with confidence as the doorman at the grand hotel opened her door. His eyes took in her red hair, her milky white skin, and all her curves that curved exactly in the right places and she drew even more strength from his naked want.
The doorman closed the car door and gestured to a bellman. He whispered into the man's ear, and a look of understanding crossed the man's face. "This way, ma'am" the bellman said, taking her bag and leading her past the desk and through the wood paneling and crystal and plaster and mirrors of the lobby to the elevator.
She was growing tired of being led around. She was of half a mind to turn around, climb back into the S-Class and demand to be returned to the train station. Still...she was intrigued. Intrigued in a way she had not been in a long time. She would allow this bellman to lead her around. But he would be the last man to lead her this day.
The door at the end of the hall was cracked, and the bellman pushed it open and led her into the suite. There were two doors in the room. One was closed, and from the other side she could hear voices. And although she could not hear the words they were saying, one voice was clearly giving directions and two were clearly acknowledging their assent. The bellman led her to the other door, beckoning her inside.
A bed. A tasteful blue suit jacket carefully folded at the end, a conservative silk tie--some sort of regimental stripe, she thought--carelessly tossed on top. On the bedside table gold cufflinks and a battered Rolex DateJust--much older than her or its current owner. The watch of a man who wore a watch to tell time, not to make a statement.
Somehow, as she was taking in the room, the bellman had quietly disappeared and silently pulled the door shut behind him. On the back of the door was a post-it note, incongruous in its lurid yellow. She stepped forward to read it. In a careless script was one word: "Undress".
She laughed, but her laughter was forced. Undress? He summons her, sends surrogates to collect her and direct her, and he expects her to just...follow his terse instructions? Not a chance.
She sat on the bed and crossed her legs and arms. She would wait for him like that, and when he came she would laugh at him and she would leave. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then fifteen. Her anger grew. No, she wouldn't leave. She would stay, and she would tease him and she would deny him and when he reached the point where he would do anything for release, anything at all, THEN she would leave.
She heard the other door open, and she steeled herself for what was about to come. He was going to be so sorry he had ever even considered summoning her. Then a soft knock at the door, and it opened a fraction and he leaned in. Tall, with dark curly hair greying at the temples just so. A pair of fashionably unfashionable horn rim glasses. A starched white dress shirt open at the neck, sleeves rolled up. Tired. Stern. But...kind. Stern, but kind. Even though that made no sense that was what went through her mind as she took him in for the first time.
He smiled at her, and she could see the smile extend to his eyes, see them crinkle slightly with warmth. "So, so sorry," he said. "One more call. Ten more minutes. Not a minute more. I promise." He began to withdraw. She started to say something--anything--to let him know his words meant nothing. That he did not get to dictate the schedule. That she was angry with him, so angry, and she was going to make him pay for making her angry. Angry at him, angry at herself.
But no words came out. The door began to close. Then it openede again and he ducked back in. "Oh. Be naked when I get back. I'm going to make you feel just fine." And then he was gone.
She sat there, unsure of what had just happened. Unsure of what to do next. But when the door opened again in ten minutes on the dot, she offered her naked body to him and said "come make me feel fine."
"Come make me feel fine." She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Why had she said them? Why had she used his words? Why was she nakedw on this stranger's hotel room bed, in a strange city? How exactly had she gotten to this point? The last thing she remembered clearly was the door closing, ten minutes ago and those words--"Oh. Be naked when I get back. I'm going to make you feel just fine." And now she was, and she had just asked him to do just that. This was not going as she had planned at all. She had to get herself back under control. She had to take control of the moment.
He closed the door gently behind him and sank heavily into an armchair, facing her. He smiled a weary smile at her, and leaned over to untie his black, oh-so-serious Allen Edmonds wingtips. He kicked them off to reveal light blue and black striped socks, with red toes and heels. They looked like something Dr. Seuss would have drawn, and she giggled in surprise at their incongruity. She could feel herself being charmed. By his socks, of all things. Must regain control, she told herself again.
"You gotta have a little flair," he smiled, looking up and meeting her eyes. "I'm glad you came, you know." A thought occurred to him--she watched it flit across his face--and he stood up in a quick fluid motion. "Sorry. Be right back. It'll be worth it." The door closed behind him.
What happens when two strong wills meet? she asked herself as she listened to him moving around in the outer room. Someone has to give. Clearly he thinks it will be me. He believes he has the upper hand. I will take it back. How do I take it back? What do I do first? What do I NOW? Why am I so wet? Ohmygod why is my hand between my legs? She pulled it away rapidly, shocked by its presence.
