The Facilitator

by Tracie Podger

  I took my Kindle from my bag and read a little. It distracted me from the glances and showed the curious diners I had prepared to be alone; I hadn’t been stood up. When I could stand it no more, I asked for my coffee to be taken to the bar. Instead of the empty nook I’d spotted while walking into the dining room, the waiter placed my coffee on the bar. The nook, sadly, was occupied. I climbed on a stool, intending to drink the coffee then head for my room.

  “All alone?” I heard. I looked up to see the barman polishing a glass and standing in front of me.

  “I have a conference, The Marriott was fully booked,” I said.

  “How about a drink to go with that?” he said.

  “Why not. What do you suggest?”

  “I don’t see you as a brandy drinker, port isn’t good with coffee. So, how about a whiskey?”

  “I don’t generally drink whiskey,” I said.

  “Try it.”

  He set a short, heavy cut glass on the bar, placed a couple of ice cubes in it then poured a measure of whiskey. I picked it up and smelled first. It wasn’t as harsh as I was expecting. I took a small sip. There was a faint hint of orange, smoked and aromatic. The liquid warmed my mouth and throat.

  “Mmm, that’s nice, what is it?”

  He showed me the bottle; the label meant nothing to me. “It’s a Glenmorangie Signet,” he said. That meant even less.

  “Have the lady try a Redbreast Twenty-One year old,” I heard, said in a low, smooth, American accent.

  I turned towards the voice. Standing behind and just to the side was a man who initially took my breath away.

  “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the stool beside me. I nodded.

  He undid the button of his suit jacket, removed it, and placed it over the back of the stool. He then sat; he didn’t need to climb like I had. He rested one foot on the metal rung, the other stayed put on the floor.

  For a minute I was speechless, and not entirely sure why. He turned to me and smiled. There was something about him; he was confident but it was more than that. I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  The barman had placed two glasses on the bar; it was only then that I found my voice.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Tell me what you taste,” he said. I watched as he brought his glass to his nose and inhaled, all the while keeping eye contact with me.

  I raised the glass to my lips, inhaled before tipping it and allowing the liquid to coat my upper lip. I took a sip.

  “It’s sweet but spicy,” I said.

  He smiled, displaying perfectly straight white teeth. “Anything else?”

  “It’s smooth, silky,” I said, and then took another sip.

  “It’s a fine whiskey, one of my favourites,” he said.

  “I’m not really a whiskey drinker,” I said.

  “So, tell me, why are you sitting here all alone?”

  “That’s direct,” I said, with a laugh.

  “I’m a direct kind of man,” he said.

  Had it been anyone else, I think I would have bid a goodnight and left. I was curious as to what it was that kept me sitting there; that had me talking. I told him about my job and the conference I’d organised.

  Before I realised, I’d finished the whiskey, and my coffee. I hadn’t stopped talking and he’d hardly said a word.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve talked a lot. Let me get you a drink,” I said.

  “I’ve enjoyed listening to you, and I’ll get the drinks.”

  Without even looking up at the barman, he gently tapped the bar beside his glass and it was refilled without question.

  Power: that was the word I’d been looking for when he’d first sat beside me. The man exuded power. A shiver ran over me and I chuckled.

  He narrowed his dark, very dark, brown eyes at me. “Something funny?”

  “No, just a shiver, made me giggle.”

  “It's a pleasant sound, Miss…”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m accepting your drinks, and I haven’t introduced myself. Lauren, my name’s Lauren,” I said.

  I expected him to announce himself, he didn’t, and for some reason I didn’t ask.

  “Are you here on business?” I asked.

  “I am.” Again, I thought he might reveal what business, but he didn’t.

  “From America?”

  “No. I live here now, Lauren. Well, in London.” It was about the most I’d learned about him in the time we’d been chatting.

  He turned sideways on his stool; I did the same until we were facing each other. He had one arm resting on the back of his stool; the other held the whiskey glass on the bar. He was clearly a fit man. I could see muscles bulge under the white shirt he wore, and ink. He had tattoos down one arm, extending onto his hand. He caught me staring at his hand and I felt my face flush. I picked up the glass and raised it to my lips, initially to hide the discomfort I had begun to feel. It wasn’t that he made me uneasy, but certainly nervous. I tilted the glass and looked over the rim at him. He stared at me, intently.

  “Where from, in America?” I asked.

  “Is that important?”

  His answer took me aback. He smiled; his voice was still low, seductive, even.

  “I guess not,” I said.

  “That was rude of me, wasn’t it?”

  “A little, but if you don’t want to tell me that’s fine.”

  “Then, I apologise.”

  He didn’t give me an answer though. Instead of doing what I should have, thanked him for the drink and left, my curiosity was further piqued. I liked the mystery of him. There was something quite refreshing about having a conversation with an exceptionally good-looking man and not knowing a thing about him.

  We continued to talk, well, he continued to ask questions and I answered. I’d tuned out the voices that floated around the bar. It was as if no one else existed, just us.

  I watched as he took a sip from his glass, and then licked his lips so slowly my breath caught in my throat. But it was his eyes, or rather the way he stared at me, that had me wanting to clench my thighs together. He’d roam my body, as if mentally undressing me, before bringing his gaze back to mine. Maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was loneliness, but all of a sudden a powerful need hit me. I wanted him. I didn’t know him, and I didn’t want to.

  “Are you happily married?” he asked.

  I twisted the thin gold band I wore on my finger but I didn’t answer.

  “I don’t think you are. You wouldn’t have been sitting, alone, in a bar for…” He consulted his watch. “Three hours talking to me.”

  I didn’t have an answer, well I did, but not one I was prepared to give to a stranger. I gently slid from the barstool.

  “Do you want to take me to bed?” I asked, surprising myself.

  I was thankful that I held my clutch to stop my hands from shaking.

  “Yes.” He laid down the glass of whiskey and the ice tinkled as he did.

  Brown eyes stared at me; eyes that failed to conceal mischief.

  He stood, towering over me. He slowly slipped on his jacket, closed the buttons before taking my hand in his and leading me to the lift. He didn’t speak as he retrieved a card from his inside pocket and inserted it into a keypad.

  The lift ascended beyond the numbers listed and opened to a foyer. He took the card from the keypad and walked to an oak door, the only door in the corridor. The click as the lock disengaged was only marginally louder than my heart hammering in my chest.

  He opened the door, swinging it wide, then stepping aside to allow me to enter before him. I walked into the penthouse suite.

  “Can I get you another drink?” he asked.

  I nodded; my mouth was too dry to form words.

  I watched him stride to a cabinet. I heard the tinkle as ice was placed in glasses and then the splash of liquid. He returned with two crystal cut glasses and handed me one.

  “More whiskey,” he said. His voice was low, husky.

  I took a sip, welcom
ing the burn as the liquid hit my lips, my tongue, and gently slid down my throat. I cursed the ice as its noise gave away how much my hand was shaking. He took a step closer, then another. He reached up and trailed a finger down my cheek, then over my throat.

  “You have for as long as it takes you to drink that whiskey. After that, if you are still here, there’s no turning back,” he said.

  I raised the glass to my lips once more and downed it in one. My eyes watered. I glanced to the side of me, reached out, and placed the empty glass on a coffee table. I then stood tall and stared back at him. His lips slowly formed a smile, a very wicked smile.

  “I don’t know your name,” I said, quietly.

  “Neither do you need to. Think of this as just one night with a stranger, one night to fulfil your fantasy.”

  I didn’t think sex with a stranger had featured high up on my list of fantasies, but the heat coursing through my body and the throbbing between my legs told me otherwise.

  Chapter Three

  For a moment there was silence. He sipped his drink and stared at me. He was so close I could smell his musky scent.

  “Did he betray you?” he whispered.

  At first I was unsure what he meant. It took me a moment to understand.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “And you feel, what?”

  Even if I didn’t want to, I answered; I couldn’t stop myself.

  “Worthless. Inadequate. Lonely.”

  He placed his glass on the coffee table next to mine. He reached up with his hand and pulled the pins from my hair, letting it tumble around my shoulders. He ran his fingers through it.

  “Then I’ll show you that you’re not any of those things.”

  I wasn’t sure how my legs were keeping my body upright. They were visibly shaking. I tried desperately to measure my breaths, but when he reached for the top button of my shirt and undid it, my heart raced faster.

  “Are you nervous?” he asked.

  “Yes. I…I don’t make a habit of doing this.”

  “Good. I like nervous.”

  He closed the gap between us, using his hand to lift my chin until I was looking up at him. He leaned down slightly, and I closed my eyes, wetting my lips. I expected to feel his on mine but he gently ghosted them across my jaw, tilting my head to give him access to my neck. The feel of his lips on my skin, his breath as it tickled, had all but caused my legs to give way. I reached up and gripped the lapels of his jacket, simply to steady myself.

  I felt his lips curl into a smile; he was pleased with my response. He placed small kisses down my neck, pulling the collar of my shirt away. Then he trailed his tongue back up to my jaw.

  He stepped away and that action caused me to open my eyes quickly.

  Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket. “I’m enjoying the taste of you,” he said.

  I couldn’t find the words to answer that. Yet again, I was taken aback.

  “Undo your shirt,” he said.

  I raised my hands, trying hard to disguise the shake, and unbuttoned.

  “Slower,” he said.

  I kept eye contact as I did what he’d requested. When I’d undone all the buttons, I let my arms fall to my sides. I watched as he loosened his tie, pulling it through his collar. He rolled it around his hand before stepping back towards me and placing it next to his glass.

  He trailed his fingers down either side of my neck, across my chest, and parted my shirt. I watched him lick his lips as he stared at my breasts. There was something very carnal in what he did, and it had my stomach clenching further. He pushed the shirt from my shoulders until it fell to the floor.

  Goosebumps raised my skin, following the path his fingers made as he very gently ran them across the cups of my bra. He reached around and unclipped it, sliding the straps from my shoulders. Everything he did, every movement he made, was controlled: measured to elicit the desired response. I swallowed hard, convinced that he’d heard me.

  I opened my mouth to speak; the silence was beginning to overwhelm me. Before I could, he placed one finger over my lips.

  “Shush,” he said. “No talking, just feel.”

  He reached for his whiskey and dipped his finger in the glass; he then ran that finger over my lips. Before I had a chance to catch the drip, he’d placed his hands in my hair on either side of my face and kissed me. No, he devoured my mouth. It was as if his kiss had sucked the air from my lungs. His tongue took control of mine; his hands gripped my hair. I clung to him, my hands fisted his shirt. I couldn’t stop the moan that seemed to have risen from the depths of my stomach, leaving my mouth.

  I was gone, totally gone. My head spun and it wasn’t from the alcohol, it was him. Just his kiss had me wanting to come. I crossed my legs, trying to clench my thighs tight together. He let go of one side of my head, ran his hand down my side, and having to bend slightly, he slipped his hand between my thighs and pushed my legs apart again.

  He pulled his mouth from mine. “When you come, it will be either over my fingers or my cock, or in my mouth.”

  My jaw fell open; I heard it click. He smirked and raised his eyebrows. He reached down, undid the button, then the zip of my trousers, they pooled around my feet. I stepped out of them, and once again, he took a step back. His gaze leisurely trailed from my breasts to my black lace panties and then down to the high heels. He nodded, as if approving.

  “You have an awful amount of clothes on,” I said.

  “So undress me then,” he replied.

  I lifted one leg to remove my shoe.

  “Leave them on,” he said.

  I reached up to undo the buttons on his shirt, pulling it from the waistband of his trousers. He offered me his arms and I unbuttoned the cuffs, one at a time. As he had done to me, I slid the shirt from his broad shoulders, having to reach up to do so.

  I let my hands slide down his very toned stomach, so toned every ab was defined. I undid his trousers. As I did so, he kicked off his shoes. I decided to be brave. I placed my hands on his hips and slowly lowered to a crouch, pulling his trousers down as I did. He wore tight black shorts, and I had to catch the words before they spilled from my mouth at the sight of his erection. His cock strained against the cotton, a small damp patch had formed as it wept precum. I ran my hands down his shins, removing his socks then slowly stood.

  “Turn around,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Turn around,” he repeated, slower.

  I did. I heard the shuffle as he kicked his clothing away. I felt the gentlest trail of his fingers down my back, and again, my skin puckered at his touch. He grabbed my hair in one hand, angling my head so he could kiss across my shoulder, pushing my head forward so he could kiss the back of my neck. I reached behind me, placing my hands on his thighs; I needed the support.

  He pressed his body against mine, or maybe I’d leaned back into him, by that point I wasn’t sure. I could feel his cock pressing into my lower back. Even in heels, he was a good foot taller than I was.

  One arm snaked around me, his hand covered my breast and he dragged his palm across my nipple. The roughness of his skin set mine on fire, figuratively of course. Heat raced over me.

  I’d begun to pant, finding it difficult to disguise my laboured breathing. I could feel the wetness between my thighs, and I wanted his fingers, his cock, or his mouth.

  “Do you like these?” he asked, as he slid his hand down my stomach to the top of my panties.

  “Yes.”

  “Shame.”

  With that, he ran his fingers around the waistband to my hip, and in one fluid movement, he’d ripped them from my body. The movement caught me by surprise, and I stumbled sideways slightly. He held my hips. When I'd steadied myself, I felt his hand run over my arse, slide between my thighs and over my opening, just once. He gently slid his hand back again. I tensed as he ran his wet finger between my arse cheeks. I heard him chuckle.

  “You’re so wet,” he said.

  “I…” Agai
n, I was unsure how to reply.

  “Tell me your fantasies, Lauren. If you could do anything right now, what would it be,” he whispered in my ear.

  “I…”

  “You said that already.”

  He slid his hand around my waist, lower and lower. His other hand reached around and cupped my chin; he forced my head up to look at him while his fingers circled my clitoris.

  I moaned out loud and closed my eyes.

  “Open them, look at me,” he said. His voice had taken on a huskiness.

  “Answer me.”

  “I don’t know, I can’t think,” I said, as his fingers stroked and teased my clitoris faster.

  I gripped his thighs and moaned again.

  “Think.”

  “To be fucked by you, a stranger,” I said, crying out at the same time.

  “I like your choice of words, Lauren. I love to fuck, hard.”

  My name rolled slowly off his tongue and seduced me. His words had me moaning out loud, had my stomach clenching with the need to come, had a flush creep up my chest and neck, and my nipples were so hard that they hurt.

  “Oh, God,” I cried out. He chuckled.

  I wanted to come; I wanted to feel his fingers inside me. I let go of one of his thighs and covered his hand with mine; I pushed his fingers lower towards my opening. He pulled it away. I let my head fall forward and my chin rest on my chest. Before I’d even caught a breath, he lifted me from the ground and carried me to his oversized bed. He laid me down

  “I don’t fuck in hotel beds, normally. But for you, I find myself wanting to make an exception.”

  He stood beside the bed and removed his shorts. His cock sprang free. I tried not to, but I couldn’t stop staring.

  He crawled onto the bottom of the bed. He ran his hands down my legs, removing my shoes and tossing them to the floor. Then he crawled up my body, holding himself above me on his arms. He lowered his head, and kissed down my chest before taking a nipple into his mouth. I gripped his hair as he sucked, as he bit. I arched my back off the bed, feeling his cock against me.

  He released my nipple to tend to the other one. I’d never before experienced the stomach clenching and thigh trembling that I was at that point, using just his mouth, his tongue, and his teeth.