by Lisa Swann
I saw him disappear into the next room and heard the noise of taps turning and the flowing of water, and finally the sound of glass clinking ... When he reappeared he had a look of satisfaction. I didn't dare say anything and contented myself to watch and appreciate the sight of his perfect physique. He had pulled the sleeves of his white shirt up onto his powerful forearms; his jeans were just tight enough so that I could see the contraction of his buttocks with each step. He was well built: thin and muscular at the same time. He radiated sensuality in his every move, every gesture. I had only one desire: to jump on him, rip the buttons off his shirt, violently unzip his jeans and pull out his cock which, judging by the size of the bump in his denim, was already erect. This could only lead me straight to seventh heaven. I swallowed my saliva, and edged further back into the seat. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he slowly untied the laces of his derby shoes without taking his eyes off me, flashes full of sexual promises in his eyes. He got up and, ever so slowly, pulled up the sides of his shirt which fell carelessly over his jeans.
I was so wet, my legs were tightly clamped together. My God, it's amazing the mind is capable of causing such bodily reactions!
He dimmed the lights and put on an opera aria ... then he came back to me.
He untied the laces of my Converse sneakers, pulled them off and threw them aside, adding that he never wanted to see me in sneakers again! Then he gently rolled down my socks until they fell to the ground. I never thought having my socks removed could be so sexy. His thumb stroked the instep - I shivered right down to my toes - then up along my ankle to the calf that he lightly scratched. I bit my lip to keep from saying "Ouch" . His hands passed over the fabric of my pants, moving up my waist, tapping his fingers all the way. I stroked his hair and slowly started unbuttoning his shirt as he began to climb up towards me. But he grabbed my hand, kissed it and said:
"Shh. Don't move!"
I wanted to tell him that he had forbidden me to speak, not to move! But I decided to shut up. I didn't want him to leave me now that my desire was begging to be satisfied.
When he reached my waist, he grabbed my shirt and pulled it up over my arms. I was bare-chested (I never wear a bra when I take a plane) and my high, firm breasts were showing an almost palpable excitement. Sacha stepped back, displaying a satisfied smile. He was enjoying the effect he had on me. He pulled me up by my hands so I was standing, and began taking away the last of my clothes - my jeans and panties - slowly as always. I was completely naked, completely open, completely lubricated.
Sacha disappeared into the bathroom for a second, presumably to stop the water, then he came back and stood in front of me. He stayed there, his thighs pressing against the chair, and began stroking my hair. His gesture might have seemed affectionate, but he was so close to me that I felt the bump of his erection knocking into my cheek each time he moved his arms. Did he want me to suck him off? I was dying to, but I didn't dare take the lead. He pulled away from me, and I sighed. He went over to the console where a bottle of champagne was waiting. He opened it and, without taking his eyes off me, poured the champagne into two glasses. It was like we were shooting a scene in a porn movie; everything in his attitude, everything in this room was just for sex, sex, sex. He came back and, still without saying a word, he handed me one of the glasses. He took his glass but instead of drinking from it, he poured a few drops of the liquid between my breasts, and put the flute down. I took a sip and put mine down as well. He knelt down and began slowly licking every drop of champagne, in the furrow between my breasts, moving towards my stomach and then my pussy. His firm tongue found its way to my labia, my clitoris. He poured a little more champagne and licked and licked until he wasn't thirsty anymore ... while I was swelling with desire, my legs fully spread, my chest shaken by my ragged breathing.
He got up, took my hand and led me into the bathroom. The tub was half full of crystal clear water. There was no foam. The bathroom was filled with the fragrances of bathsalts. I took a quick glance and saw the little glass bottles open on the edge of the bathtub. The humidity perfectly suited the feeling of abandonment that reigned in the room large enough to accommodate this enormous round bath.
Without Sacha saying anything, I understood that I was to get into the bath. Was he going to join me? It was a mystery. I put one foot in the water - ouch, it was almost boiling hot - I turned to Sacha and his look told me that he wanted me to get into the bath despite the temperature. I climbed in, holding my breath. Every pore of my skin stung and reddened when the hot water touched it. This sudden submission, so unlike me, was wonderful at the time - terribly sexy. Oh yes, I wanted him to guide me, be in command, dominate me. No soppy emotions with him, and that was fine with me. It would've cooled me down I'm sure. I settled down into the depths of the tub, my skin dotted with red pinpricks. Sacha approached, still dressed, grabbed a loofah and began to wash me delectably slowly. He didn't miss a single inch, not even the tiniest part of my anatomy, alternating between gentle and slightly rougher movements. Not for one moment did he allow his eyes to stray from his work. I understood why he hadn't used bubble bath. I closed my eyes and completely released myself to this intense, carnal adventure.
When he finished, he gently pulled me up by the hand and I stepped out of the water. I felt like a marshmallow, a marshmallow ready to melt ... I was completely relaxed, The fatigue from the journey had gone, but I had no desire to sleep! Sacha quickly dried me and put a silk bathrobe over my shoulders. I was still wet and the fabric clung to my skin. From behind he put a blindfold over my eyes.
"Come," he whispered in my ear.
The opera aria in the background made the whole scene more surrealistic. I had been intimately washed by my lover and I was now even more at his mercy; blindfolded and only wearing a silk bathrobe. All this without us exchanging a word.
I felt the bed knock against my calves and I lay down, trying to be as sensual as possible. I felt Sacha very close to me and not being able to see him was extremely confusing, infinitely exciting. He parted the folds of the kimono and I felt his mouth on my stomach. It was amazingly gentle. With the same slowness as before, he licked me from the navel to the pubis, down to my lips, titillating my clitoris, and then back up to my breasts. I felt the strength of his chest on me as he slowly slid up my body (he had undressed!), and his tender kisses had a powerful effect. He sucked my breast like a baby, biting the tip, and he moaned as he sucked my other breast. I arched my back and grabbed his hair, which made Sacha suddenly stop. He pulled away from me. Where was he, what was he doing? I was dying to know. I was burning up with desire. I silently begged he wouldn't stop now. All of a sudden I felt something around my wrists; he was tying up my hands! He whispered in my ear to relax. I had no idea what I was tied to, but both my arms were tied above my head. I refrained from speaking again; I was just a ball of desire, ready to satisfy any of his sexual demands. Sacha continued to lick every square inch of my skin. I climbed onto my knees and opened my legs without even thinking - my body had taken over. I wanted him to take me now, I wanted to feel his cock in me, I wanted him to fuck me, to pound me and make me come ... I was ready. Could he read my mind or was the arousal of my flesh so obvious? I couldn't wait any longer and just as I was going to beg him to take me, he pulled out his cock and pushed it into my vagina. He penetrated me so slowly that I wriggled my ass to make him move faster ... I was on the verge of explosion. I felt I was going to come loudly, even before he began his backward and forward rhythm. Once again he must have read my thoughts, because he said, "slowly now," as if trying to tame a wild mare. Methodically, he penetrated and pulled out of me while licking and biting my breasts, always with the same control. My flesh opened to each movement. I was being consumed from the inside and only an orgasm could calm this fire, this desire that was almost painful. Then he leaned on his elbows and quickened the pace. I felt his heart beating against my chest and he was dripping with sweat. Each thrust caused a spasm in me, while the opera singer yelled
in the background. I was about to lose control when he said "Come, now! ' ... and I melted with a guttural sigh.
8. An argument on the top floor
I woke up in the hotel suite bathed in daylight. I stretched slowly, still hot from the burning kisses of my lover. Sitting on the bed, I could see the port with its fishing and sailing boats across the bay and the immensity of the buildings on the other side of the inlets. What a city! After New York and Hong Kong, which megalopolis would Sacha take me to? Talking of Sacha, where was he? Obviously he had left ... I looked around the room, blinking my eyes. Mmm! The cat was gone! I dragged myself out of bed and pulled on the silk kimono that had been carelessly dropped on the armchair, and went over to the huge bay window to enjoy the view ... What time was it? 8 o'clock? Maybe later? I don't wear a watch, so I got my cell phone out of my handbag that was on a console table in the entrance hall. The battery was flat. Just what I needed ... I was looking around for a power socket when I saw a piece of paper with Sacha's handwriting on it! I could recognize his handwriting anywhere. Straight as a poker, just like him!
“Liz,
I've booked the room opposite the suite. Your clothes and belongings are already there. It's open and the key is in the entrance hall. Make yourself comfortable.
I have a private meeting this morning, but I'll be waiting for you at 10:30 sharp in room 108 of the convention centre which is two blocks away from the hotel.
Bring your notes for the N. Ruppert file.
Don't be late.
S.”
I held the note in my hands and stayed quite still for a few seconds. My head buzzed. I could hear my heart pounding in my chest.
OK, let's summarize:
1/ He's kicked me out of the suite. OK. I had a room opposite and it suited me quite well to have some independence ... but hey, he did kick me out ... I'd rather it had been me who asked for another room (but I would never have done it, let's be honest)...
2/ He wanted my notes on the Ruppert file ... Meaning what? OK, I'd worked on this file for a few days before my arrival in Hong Kong, but I was far, very far from knowing all the strings attached. What did he really want from me? I hadn't forgotten that besides Sacha being the most extraordinary man I've known in bed...he was also my boss! I couldn't screw up on this file, there was no question about it ... Oh boy, talk about being stressed out ... especially as the file in question was not an easy one. Nicolas Ruppert, a Texan who made his fortune in farming, wanted to diversify his activities and was very interested in the Chinese market, particularly after his marriage to a young woman 25 years his junior from the new wealthy class of Hong Kong. Ruppert had appointed the firm Goodman & Brown to find him something where he could earn a few million dollars. If Goodman & Brown managed to get a good deal for Ruppert, this was a sure way to bring other multimillionaires into the New York law firm. The firm was playing for high stakes. I had done a little spadework on the file, but I didn't think Sacha would use the convention as an opportunity to work on this case ... It was not only Goodman & Brown who were playing high ... I was as well. My notes - where were my notes? I needed to look at them before the appointment...
3/ The appointment?! What time was it? I switched on my cell phone which I had just plugged in. 9:30 ... Phew! And this convention centre that was two streets away? Two streets? But I've never been to Hong Kong before! I was sure it was a trap. He was deliberately testing me, to freak me out, always pushing the limits on all levels ... OK, try not to panic.
I opened my laptop and in two or three clicks I found the location of the convention centre. I glanced at the phone. 9:45 ... I grabbed my bag, the key, my phone, tightened the belt of my kimono and, with my laptop propped on one hip, I crossed the hallway like a madwoman ... I didn't have time to assess "my" room. My suitcase was there, waiting for me quietly. I grabbed a pantsuit, a blouse and my toiletries and quickly took a shower.
In no time at all I was ready! I hadn't got a lot of beauty sleep the night before, but this was a professional appointment after all, wasn't it? I put my long, red hair up in a bun. I needed to look more my age (this wouldn't be a bad thing at all) if I wanted to be taken seriously.
I took my file, my computer, my handbag and headed out of the splendid establishment. Two streets ... on the map it seemed to be close by. No need to complicate my life with a taxi that might not understand the address I gave with my French accent, or worse, take me to the wrong place.
As sure of myself as was humanly possible, I walked towards the large glass door. A porter opened it for me and I found myself in a bustling and busy street.
The interior of the hotel was fully air-conditioned. I didn't realize just how hot it was. My pantsuit suddenly seemed completely inappropriate ... Too bad. I didn't have time to change ... I turned right, then right again ... The road unrolled its long asphalt ribbon before me, cars hooted, pedestrians bustled ... and I was lost! And yet wasn't it the second right? Was it actually further than I thought? How long had I been walking for? I pulled my phone out of my bag and looked at the time: 10:15!
Oh no! 10:15, 10:15! ... but where was this convention centre, for goodness sake?
I awkwardly asked someone the way, but all I could understand was that I was on the wrong road. I felt the panic rising up inside me and became very flustered. I was about to give up, but I turned around and there I saw it: "Convention" was spread out in capital letters on the front window. ( Dear God thank you, they had had the good sense to put it in English ). I rushed into the hall, ran in all directions and ended up in front of a door with the right number on it: 108. Fate was on my side for once. I knocked and heard the serious voice of Sacha asking me to enter. I pushed open the door. He was alone, in what looked like a luxury meeting room. An oval mahogany table took up a good part of the room, and was surrounded by green leather seats. On the table, there were cups and glasses arranged on a silver tray, and thermos flasks, presumably for tea and coffee. I suddenly remembered that I hadn't had breakfast, which might explain the knot in my stomach. Sacha barely lifted his eyes, but he still greeted me with a smile ... as he would have done with any other employee. He indicated for me to sit in front of him. I did this, putting down my files and my laptop. I was sweating like a pig. I didn't dare think about the state of my bun, or the traces of perspiration that must have been staining my blouse.
I was trying to find a position that looked professional before I asked him what information he needed, but he beat me to it, without even looking up from his papers.
"Liz, we have an unexpected opportunity on the Ruppert file. This afternoon we are meeting with an industrialist, Mr. Ong, who is selling a site that will soon no longer be in use, two kilometers from here." He raised his head and looked me straight in the eye. "I went to see the site in question yesterday; this is a golden opportunity for Ruppert. For now, we are one of the first in line, but if we don't act quickly, we could lose the business. I know there is also an English investor who could be potentially interested. So we need to act quickly. I had Ruppert on the phone this morning and he has given us carte blanche to negotiate. Our application must be water tight if we want it to go through before the competition is called in."
I took notes at full speed, not wanting to miss any details. It was lucky that I had just been working on a financing plan for a similar project; this could be a starting point.
"Liz?"
"Yes?" I raised my head.
"So is this up your alley?" he asked half seriously, half-amused.
"Yes, yes ... I've already worked on a fictional financing plan. This could be a starting point. I need you to give me the actual figures for the industrial site..."
"Hmm ... I knew you would make an excellent assistant," he cut me off. "You definitely have a lot of ... um ... talent ... with many ... um ... strings to your bow! he added," emphasizing the word with a tone full of innuendos. He got up and stood behind me to read my notes. He was so close I could smell his intoxicating perfume.
I cleared my throat and continued to take notes as if nothing was bothering me. He came a little closer ... I had to force myself to stay focused on what I was doing ... His presence always had a devastating effect on me. I couldn't help the slight tremor that shook my pen. He obviously noticed it and, no doubt feeling satisfied and reassured, returned to his seat, sat down and picked up the handset in front of him.
"I ordered a chilled orange juice. You seem to be hot!"
The next few hours passed with incredible speed. We set up an ultra meticulous and successfully completed file ... I called Ruppert's personal assistant several times for new information. Sacha, in turn, contacted the Hong Kong authorities to find out all the formalities that we should obtain to transform this industrial site into a building complex. We were leaving nothing to chance. I was completely carried away by the project, excited and terribly proud to participate in this challenge. Maybe nothing would come out of it, but one thing was for sure - that in a few hours, my professional self-confidence had been incredibly boosted. This extraordinary encounter with Sacha Goodman had really changed my life ... in just a few weeks.
Sacha ordered sandwiches for lunch and in the early afternoon we were going to present a really solid, well-argued and, most importantly, profitable application to Mr Ong.
During the meeting that followed with the client, Sacha introduced me as his personal assistant (I was flattered, even if it was my rightful title!) and asked me to intervene to clarify some figures on two or three occasions. He negotiated with a talent that in my eyes made him even more wonderful ... I was already completely under the spell of his physique and personality, but now I was under the spell of the business lawyer. Was there anything he could not do? That he could not control?
