He opened the front door and light from an outdoor lamp post spilled into his darkened hallway. He flipped a switch and suddenly the room was filled with a bright light from a classic hanging lamp, all glass with brass edging. Suzanne blinked her eyes a few times trying to get used to brightness, and as she did, she heard Michael close the door behind her and turn its various locks. He came up behind her, removed his coat from her shoulders, and freed her wrists from her confines... first one...then the other. Suzanne brought her wrists to her front and rubbed them absently as she perused her new surroundings...
The place was incredibly clean. The small hallway was tiled, and let out a ways where it opened into a living room on its left. The room had large windows running along its main wall allowing the lights of downtown to twinkle like a portrait. In the middle of the wall there was a fireplace. It looked like a gas fire place... but it was still more than she had in her own modest apartment. In one corner a couch and love seat created an area facing an entertainment center. On the other side, in the far corner, stood a shelf with some books, and a grand piano. The carpet was cream, and the furniture had a newness to it, but looked very very comfortable. To the left was a large kitchen... two ovens and a range on a center island... various copper pots and pans hung from the ceiling. It was a kitchen belonging to someone who knew how to cook. The hall continued.
"Home sweet home." Michael said close to her ear. She turned to look at him and he smiled, ran a hand through his hair. "Would you like a drink?"
"Ummm. Sure. Thank you." Michael went into the kitchen and disappeared into a sizeable pantry. While he rustled around Suzanne let her eyes roam over his things...
His paintings were modern. He seemed to prefer cubists. They added color to a house that seemed to be otherwise in shades of cream and black. Suzanne heard a popping noise behind her and turned. He'd opened a bottle of something red, and he took two large wine glasses, deftly pouring some wine into each. "Here you go," he handed her a glass. "Would you like the tour?" Suzanne nodded and followed as he took her further into his apartment.
He showed her his study, furnished it seemed, a little less starkly than his living room; it seemed more personal. Warm colors and photographs. Softer than the face he so readily put on view in his more public rooms. A little further down he gestured to the bathroom. "I'm actually pretty proud of it... I remodeled it myself." Suzanne turned to look inside, and he put his hand on her arm. "You'll see it later," he added playfully. At the end of the hall was the door to his bedroom. He went to the far corner and switched on a light.
It bathed the room warmly. The first thing she noticed was the large bed. Made out of a dark wood, it and had four posters. Matching side tables and lamps stood guard on either side. A dresser and a bureau...the dresser had a few personal items scattered on it... a book... cuff links... A Large closet was off to her left. But her gaze kept going back to the bed. She took a deeper drink of the wine and coughed.
"Are you okay?" he asked. Suzanne looked down and saw the red elixir slowly staining her blouse, incarnadining the grey silk of her blouse.
"Oh no... I am so sorry...did I get any on.."
"Don't worry about the carpet. It's okay. Are you?"
"Oh yeah, yeah... I'm fine..." She waved her hand dismissively. "Just a little nervous I guess. I just don't think my blouse will be so lucky."
"Oh we can get that out."
"Damn it, it's all over me."
"Don't worry, Suzanne. We'll soak it in some water right away and it won't even have a chance to stain."
She looked up, the small light of panic in her eyes.
"What will I wear?"
Michael's grin had just reached his eyes when he wiped it away in all seriousness. "Hold on." He went into his closet and pulled out one of his white dress shirts. He offered it to Suzanne and took her glass in exchange. "It should cover you to at least mid-thigh." Then he handed her a fluffy towel.
"Why don't you go take a shower, and get the rest of the wine off of you before it gets all sticky."
"Hmm. Thank you." She turned to leave and go to his bathroom when his voice stopped her.
"And Suzanne," she turned to look at him over her shoulder. "Don't dry your hair, not even a bit."
They held a stare for a long moment, and then she broke it off and went to the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her.
Suzanne wandered into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. Maybe she had shut it a little too hard. Even this simple barrier between her and the man outside seemed to relieve a burden from her, and she placed her forehead against the door, sighing, as she found the lock on the door handle and turned it. She stood there for a moment and tried to regain her sense of self composure. It wasn't coming.
Maybe he was right. She would take a shower. She turned to look at her new surroundings, and gasped.
To her right, a full vanity was set up. The mirrors were large, and crowned the surface with three panels. A bit further on, directly ahead of her, was the largest bathtub she had ever seen. Surely any larger and it would have been classified as a Jacuzzi. The tub appeared to be marbleized porcelain, but the fixtures were brass that gleamed like gold. She approached the tub and looked to her left. A toilet and a sink. To her right stood a large shower, with a plane glass door. Anyone walking by would be able to see the bather quite clearly and beautifully framed at that. She walked back to the vanity area too look for a towel, and she found them in a cupboard. To her dismay, she also found shampoo, soap, lotion, and a disposable razor on the shelf beneath the bathing linens. He either had guest frequently over to bathe, had a girlfriend, or was expecting her. Surprisingly, none of the options sat well with her. She grabbed the soap and shampoo and a towel, then shut the cabinet door.
Suzanne turned towards the mirror.
Suzanne turned towards the mirror and surveyed the visage contained therein.
She was never the sort of girl to call herself beautiful, although others certainly thought so. She reached into the sink to plug the drain and turned on the cold water. One by one, Suzanne undid the buttons of her blouse revealing the creamy skin beneath.
At 5'7" she was not particularly tall, but she was fit. She pulled the wine-soaked shirt away from her skin and placed it into the sink. Her breasts were full, and crowned with rosy nipples that peeked through the open shelf bra and made her feel a bit more naked than she normally would. She turned off the water and placed the shirt to soak in the sink. After staring at the startling image for a moment, she reached behind her and undid her bra as well. While she lost a bit of the upper curve of her cleavage, she was still pert enough, and the way her breast lay offset the curves of her indented waist. She threw her bra carelessly to the floor.
Suzanne shook her head as if trying to clear herself from a daze and turned her back to the mirror. She deftly removed her shoes, and undid her garter belt, rolling her stockings down her legs only to leave them on the floor next to her other undergarments. She made her way across the bathroom, the tile cold and unyielding beneath her feet, opened the shower door and turned on the water, testing its heat before stepping inside the cocoon of glass and steam.
Michael walked into his living room and started the fire. Not a particularly hard job, but enjoyable none the less. He had smiled when Suzanne accidentally slammed the door. He heard her turn on the shower and looked up, smiling.
He needed a Scotch.
Michael got himself a glass and a couple of ice cubes out of the kitchen and poured himself a small bit of the amber liquid. He then turned off the lights so that his front room was bathed in the warming glow of the fire. He took off his shoes and socks, feeling the deep carpet as he wandered towards his chair that sat, contented, next to the hearth. Soon, he thought. He held up his scotch to the light and watched the flames dance through the foggy window of his glass.
Suzanne stepped out of the shower feeling much cleaner, and a little less sure of herself. She dripped onto the floor mat as she reached for one of the white terrycloth towels draped over a rack for her use. Out of habit she brought it up to wrap her hair. And then stopped.
Why did he want her to keep her hair wet?
