He lit another cigarette and returned his stare to the door. He hadn't smoked for years but it felt right to do so now, as if the sheer act to which he had committed himself removed the need to deny him any of his lesser pleasures. He sipped at the glass of wine that sat next to his chair. It was an expensive bottle, the most expensive one in the off licence he had darted into as the taxi's meter ticked away. It had been bought as a sop to the ideas of sophistication and romance, two concepts that he rapidly understood to be out of place in this seedy hotel room that reverberated with the sound of the jet engines as they ferried their passengers to a myriad of destinations from the airport over the road. It was dark in the room. What little light existed seeped through the windows from the streetlights outside. Every now and then it would brighten suddenly as a car passed by. Long shadows would appear, shoot off round the room and escape into nothingness, leaving him alone in the half light.
Every now and again he would cock his head as his ears desperately searched for the sound of footsteps in the hall beyond the panelled wood of the door. More often than not the sounds he heard were no more than the product of an expectant imagination that willed them into existence, a process that caused a sudden rush of adrenaline that rapidly diminished with the knowledge that the sounds were no more authentic than the plastic flowers that sat on the bedside table. Occasionally the sounds of actual footsteps penetrated the mounting fog of excitement that clouded his brain. He learned to differentiate them, the soft pad of the trainer that he rapidly discounted, the click of the heel that would cause elation as they approached only for his hopes to crash as the sound passed the door and echoed off down the corridor. Some came with voices, some understandable, others in dialects or accents he struggled to place. Every now and then he would pick up the briefest snatch of a conversation, the American tourists discussing the day out, the business man shouting about his latest deal on what must have been his mobile, a conclusion reached on account of the single set of footsteps that accompanied him.
He looked at his phone, a vain attempt to check that he hadn't somehow missed a reply to his messages. He had sent two so far, both to the number that he had been more successful in deleting from his phone than his memory. The first had been nothing more than the address of the hotel room where he now sat coupled with the days date and the time of eight o'clock, a time that he realised was already in the past. He silently cursed himself for his stupidity and despaired his arrogance. To think that she would simply drop everything and dance to his tune. To imagine that she would be unable to resist his summons, or even unwilling to submit to his desires. He felt foolish and guilty, and for the first time since he had been hit by the insane urge to gouge on his lusts, he thought not of the siren who tempted him north but of the clever, kind, beautiful girl who innocently shared his life and swallowed his lies.
Such torments disappeared with the unmistakable sound of yet another set of footsteps coming down the landing. The sharp clipped sound of the heels echoing off the walls left him with no illusions that the wearer was female, and each step increased the speed of his heartbeat. His mouth hung open in expectation, his held his breath as the footsteps got louder and louder. His body tensed as sound moved to right behind the door in front of him, his eyes stayed glued to the door handle as time stood still. It moved.
He saw it shake as the hand on the other side touched it. He saw it slowly turn towards the floor. The door opened. The light from the hall flooded through the widening crack, momentarily blinding him. He blinked rapidly, desperate not to miss the sight that he had awaited so eagerly, but he could not ignore the sharp pain that came with the piercing light. He closed his eyes and inhaled his cigarette, holding its smoke in his lungs with his eyelids firmly clamped together. She had come, he told himself as he opened them to the vision that awaited.
A silhouette emerged from the glare. To the sound track of the high heels on the threadbare carpet, the figure moved into the room. It was a shapely form, he could tell that even though it was hidden by a long coat whose hem brushed her knees. It was tied tightly round her waist, allowing it bulge deliciously in all the right places, places that he subjected to a barely concealed leer. Her eyes glimmered in the half light, shining out from the glasses that magnified her inherent femininity. Her fringe framed her mischievous face, those full inviting lips smeared in her dark lipstick, those red cheeks, those seemingly innocent eyes, ringed as they were with black circles of mascara. She watched him impassively as she moved into the room, inspecting his lustful stares with what appeared to be almost a degree of amusement. Her strides were long and confident on the high heels that attached themselves to her feet by way of long black ribbons that snaked up her calves to be crowned by two elaborate bows.
They would once have been the last thing with which anyone would have associated her. He wondered if that was still the case, or whether it was only for him that the quiet, innocent girl turned into the irresistible femme fatale that moved so erotically before him. His eyes dropped to the her nylon clad shins, frantically indulging himself in his seemingly unfathomable fetish. The dark sheer material contrasted with the black ribbons that snaked round her ankles, a sight that for him was both exotic and erotic. She accepted his gaze eagerly, it empowered her to the point in which she positively revelled in it. Her movements became pronounced, her hips swayed further, she thrust her ample breasts forward with each step. His mouth twisted round his cigarette into a predatory grin as she stopped and turned her body to face him. She returned his stare calmly, her hands rising to the tight belt that held her long coat firmly closed. He exhaled his smoke in one long breath sending it trailing across the room towards her
'I thought you'd given up,' she purred in that soft Scottish burr that haunted his darkest dreams.
'I did,' he replied, his voice affecting a level calm that sat ill at ease with the goose bumps that covered his skin.
'And yet...' as her words trailed off she flicked her tongue slowly over her full, red, luscious lips, a gloriously subtle and yet infinitely erotic act.
Seeing his almost dumbstruck reaction, she dropped her eyes from his, pulling her face away with feigned modesty as she tugged the belt with one quick slap of the wrist. It opened slowly, the light cream fabric parting to reveal the black strapless mini dress she had taunted him with before. He watched as the coat fell from her shoulders, exposing the white skin of her neck before slipping down to display the voluptuous body that she had encased in the cobalt black lycra of her dress. It fitted her tightly, effortlessly hugging every curve, every contour. It clung to her breasts like a glove, her erect nipples clearly pronounced pointing through the thin fabric towards him. It clung to the tops of her heavenly thighs, the high hem line high enough to be considered indecent by even the most shameless of whores. It was the kind of dress you would see worn by endless skinny bitches in top shelf magazines or writhing pole dancers as they began their routines but it was made for her. In it she had become sex. She pulled the coat from her shoulders, giving him even more of her heavenly voluptuous body on which to feast his eyes, a sight he devoured with gusto. His cock twitched as he drank in this goddess, this siren, this big, beautiful bitch who had come to embody the very essence of his lust.
'So,' she said confidently after letting him feast on the sight she had granted him. 'Is it as good as you remembered?'
His lifted his eyes to return her seemingly neutral expression. His stare narrowed as he studied her intently before he slowly dropped his gaze to appraise her ample form. As he took in the sumptuous cleavage and nylon clad thighs that shimmered in the half light, he sucked on his cigarette. His watchful eyes studied every inch of her flesh with barely concealed lust. He exhaled the smoke in one long puff as she stepped back slightly and allowed her bum to rest on the edge of the desk behind her.
'Better,' he said eventually.
She flashed him that dangerous grin of hers in response before biting her lip tenderly. She raised one foot from the floor and held her leg out in front of her. Leaning forward she ran her fingers down the nylon as she straightened her tights. It was a seemingly unconscious act, one she undertook almost without thinking but it drove him wild with desire. Her hem rode up as she moved, exposing ever more of her thigh. His eyes made out the line at the top of her tights. He heard if called the laughter line once, so called because if you made it that far you were laughing. He wasn't laughing now, this wasn't about laughter. Instead his blood boiled with lust, his loins stirred by the manner in which she teased him.
Suddenly she got up and took several paces towards him. His eyes fixed upon her sumptuous breasts as they swayed in time with her steps. They bulged both above and below her tight neckline, looking like they would spill out at any moment. Between the firm orbs hung a long string of black beads that ended the large silver cross. For a split second he wondered if she had found religion before he discounted the idea as being incompatible with wanton way with which she presented herself. He remained motionless as she moved, even when she lent in as to smother him in her intoxicating scent. His eyes looked over her full dark lips, smothered as they were in her thick lipstick.
She pulled back quickly. Taking the packet of cigarettes that had sat on the small table next to him, she walked back to the desk as she took one out. As she shifted her weight onto the edge, she placed it between her lips and clicked the lighter into flame. It illuminated her face, her wide eyes, her flushed cheeks, before it extinguished itself leaving only the smoking embers at the end of the cigarette which glowed brightly as she inhaled the smoke. It dulled slightly as her long breath came to and end. She lifted it from her mouth, the brown tip now stained black, and returned his infatuated stare with that same mixture of disdain and arousal. It seemed to him that she held the smoke in her lungs for an age, but it was only a few seconds before she exhaled through her pursed lips.
