After The Conference Ch 01

Day One

His lips barely grazed hers. She breathed out, letting go of the tension from the past two hours.

It hadn't been a bad date, the thought passed through her even as his lips brushed across the corner of her mouth. She inhaled, closing her eyes. She shouldn't. It was far too soon.

It had been a pretty good date, actually. Her hands moved to his back, holding on to him without implying he should go further. She should just pull away. It was moving too fast.

They'd met just the day before at the end of the conference. He had come up to her during the final lunch, his eyes bright and open. Small talk. She couldn't remember what he'd said, but it had made her laugh.

His lips sent a tingle from her earlobe down her spine. She squirmed a little, clenching between her thighs. No. Her hands started to slip down, to find a way to push him away. She felt his hands move down

her

back, mirroring her own. They reached her waist and pulled her against him gently, his mouth leaving trails of light kisses along her jaw. Was that his belt buckle? She hadn't felt...been felt...in months...no...it was almost a year!

She didn't know much about him. He lived in town. No ring. Damn, she should have googled him. She still could. She couldn't risk going any further.

"Hold on, tiger," she said softly, letting her hands drop and pulling away. "I need to use the ladies'." She walked quickly into the restroom, not looking back, relieved there was an open stall. Sitting down, she pulled out her phone and started to enter his name in the app window.

Shit. His last name!

She panicked briefly and remembered the badge.

Roland Pierce.

Seventeen candidates came up. She added the city and there he was.

Nice shot

, looking at his image staring back at her.

She realized she actually had to pee, stopping, putting her phone in her purse, rearranging her clothes and sitting down again. Browsing through his profile, she looked to see if they had any connections.

Would that be good or bad?

She had nothing to hide – no commitments back home – but a thought crept up her spine. A devilish, naughty thought. An anonymous fling. Strange city. Stranger. No attachment. Except for disease, and pregnancy, no possible fallout. She had the second one covered. They'd use protection.

Listen to you!

She could smell something more than pee coming from between her legs.

She looked at him as she walked back to the restaurant foyer, some salient facts from his profile in her mind's eye. Self-employed, degrees in business and

theater

? That was interesting. She should have waited to go to the bathroom until after they were seated. But she needed to slow things down. He smiled at her, his eyebrows raised.

"They've got our table ready," he motioned his hand across the room, letting her go first. "You smell great." He whispered from behind her head.

She blushed, thankful he couldn't see her. Could he smell her arousal or was he referring to before? It must be from before. The tingle increased at the base of her spine.

Dinner was delicious and awkward. She wanted to linger over each of the plates, the flavors and textures caressed her tongue. He kept up a steady rhythm of conversation, asking her about her work, her favorite movies, books, travel. Awkward because she couldn't focus, distracted by his lips, his eyes. She stared at his fingers, long and delicate, the nails trimmed. She sipped at the wine, remembering a similar one from just the week before. He didn't know much about wine, but was happy to hear her describe it for him.

"Dessert?" The waiter broke into the conversation.

He waited for her cue.

I want him for dessert

, the thought eclipsed everything else.

"Madeleine?"

"Not for me. Thanks. I'm just right."

"Remind me," he said casually as the waiter began clearing the dishes. "How long are you in town for?"

"Until Friday." She sipped the last of her wine. "I was thinking of taking in some of the sites. Any suggestions?"

Please don't...

He studied her for a moment, thinking. "Do you have a car, or were you thinking of biking, or?"

"I hadn't got that far. I had heard there are some great museums and a book store I wanted to visit."

"Tilson's?" He waited for her nod and smiled. "It's amazing. Even in this digital age." He paused, looking past her. "I don't have any commitments tomorrow. It would please me to no end to lay bare the wonders of her valley, to partake of her succulent bounty, the sweet fruit of her bosom."

She looked up alarmed. "What?"

He snapped back to look at her, his smile wry and embarrassed. "I'm sorry. That sounded so weird. It's a quote from the founder of the city when he came over the pass and looked across the valley. Or so we're led to believe. I can assure you he was a Christian, devout and spiritual." The waiter returned with the bill. "Would you let me be your personal guide for the day?"

She silently swore at how much she must be blushing and looked away. When she turned back, he had taken the leather portfolio and handed his card to the waiter.

"Please," she protested, reaching for her purse. "I'm on an expense account."

"Let me show you a few things," he said smiling sweetly. "Some of my favorite things."

Shit

.

Shit.

He completed the transaction, stood and crossed to her, pulling out her chair and offering her her shawl. When she dared to look at him, he waited, face open, a slight shrug.

"Where are you staying?" He gestured to the door.

"The ACE." And then she regretted it.

Dammit, why did I say that?

"Great hotel. I often put up clients there. I'd be happy to walk you to your door..."

She didn't say anything, letting him put his arm around her.

Just tell him thank you. Just...

but she silently relished the feeling of his hand on her waist, seeing his fingers unbuttoning her, peeling her clothes off. '

Show you a few things...'

The way he had said it left it open to interpretation. The wicked thoughts twined their way up like invasive ivy.

"...that last speaker, didn't you?"

She shook her head, trying to recall what he had been saying. "I'm sorry. I was distracted. Say again?"

He turned to look at her and leaned in, gently planting a kiss on her lips, sending that fiery electricity down to her core. She stopped pretending she didn't want this, him, and leaned in, opening her mouth to let him inside her.

The walk to the hotel was a blur, his hand gently brushing across her back, getting the key, not thinking about the hotel staff, hoping no one from the conference was there, approaching the room and that moment, when she slipped the key in her lock, fumbling, the red light blinking until he gently took it from her and offered to try. Blushing. Angry and embarrassed but wanting nothing more than to just get inside already.

"I've never actually been in one of the rooms," he said, his tone easy and relaxed. He set the card down on the bureau, looking around. "It's nice."

She had set her purse and shawl down and wasn't sure what to do next. "There's a pretty well stocked mini-bar, if you'd like." She waved to the refrigerator next to him. He pinched his lips, considering and looked.

"You?" He stood up, the door still open and shrugged out of his jacket.

She didn't really want to drink any more. She stood there, deciding what to do and made her move. "Nothing for me, thanks. I'm good." As she said it, she reached back and unhooked the top of her dress, reaching to pull down her zipper.

"Wait," he said, moving to her so quickly she looked up in alarm, her hands frozen behind her neck. "Sorry," he smiled gently. "Wait," almost a whisper now. "I would like to help you out of your dress." Leaning in, his lips next to her ear, his hands reaching back to pull her hands back in front of her, resting them on his belt. "Let me strip you bare."

The whisper was too soft for her to know if it held menace or simply promise, his lips now lightly grabbing her lobe, his tongue tickling her. He unzipped her only half-way, enough to expose the hooks on her bra. He moved his fingers there, but she felt him pause and reconsider, moving them away. Her hands held onto his belt, not ready to let go, a life-raft.

The room suddenly felt hot, perspiration beading under her arms. He gently lifted the bra's shoulder straps down, under her dress sleeve, moving them down to her elbows, forcing her to bend her arms and pull away from his waist. The cups pulled away, the fabric of the dress rough against the top of her breasts and nipples. The air, only slightly cooler, raising goose bumps and swelling her nubbins.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" He whispered in her ear, lightly stroking inside of her ear channel with his tongue. She squirmed from the tickling, shaking her head, wanting to hear his answer. "The moment I saw you, I wanted nothing more than to be here with you." He peeled the dress off her shoulders, down, down until it hung around her belly, her bra offering her breasts as if on a serving plate.

He stepped back, kneeling, slipping her shoes off and reaching up, up, up her thighs to her waist to gently peel her hose down, down, down, leaving her panties covering her. Pulling her stockings down, he stopped her from lifting her foot, lifting it for her and slipping off first one side and then the other. He looked up at her, smiling, forcing her to look at him, knowing he was staring at her nipples, erect and waiting. But for what?

He held the crotch of her hose up to his nose and inhaled deeply, never breaking eye contact with her until he sighed, closing his eyes. She stared, transfixed.

What the fuck?

"Just tell me," he said quietly, locking onto her again with his clear blue eyes. "Tell me you want this."

She couldn't look away, his face was so open and wanting. What he had just done was so outrageous, so outrageously sexy, she could feel herself getting wet. Before she could answer, he moved his hands up her naked legs to her waist, slipping his fingers into her waistband and stopped.

"Tell me." He said it gently, but with an urgency. Not pleading. Not demanding. As a tit-for-tat –

I'm stripping you, you tell me you want it.

She shivered a little and nodded, never breaking eye contact. "unnh unnhh," he said softly, shaking his head slightly. "Tell me."

"I..."

fuck fuck fuck. What the fuck???

"I...yes...I want this." Her voice caught, husky and she felt foolish, her hands waving uselessly with her arms pinned against her waist. He pulled her underwear down, the air flowing against her wetness, her aroma flowing out from under her dress with his arms.

"You smell like a summer garden," he whispered, moving his head up under her dress, his nose pushing against her lips. She was so wet and so turned on. Nobody had ever done this before.

At 26, the thought flashed through her brain, she'd felt a certain level of experience. Boys, men, a lesbian fling with a college roommate for a month. She wasn't shy about sex. But something about him, about what he was doing, was like nothing she'd experienced. His nose moved up into her, parting her lips, up, sliding up, her juices lubricating its path as he bumped over her clit, making her jerk a little. She brought her hands down to the back of his head, the fabric of the dress getting in her way.

"Please," she moaned slightly, embarrassed at being so vulnerable. She wasn't used to being out of control; she usually set the pace, decided when and how she would be exposed. Somehow, in mere seconds, he had stripped her, but not totally, had slipped into her, but not totally, and had set the terms of the engagement.

She realized, again, that was how she viewed these things...these things, she thought self-consciously, what does that mean? Sex, she said it silently, holding her breath as his tongue took his nose's place, pushing deeper between her lips. It was a business transaction at some level, the thought she was a whore swirling around in the rising pleasure.

No.

She corrected herself. Again. It was a conversation she had almost every time she was with a man.

You are not a prostitute. But you aren't innocent either.

She shook her head to stop the squirrel caging. It had nothing to do with prostitution, she'd gone over it thousands of times. It had to do with power, control and transaction.

His hands moved up her sides to reach her bra, pulling it down to her waist, moving her hands with it until they were pinned against her thighs. He slipped out from under her, standing up to face her, his face glistening, his eyes bright. He looked into her eyes, his hands drifting up, up, until they floated just in front of her naked breasts, his fingers so close she could feel their heat.

"Tell me," he said again, leaning in to kiss her. She wrinkled her nose at her smell, but didn't stop him as he smeared her juices on her, his lips pushing harder now, his tongue penetrating her, stopping her from being heard. He didn't touch any other part of her, just his lips, his hands remaining fixed and floating in front of her breasts.

She couldn't move her hands without ruining her bra.

Sure you can!

But she ignored that voice, waiting to see where he was taking her. She was in great physical shape, and her mind began to wander: how she would do her exercises tomorrow if he slept over.

Getting ahead of the game a little aren't you?

But her thoughts were interrupted by a shock of pain from her nipples as he pulled away.

"Ouch!" She yelped, looking down to see his fingers pinching them, stretching them out. "Stop it!"

He leaned down and kissed them, blowing on them, sending pulses of pleasure after the pain. "Tell me," he spoke to her breasts. "Tell me what I'm going to do to you."

She looked down and along the way caught the movement reflecting in the mirror, her body half-naked, her breasts around his head, her arms pinned by her side. She knew she was beautiful, her brown hair shaded with red, her breasts not too small or too large. She hated her jaw – she always thought it made her look like a horse –she knew the rest of her was killer and she wasn't shy about showing it. But what he was doing to her made her feel shy, like she was back in high school, like she'd never done it before. It was silly what he was asking her to say. She'd never played that game before. And the pain – now fading into a warm glow. A worry began to nag below the pleasure.

What if...?

His teeth bit down on her nipple hard enough to make her yelp again, her hands caught in the straps, stopping her from batting him away. "Stop it! Roland! Stop!"

He shifted the nipple to his lips, gumming it to soften the pain. "Tell me," his breath hot on the swelling bud.

"I...alright..." she looked around, hoping there was some escape, but she wasn't trapped. She could tell him to get out of there any time. She could stop this any time.

So why aren't you?

"I...you are going to...you are going to fuck me." She said it softly, knowing he was going to do it, to do it in a way she hadn't done since...but she wasn't sure when that might have been.

"Yes," he said, smiling up at her. "I am. You are the sweetest, tastiest, most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I want to hear you beg me to fuck your sweet cunt." And before she could react to the vulgarity, he turned her to the bed, gently, but firmly pushing her face down, her waist at the edge, her knees barely touching the floor.

"No," she said without much conviction. He had pulled her dress up, exposing her sex to him, his feet pushing her knees apart. She knew he was staring at her slit, the wiry hairs framing her lips, her wrinkled hole, brown and tight peeking from between her tight cheeks.

He stopped. "No?" He waited, his fingers slipping into her wetness, brushing lightly across her clit. "Say it. You're going to say it. You want it. You know you want it. Tell me what you want; what you've wanted since you went to the bathroom at the restaurant." He rested his fingers on her open sex, his middle finger lightly tapping her clit.

She moaned. She couldn't. This wasn't the way she played. She'd never let herself be this exposed and not in control. But he wasn't moving. It was her move. She knew he would leave if she told him to. She felt like a whore, she wanted to feel like a whore. He made her feel like the whore she knew she was and he was demanding she admit it to him...and herself.

He waited, but she could feel him shifting, the sound of his belt opening. His finger hadn't left her, but his other hand unzipped his trousers and she felt them fall to the floor. His hand pushed against her as he stepped out of them, and then she knew he was pulling down his briefs. She couldn't stop imagining his cock springing up, swollen but not yet hard.

"I," she said, her voice catching in her throat.

How can you? How can you let yourself do this?

But it had been so long, and he was so gentle, had been so gentle up til now. He had been nothing but a gentleman the entire night.

Why did he have to call it that?

She was being childish. She could stop it, so why wasn't she? "I..." She closed her eyes and took a breath. "Fuck me," she barely breathed it out.

His only response was to move his finger slightly and move her feet apart further until she knew her lips, swollen and red, were fully open off the edge of the bed. "Beg. Beg for my hot, hard cock in your wet cunt like it is the single most important thing in your life." He pressed his finger just slightly against her. Maddeningly, frustratingly. She could feel her liquid dripping down.

"No..." she moaned, exhaling.

She couldn't debase herself

. Debase.

Hah!

That's a good one.

The voice, critical and scathing, made her lift her pelvis, trying to push against him.

Tell him what he wants to hear, like the common whore you are. You know you are going to. Stop fighting it.

"FUCK ME!" She shouted into the coverlet, shocked at the sound of her need.

He tsked and pulled his hand away.

She shrieked at the white hot pain across her ass cheeks. "NOOOO! STOPPPPP!!!" But she couldn't pull up, his hand pressed against her back, his knees keeping her legs apart, the hair from his naked thighs against her smooth skin. "Tell me," he said gently, his fingers unzipping her dress the rest of the way. She felt a panic rising in her even as the slap's pain dissipated into a warmth she'd never expected. And then the absurd thought:

How is he going to get that off me?

But the question was answered as he slipped his hand between her ribs and the bed, pulling the fabric across her skin and down to her knees. She watched in her mind's eye, horrified, as she

helped

him by lifting slightly first one and then the other leg. "No," she said again, but to whom she couldn't tell.

You are protesting your own slutty behavior. Give him what you want, what he knows you want.

"Please don't hurt me," she heard more fear in her voice than she felt, tears filling her eyes.

"Tell me. You want it. Tell me how you want it." He moved his hands, and she could feel him stripping off his shirt.

"Fuck me," she said in a way she hoped wouldn't make him strike her. "Fuck me with that hard hot cock." She felt the tears dripping onto the bridge of her nose and sobbed a little. "Fuck me hard. Fuck me until I cum for you. Fuck me until I'm raw and sore...but..." she sobbed again, "please..." she took a breath. "Please don't hit me...please." She whispered the last plea, knowing she really didn't have much to say about it.

"Shhhh," he leaned over her, consolingly, his back against her naked ass. She could feel his heat near her gaping slit, but he kept his cock away from her.