Chapter 28 - The Recruit

The scent of fresh linen and Heather’s expensive perfume was the first thing Steve registered as consciousness slowly returned. The previous night came back to him in a warm, pleasant haze: the incredible, succulent chicken parm at La Pecora Bianca, the way the rich vodka sauce had exploded on his tongue, the tender, almost reverent way Heather had made love to him before they’d fallen asleep, entangled in a sweet embrace under the silken sheets of the massive hotel bed.

Now, morning light filtered through the luxurious drapes, glinting off the dust motes dancing in the air. He was on his side, and Heather was pressed against his back, her body a warm, soft weight. One of her arms was draped over his side, her hand resting possessively on his chest. He could feel the immense, pillowy softness of her breasts compressed against his back, a sensation that was quickly stirring him to life.

He shifted slightly, and her fingers immediately began to move, tracing lazy, teasing circles around his nipple. A soft, sleepy sound, a contented “Mmmmnh...” vibrated against his shoulder blade.

“Good morning, my beautiful boy,” her voice was a husky, sleep-rough whisper in his ear. Her hand slid lower, down the hard planes of his stomach, her nails scratching lightly through his trail of hair. She didn’t go for his already-hardening cock, though. She stopped just above it, her palm flat and hot against his lower abdomen. Teasing. “Did you sleep well?”

“Unbelievably well,” he breathed out, arching his back just a fraction, pressing himself more firmly into her touch. “That bed ... and the company ... is incredible.”

“The bed has nothing to do with it, and you know it,” she purred, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. She squeezed him gently, her hand dipping just a little lower, making his breath hitch. “It’s all about who you’re sharing it with. The feel of their skin, the sound of their breath, the way they fit against you...” Her hand slid away, and he almost whimpered at the loss, but she was just turning him onto his back. She loomed over him then, a glorious vision with her silver hair cascading around her shoulders and her enormous, heavy breasts swaying temptingly just above his face. The dark areolas were barely concealed by the sheer lace of her black chemise.

She leaned down, her breasts practically smothering him in their softness, and captured his mouth in a deep, searching kiss. Her tongue slid against his, a slow, languid dance that promised so much more. His hands came up of their own volition, sinking into the unbelievable softness of her sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her magnificent tits. Fuck, they were perfect. The sheer weight of them, the way they filled his hands, made his cock throb almost painfully against his thigh.

He could have stayed like that for hours, lost in her kiss and the feel of her, but she was a woman with a plan. She broke the kiss with a soft, wet smack and sat up, straddling his hips. The thin fabric of her panties and his boxer briefs were the only things separating her hot core from his aching length.

“As tempting as it is to spend the entire morning right here, feeling this magnificent cock of yours,” she said, grinding down on him once, making them both gasp, “we have an appointment. A very important one.”

She climbed off the bed with a fluid grace, leaving him bereft and painfully hard. “Poole & Co. awaits. Mr. Albright will be here at ten, and we mustn’t keep the best tailor on Savile Row waiting.” She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “We have just enough time for a quick shower. And I do mean quick.”

The shower was its own special kind of torture. Steam filled the massive glass enclosure, clouding the mirrors. Heather soaped him down with a loofah, her touch businesslike until it wasn’t. Her slick, soapy hands slid over his chest, his arms, his back, and his ass, taking their time. When she knelt in front of him, the water sluicing over her hair and shoulders, his heart nearly stopped. She just looked up at him through her lashes, a wicked smile on her lips, and washed his legs and feet, her fingers delicately tracing every muscle and tendon. The anticipation was a physical thing, a tight coil in his gut. She was so close, her lips just inches from his straining erection, the hot water spraying everywhere. The slish splash of the water and her hands on his skin was the only sound. But she never closed that final, agonizing distance. She stood, rinsed off, and got out, leaving him throbbing and frustrated under the spray.

By the time a discreet knock came at the suite’s door precisely at ten, Steve was dressed in the best of his old clothes—a pair of clean jeans and a dark polo shirt—and feeling decidedly underdressed. Heather, however, looked like she owned the entire hotel, let alone the room, in a sleek, navy blue dress that hugged her curves and displayed a breathtaking amount of cleavage.