Chapter 5: Snow

My watch woke me a few hours later with a gentle buzzing against the inside of my wrist. For a frightening moment, I was completely disoriented in the dark room. The comforter had risen over my head, my body had not moved a centimetre from the spooning position against Charlotte’s bare body. For an insane moment, I was sure that Cameron, not Charlotte, lay beneath me. My right arm tingled as I flexed my fingers; my arm had been caught under Charlotte’s shoulder and the nerves awoke with a howl. Sanity returned, memory flooded back, and I remembered where I was, why I was naked, why Charlotte was naked, realized this wasn’t an insanely sexualized dream, and that I’d lost Cameron long ago. It wasn’t Cameron lying beside me; it was the curve of Charlotte’s naked breast under my fingertips, her nipple erect in her sleep pressing into my palm. I simply lay there, enjoying the warmth of the covers, the warmth of her for a few minutes allowing my mind to slowly awaken, blinking the sleep from my grainy eyes.

Slowly, carefully, I finally disentangled myself from Charlotte. She stirred as I withdrew my hand from her breast and my leg from overtop of hers. She muttered something unintelligible in her sleep.

I really didn’t want to leave the warmth of the blankets or her body. I held my head in my hands as I sat on the edge of the bed, my bare feet afraid of the cool hardness of the tile. After enough time had passed and my mind cleared somewhat of sleep, I braved the tile and walked slowly from the bedroom. The door creaked a little as I widened the gap enough to pass into the still lit sitting area. Mark sat in his chair, his head lolling onto his chest. Despite my attempt to be silent, he roused. His voice was heavy with sleep.

“You’re naked,” he said groggily. “Aren’t you?”

No sense lying to the man.

“I’m naked,” I answered quietly.

“Good,” he muttered. I wasn’t sure he was fully conscious or what he meant by the comment. It didn’t bother me; it simply didn’t register sense to me; it might have been his words, or it might have been my sleep and sex foggy mind.

“Go back to sleep,” I said gently.

But I think I was too late. He head lowered back to his chest and a soft snore escaped him.

I padded silently to the bathroom, flicking on the light and closing the door. Surprisingly, I didn’t need the facilities, but I did need my socks. I checked myself in the mirror. I failed to recognize the girl standing there. Her eyes seemed haunted and her hair was in serious disarray. Charlotte’s hairbrush beckoned from the counter. I picked it up and slowly ran it through my hair, taming it. The brush scented of summer peaches. I rubbed at my grainy eyes. Eventually, colour returned to my cheeks and the graininess subsided a little. My arousal simmered on a very low boil. If I avoided touching any part of my bare skin, and avoided touches from Charlotte, I might make it through to the end. If anyone had asked why I even wanted to make it through to the end, I wouldn’t have been able to answer. Not then, anyway.

My panties, my brassiere and my white ankle socks lay like old friends on the counter. I returned the brush to the counter, and replaced it with the small articles of clothing grasped tightly in my fingers.

Taking a deep breath, I flicked off the bathroom light and passed silently through the seating area. Mark made no sign that he was aware of my presence. As I passed, I picked up my concert T from near the bondage bag and Charlotte’s push up from the floor near Mark’s bound ankles.

I remained naked.

I pushed the door open to let more light into the room. Shadows suffused the floor; I could discern Charlotte’s sleeping form under the covers and the stripes of the ropes holding her wrists above her head. The woman could not have been comfortable. Truthfully, none of us could have been comfortable, but she couldn’t even adjust her position.

Still naked, I bent and gathered up my jeans from the floor where Charlotte had kicked them, and noted where my sneakers lay.

I stood before the window, not caring if anyone could see into our sanctuary and my nudity. On the eleventh floor, the odds favoured my privacy. Outside, traffic had slowed to a trickle, only the vagrants and the occasional passerby disturbed the quiet of the night. Only the cavorting penguin from the billboard leered at my naked breasts and nipples.

I didn’t want to dress, didn’t really want to leave, but both were necessary. I caressed my left breast idly, then allowed my fingers to dip to the smouldering coals between my legs. I inhaled sharply, pulling my fingers to safety. My clitoris howled. I absently licked my wet finger, which did nothing to quash my rising arousal. The speed at which my arousal returned shocked me. Sighing, I pulled my April Wine over my head, trying to ignore the signals my nipples sent to my brain as the fabric rubbed against me. I debated stepping into my panties, debated finding and stepping into Charlotte’s panties, but in the end, opted for rough denim to settle directly against my vagina, commando. I stood swaying for a moment, lightheaded, before the insistent signals from below stopped jangling.

I dropped my socks and underwear beside my sneakers, then glancing at my watch, crawled up onto the bed. I gazed at Charlotte in the dim light, peacefully sleeping, eyes closed, breathing soft and regular. Her eyes didn’t move under her lids. She wasn’t dreaming. Even so, I loathed the idea of waking her.

I bent and softly kissed her. For a moment, she didn’t respond, still fast asleep, but the nerves in her lips sent insistent signals to her consciousness. Slowly, she kissed back, softly moaning. Her eyes fluttered open.

“That’s a nice way to wake up,” she murmured. Better than a watch buzzing insistently on the inside of my wrist.

“Time to go on an adventure,” I said.

“Sounds like fun,” she sounded more awake than I would have after only a moment. Perhaps she was a morning person. Technically, I supposed, it was indeed morning.

“It’ll be different.”

She looked around, pulled gently on her wrists and ankles.

“What time is it?”

“Stupid early,” I said. And it was, by design. We needed the quiet isolation of the night.

She gazed at me, her eyes shadowed, but intense.

“I want sex,” she said. Didn’t we all, Charlotte. Didn’t we all.

“Good things come to those who wait,” I replied with a sigh. I didn’t want to wait any more than she did, and I think she knew that. In fact, I think she suspected what was to pass and she had reluctantly resigned herself to it.

“I want you. Now,” Charlotte clarified in a shallow whisper.

I shook my head, which didn’t seem to surprise her. What she needed and I needed were different, and I think she sensed that.

Slowly, she nodded resignedly, sleepily.

I began at her wrists and finished at her ankles. She didn’t move her limbs until all the ropes were released from her skin.

She sat crosslegged, still naked in the middle of the bed, rubbing her wrists. Deep marks indented her skin where the rope had held her wrists and ankles. She seemed fascinated with the markings, even running her tongue over the indents upon her wrists.

“You said something about an adventure?” she asked as I watched her.

I nodded and paced over to the bedroom phone. I picked it up and touched the front desk button. It rang four times before a sleepy female voice answered.

“It’s room 1123,” I said politely into the receiver. “It is possible for our vehicle to be brought to the front entrance?”

I listened to the affirmative answer.

“And can valet return the vehicle after we return? We shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

Again an affirmation.

I thanked the clerk and returned the receiver to its cradle.

Charlotte merely watched with mild curiosity.

I beckoned for her, and she crawled over the covers and dropped to her bare feet beside me without hesitation. I kissed her again, and this time she returned a heavier passion. I enjoyed the kiss, but broke it before it progressed beyond my ability to suppress my overextended nerves.

I bent, picked up my socks and shoes, grasped her soft fingers, and led her to the suite entrance. She glanced back at the room where her undergarments and dress lay scattered about the floor. I left her at the entrance and extracted a pair of handcuffs and ankle shackles from the bondage bag, hanging them from my finger. Her eyes watched me with intent curiosity and anticipation.

I bent, pulling my socks over my bare toes, then jammed my feet into my sneakers, lacing them deftly. My overcoat hung neatly in the closet, though I didn’t remember placing it there. I held it out to Charlotte. She eyed me hesitantly.

“You want me to wear your coat?”

“Unless you want to walk through the lobby like that.” I gestured at her nudity.

“I would if you told me to,” Charlotte breathed. She might have balked at walking through a public hotel lobby naked if I hadn’t jacked her up on absurd levels of estrogen. I didn’t doubt Charlotte’s resolve, I believed she actually would, but I suspected that the front desk might take a dimmer view of her nakedness than I.

I continued to hold the coat out to her. With a skeptical look, she shrugged it over her shoulders. Flashes of her bare skin peeked through the coat as she grasped it together between her breasts with one hand.

“I feel like a flasher,” she said. Her words seemed airy and ethereal.

“The car should be downstairs,” I said evenly.

She knelt to push her feet into the black heels I’d discarded after our drinks.

“Charlotte...”

She looked up, confusion in her eyes, then understanding.

“You want me barefoot?”

After I nodded, she sighed. “You know it’s cold outside,” she observed.

I merely looked at her painted toes.

Resigned, she pushed herself up, leaving the shoes where I’d abandoned them.

“Fine,” she said. But she smiled as she spoke. “I’ll be a barefoot flasher.”

I handed the metal cuffs to Charlotte. She fingered the metal wistfully.

“Hide those under the coat,” I suggested. Otherwise, I’d have to carry them through the lobby, and that would look even more odd than the barefoot woman in nothing but my overcoat. She smirked as she pushed the manacles into an interior pocket and flashed me an I’m ready grin.

Mark had shown no sign that he was aware of us, so I pulled her giggling outside into the hallway and let the door close behind us.

If the desk clerk noticed Charlotte’s lack of footwear, or indeed the indents evident upon her ankles and wrists, or the flasher costume, she was discreet enough to avert her eyes. We ran through the deserted lobby, Charlotte still giggling like a school-girl. More nervous than giddy, I tried to focus.

Outside, a green Jaguar idled at the curb.

“That’s our car,” Charlotte breathed as we halted near the revolving door. She danced in excitement, her bare toes clenched against the lobby tile.

“You ready?”

“Of course,” she breathed.

“You drive.”

She looked at me quizzically. “I’m barefoot. And nearly naked.”

I regarded her for a moment. “You will be naked when we get into the car, and it’s not illegal to drive barefoot.”

She licked her lips.

“Fine. If you can’t drive standard, you could have just said so. And it might not be illegal to drive barefoot, but it is illegal to drive bottomless.” She added: “And distracted. You can explain this to the cops if we get stopped.” I didn’t bother adding that driving while handcuffed was probably also a felony.

And, of course, I could drive standard. My uncle taught me on a gorgeous T top Camaro when I was sixteen. But I wanted her to drive tonight, so I didn’t bother correcting her.

“Just go,” I gave her a push towards the door.

Still laughing, she pushed ahead of me through the revolving lobby exit and scampered across the concrete, opened the driver door and jumped in. I followed slightly more sedately.

As I settled into the passenger seat, I noticed the seat warmers had been activated, possibly by an attentive valet. He or she would never know how grateful we were for that courtesy. The night outside was bitter, even for February, although I was thankful that there was little wind. If I was chilled, I couldn’t imagine Charlotte’s adventure, barefoot with far less clothing than I.

The seat belt stretched comfortably between my breasts and about my hips.

“Coat,” I gestured.

Charlotte gazed at me for a moment, then nodded. She shrugged the overcoat from her shoulders and wiggled her arms from the sleeves. Arching, she pulled the coat from under her and handed me the coat with a small smirk playing at her lips. She reached above her bare shoulder and pulled the seatbelt across her and buckled it safely at her hip. I smoothed the coat between us on the centre console.

Charlotte sat now naked in the driver seat, flexing her toes. I reached inside the coat where it remained warm from her body and extracted the fuzzy handcuffs. Charlotte’s eyes lit up as she held out her hands to me. I snapped the cuffs about her wrists, leaving them loose but inescapable.

“This isn’t going to help my arousal,” she said quietly. Nor mine.

“Where to?” She worked the clutch with her bare toes. “You’ll have to move the gearshift for me. Can you?”

I nodded. “South and east.”

She nodded and engaged the clutch. I shifted smoothly whenever she told me what gear she wanted. It was a little odd working the gearshift with my left hand, but I figured if the British could work it left handed, certainly I could. The scary part: it didn’t even seem odd that I was in a Jaguar with a naked handcuffed executive driving. She pulled a quick u-turn and then a right. The car cornered like it was on rails. There is not much road between the Royal York and the lake; in five minutes, we were idling in a deserted parking lot near the snow dusted boardwalk, condos rising like monoliths above. The lake was partially frozen, dark and forbidding.

I gestured at Charlotte, who held her hands out to me. I unlocked her, twisted her around and relocked the cuffs behind her back. She shivered.

“I draw the line at skinny dipping,” she murmured.

I laughed. “I knew I’d find your limits.”