open on the next floor and the ladies get out, still giggling, hiding their mouths behind their gloved hands. Could they hear? Whether in amusement or not it's hard to say, but I’ve lost caring, my senses are on high alert.
I can feel Daniel pressing his hard cock into me and my jeans are down by my arse and my knickers soon follow. We're in a lift, someone could come in! One hand is up into my bra teasing my breasts, the other circling my clitoris with his fingers slowly at first and getting faster. I'm wearing a black cotton Vivienne Westwood fitted shirt and resin coated black super skinny jeans with zip pockets, a wide studded belt, and 24 hole, very old and scuffed Doc Martens. Daniel has opened the front of my shirt, if anyone came in now they would see his hand inside my oversized khaki parka, cupping my naked breast under an Elle McPherson black lace bra. His fingers pinching my nipples and his lips join in the agony....67...69...70...his fingers begin to penetrate me and its slow sweet agony. Ping! 72th floor! God no, I don’t want to stop. I yank up my jeans, luckily there’s no one on our floor.
Daniel silently takes my hand smiling broadly and leads me to room 7254, slides his key-card into the slot and with a snap sound and we get a green light where there had once been red. He has his hand back in my bra whilst he works the door. Nothing gets between Daniel and sex, not even a tricky door lock, and it opens with a 'whoosh!' Into a great white fresh smelling room, a wall of gently scented air hisses out at us as the door opens with a view of the city as the floor to ceiling windows wrap around a curved corner. A knock at the door and our bags are here, I stand there shameless with my shirt undone and my bra around my waist as Daniel tips the bell boy. He doesn’t even glance my way, expect they see some really weird stuff don't they?
“Tea?” Daniel pours some bottled water into the kettle, and flicks the switch.
Come and flick my switch.
“Naturally,” I reply, though I make my real desire clear by unbuttoning the front of my jeans. “I’m agitated by the long haul of that flight Daniel,” I grab the zip pull of my jeans. “I need to find some peace,” I kick off my shoes, “perhaps a little lie-down?” And unzip my fly, I pull my tight jeans off my legs with as much sensuality as I can, it probably isn’t sexy at all. Is that a small piece of hay on the floor? Bloody hell.
I shrug off the shirt and let it fall, readjust my bra (it’s a set after all, and I didn’t want to spoil the illusion Agent Provocateur had in mind for this scene), and stand there in my black lace underwear.
'Click!' Kettle's boiled.
I look at Daniel, noticing his kettle has boiled too.
Daniel adds the steaming water to our cups with care and deliberately slowly, we have bought our own tea bags. Well you just can’t be too sure, remember the LA fiasco? Well, of course you don't of course, you weren't there. Handles facing south as always. I catch my reflection in the full length mirror on the back of the door, glad I don’t have one at home and have to appraise myself regularly, there’s just too many crucial things to do than to enhance my appearance, horses don’t care what I look like. I make myself look, I wonder what Daniel sees? My hair is halfway between shoulder and bra strap now, blunt cut with a fringe grown beyond my eyebrows unbrushed as always. My bruises are fading across my body, my skin is pale almost tinted green, smooth and well-toned my hip bones are a little too prominent and my legs are long and gangly.
I catch him appraising me from behind in my reflection, and look at him over my shoulder, “I’m going to fuck you Tharie,” he tells me matter of factly, “but first, you need to drink your tea.”
Important things first, I’d be the first to agree.
He grabs the handles in both hands, “and do something for me.” He removes his old tux jacket with a scuffed satin lapel. Hands me my cup, kicks off his shoes and rolls off his socks, the tattoos on his feet visible. “Take off