*Oh gods, he’s perfect.* Dressed in an impeccably tailored, dark gray suit, he walked with one hand in his pants pocket, the other swaying idly by his side. He scanned the lobby and hotel bar as he walked, not showing a hit of anything other than pure confidence. How did he always seem so relaxed and controlled at the same time?
I noticed his silky, emerald tie the same moment he noticed my twisted body sat on the wingback stool. He didn’t look away, he didn’t nod his head. He just walked up to the bar and placed his hand on the small of my back, looking at the bottles on the wall and ignoring my clearly enamored eyes.
He motioned towards a different barkeep than the one who had been poorly keeping me company. And they walked over quickly, while polishing what looked like a hand blown martini glass.
“Japanese Single Malt, if you have any, two fingers.” The barkeep responded with a few choices. He didn’t hem or haw or ask for suggestions. He simply named the label and continued with his order.
“And an amaretto sour, shaken with ice and strained, please.” His words had no hesitation, no question. They seemed to rush out of him like soldiers to battle: complete, assured, unmistakeable. He turned towards me and spoke to my face for the first time.
“Does that work for you…” He paused before continuing. At first I thought it might be due to nerves. “…Kitten?” But there it was. The words he called me and the way he said them. His pause was not due to trepidation; it was for emphasis, for clarity. Somehow, knowing he was calm and composed gave me freedom to be less so. As if his strength could be my reassurance.
Had I been standing, my knees would have betrayed me in that moment. Finally hearing his voice fill the same air I was breathing made my cheeks flush and I noticed my hand had been pressed against the skin under my neck, my fingers pushing against my collar bone.
“Yyy-yes. That’s fine.” I heard my own voice before realizing I had even responded. Weak and shaky, with a type of excitement that always contains a bit of fear.
His smile was comforting and enticing. I might have given myself whiplash with how fast my eyes moved from his eyes to his hair, his lips, his beard, and back all over again. It was overwhelming. He was overwhelming. I suddenly felt small and unimportant and as fast as that realization hit me, his hand moved from my lower back, tracing a line all the way up my dress and pulling back to lightly wrap my hair behind my ear. He leaned in, the side of his face barely touching mine, and whispered to me.
“You look stunning. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” His voice was softer than his words to the barkeep, more tender, more caring. His lips barely pressed against my temple before he pulled away. I couldn’t tell if he had seen my insecurities rising up, or if he simply knew they could be, but I felt safe in that moment. Safe, cared for, seen.
I relaxed my hands and placed them at my side, then on my lap, then on the bar. They felt tingly and uncomfortable, as if they wanted things they were not allowed to want. Finally, I swiveled the stool a bit more towards him and reached out to his tie. He stepped forward, inching into my space, his thighs toughing my knees and my shoulder inches away from his chest. My hands mindlessly rolled and unrolled the silk tie, my mind amazed at how perfectly it matched my dress. He seemed to not mind the constant need of my fingers to be doing something, touching something, experiencing something.
He let his hand drift from my hair to my back again, and I could feel his fingers identifying the lace bustier under my dress. I looked up at him and smirked, my tongue resting behind my top teeth. He opened his mouth to speak and was interrupted by the bartender, shamelessly announcing our orders.
“Yamazaki and an amaretto sour double-oh-seven would enjoy.” He placed the drinks in front of us and looked up at my handsome companion, clearly the one in charge. “Room Ten-Oh-Ten?” He knew his room. Did he pick this bartender on purpose? Had he done this same thing last night, or the night before, with someone else in a green dress? Or did she wear a different color, and him, a different tie?
He removed his hand from my back and picked up both drinks, nodding to the bartender as he did. He turned to face the hotel lobby and looked down at me, his elbow out for me to grab onto.
I didn’t waste time and nearly lunged towards him, snaking my arm around his, nearly forgetting he was holding drinks. He laughed and leaned his head down towards me.
“Careful, little girl. You wouldn’t want to make me spill, would you?” His voice was stern and comforting at the same time, challenging me to loosen up a bit.
“I am good at cleaning things up.” I smiled through each word, only second guessing myself once or twice, and leaned my head against his arm, my hand still wrapped around it.
I walked in step with him, if not slightly behind, letting him lead where he would. As we started to walk past the few open tables, I got more and more anxious. Are we skipping the bar entirely? Is he walking me toward… the elevator? He seemed to notice how my steps fell slightly behind and he tipped his head down to kiss mine again.
“I need your help.” He whispered as we approached the elevator.
“What…mm… how – how can I help?” I can’t say it. I can’t even say it. My knees will give out, he’ll try to catch me, the drinks will spill, I’ll feel like an idiot. I can’t say it. I looked up towards his perfect, strong face and he was smiling. Not the kind of smile you plan for, or the one you use purposefully to make someone feel comfortable. He was smiling in a way that reached the corners of his eyes, the way someone can’t help but smile.
“Reach into my front, left pocket. Pull out the key card.” He turned his left side toward me. He could have asked me to hold the drinks, or at least one of them. But he didn’t and that gave me courage.
I stepped in front of him, smiling and staring into his eyes. I hadn’t really looked at them yet, not this directly. Not this intensely. His smile still visible in the way his eye lids squinted the tiniest bit. They seemed iridescent, the molten metallic colors reflecting the emeralds from my dress, from his matching tie.
He spread his arms a bit, and I stepped into the open space in front of him, my chest touching his. I felt a kind of heat rise up my spine and I realized my tongue was pressed to my top lip. I quickly bit down, pulling my tongue and lip inside my mouth.
I bent my neck slightly to keep my eyes on his and my hand reached his thigh. My fingers traveled up until I felt the outside corner of his pocket. I quickly tugged it towards me and he stutter-stepped forward.
“Watch it, little one.” His eyebrows had raised, but his smile was still present. I wasn’t in too much trouble.
My fingers found the key card immediately, but I turned my hand the opposite way and ran my fingers as far as his pocket would let me towards the inside of his thigh. His head tilted back slightly and his gaze went from my eyes to over the top of my head. My tongue was back on my lip.
Without making eye contact, he leaned towards me and whispered again into my ear, “Do as you’re told.” Although he kept his volume low, his words were no less direct and firm as when he barked his order to the bartender. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, the smirk wiped off my face, and my hand quickly grabbed the keycard out of his pocket.
“Yes sir.” I replied in a breathy, quiet, insecure voice and held the card in front of me.
He nodded towards the elevator and I tapped the card on the control panel to the lift. A familiar DING, and the doors opened. I turned towards him for direction. Or maybe it was permission.
“After you,” He nodded again, and I walked in front of him to the back of the elevator. He walked in after me and motioned towards the rows of buttons.
“Floor Ten?” I asked, nearly pressing the button without an answer. I paused, noticing the silence, and turned towards him. The elevator doors closed, and for the first time, we were alone together.
“Um… floor ten…” I asked again. He was leaning back against the interior mirrored walls, and tasted the whiskey he had been holding. He held out the martini glass towards me and I carefully took a large sip before wrapping both my hands around it like a child and taking one more.
“Easy, girl. And no…” He stepped towards me, but his demeanor was different, his head was low, his steps purposeful. I pushed backwards into the side of the lift, my heart pounding like caught prey. He stopped just short of running into me and pressed the “RT” button with his free hand.
“Not floor ten.” His words hung in the air as he leaned down and started kissing my neck, gently and easily. I dropped my head to the side, and his lips ran up the thin skin, stopping at the base of my ear. “Not yet.” He whispered.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/r5f3xj/anticipation_the_bar_mf_vanilla