Kirstie's Tale

Chapter 4: A Dream Of White Horses, Part 4, Coffee?

Ryan eyes me speculatively. “Without wishing to seem pushy, did you have any plans for later this evening?"

“Not at all. I wanted to see how this worked out."

A smile plays over his lips. “Rather well so far as I can see... Can I offer you... coffee... back at my hotel?"

*****

And so, not for the first time, I enter a stranger's hotel room. This is where I find out if he's really what he appears to be.

A nervous tingle runs down my spine, the doubt of the unknown; the knowledge that, just possibly, I have misjudged and this man is... a crackpot, a loony, a weirdo...

And of course, the doubt is part of the thrill...

“When did you book this room?" I ask.

“I'm staying here anyway. I wasn't making assumptions. As I told you, I travel for my work and I use this hotel regularly."

“Ah..."

He hangs his jacket neatly over a chair, then dims the lights

“Would you actually like some coffee? Or would you prefer wine?" he asks. “It's always a little embarrassing, isn't it? The first time with someone. So, just in case... I got a bottle in..."

I nod. “Yes, those toe-curling minutes between the last cup of coffee and..."

He throws a side-glance at me then, chuckling, he produces a couple of glasses and a bottle from a cupboard.

“Music perhaps?" he suggests, waving me to a player. Have a look through the list, see what appeals to you. Make yourself comfortable."

It's a pleasant room, and looks expensive; beautifully decorated, with fresh flowers by the window, fruit in a bowl and elegant furniture. Eyeing the pale, thick carpet, I slip my shoes off.

I watch Ryan as he wrestles with the corkscrew, then pouring two glasses, passes one to me. Such a good-looking man; in the lowered light, his chocolate eyes are almost black.

Together on the settee, we sit in awkward silence for a minute. The wine glass is a handy prop, giving me something to do as I sip, waiting for...

... for what comes next...

“So, who makes the first move, mmm?" he says, his arm slipping around my shoulders. “This may not be the last of the great romances, but I think we can both enjoy this."

Taking my face in his palms, he brushes back a stray lock of my dark hair, finger-combing it back behind an ear.

He doesn't smile, but his expression is intense as he gazes at me. “No, not pretty. Little girls and flowers are pretty. Kittens are pretty. You are beautiful." He leans in to me, his mouth close to mine, not touching, but halfway, inviting me in closer. As I sway towards him, his lips brush my skin, just barely.

And now he smiles, his lips curving as he inclines his face to mine. This time, the kiss is deeper, the soft flesh of his mouth pressing to mine. He tastes of wine and a sweet, lustful masculinity.

The fingers of one hand twine through my dark chestnut locks. The other hand glides around my shoulders, pulling me in.

His face resting by mine, “How do you like it, Debbie? Hard? Soft? Do you want to take the lead? Or do you prefer me to?"

I didn't expect him to ask me this. Most men simply get on with it.

“I like to be man-handled a bit..."

He pauses. “You enjoy pain?"

“No, not pain, or not too much. But I like the man to take charge."

He nods. “Take charge? Dominate you, you mean?"

“Yes, that's just what I mean."

He pauses, collecting his thoughts I think, then, “Stand up." He takes my wine glass from me. “Go on. Stand up."

A little uncertainly, I rise.

“In there," he says, head-pointing me through a door.

It's the bedroom. Ryan follows me in, then spinning me by the shoulders, a hand on my chest, pushes me hard, backwards against the wall.

He's strong...

“Like this?" Grabbing me by the wrists, he raises them over my head, pinning them, his body pressed against mine.

So close, he looms over me and my breath snatches...

“Like this?" he repeats, his voice fierce. “Answer me, Debbie. I'm not going to play these sorts of games without an answer from you."

“Yes, like that."

He presses against me harder, my heartbeat drumming through our joined bodies. “Do you undress yourself, or do I strip you?"

My breath juddering, “Strip me."

His head tilts. “Really? Wish I'd known that before. I'd have made some arrangements over what you would wear..."

His hands sliding down to the hem of my pullover, he tugs at it, jerking it up and over my head. “I'd like to rip it off you, but not this time, eh?"

My heart is racing, chest heaving. He reaches back around me, deliberately rough, unclipping my bra and yanking it off me.

My breasts freed, he fastens his mouth around one, stooping to take it between his lips. The other, he kneads one-handedly, pinching at the n****e, which hardens and crinkles.

“You do enjoy this, don't you?" he murmurs. “So do I. Let's see just how rough you like it."

Grabbing my wrists again, he pulls me away from the wall, dragging me towards the bed, then turning me, pushes me down on the mattress, flat on my back. The zip rasps as he unfastens my jeans and peels them away, leaving me in just my white lacy panties.

Propping myself on my elbows, panting now, I watch as he strips off tie and shirt, and shrugs off shoes. Through his black trousers, the unmistakable bulge of his erection presses tight. Bare-chested, he is tawny skinned, with a scattering of black hair and taut, lean abs.

“I'm going to enjoy this, Debbie. f*****g you..."

He's pressing all my buttons... all of them...

My clit tingling, my p***y knots and clenches, and my panties are wet... very wet...

Ah, Jeez...

“... Kirstie."

“What?"

“It's not Debbie. My name's Kirstie..."