Aeolus P. Cerigo

"Yes, thank you."

The next hour is easier. The couple is providing more information on their preferences for interior details. Alex does not realize the change in the interview. She continues to draw, a vanity wall with wide mirrors surrounded by lights, large ceiling to floor windows to allow the morning light into a room, and a bedroom with a master bed on a raised platform. Alex makes an occasional note, giving a name to a room, or about a special piece of furniture, purchased in Europe, a hand woven silk carpet, a painting or a portrait the woman will hang. The woman hands Paul a stack of photographs as she indicates some detail that is important to her.

There is a short break of a few minutes as the hotel sets the table for the catered luncheon. Alex abandons her meal as Mrs. Haroldson continues her description of something she saw somewhere and liked. Paul had indicated Alex might have a short time during lunch, or immediately after, to complete a few details of the most important elements, but as the staff is clearing the remains of the meal, Alex is surprised when Paul asks her to spread her work around the table.

Instead, Mrs. Haroldson says, "Here girl, give me that paper you've been working on all morning."

Paul shrugs his shoulders and Alex places her work in front of the woman.

"Oh my, so many," the woman looks at Alex, and then at Paul. "Well, let's see if this little girl can draw." Her veiled insult is followed by a widening of her eyes as she goes through the papers, looking at each one and occasionally looking at Alex or Paul. A few papers she lays aside, as if they are of more importance than others. Some she probably does not understand, but she looks at every one of them. Alex sits in her corner, trying to keep her hands from shaking. Her head is buzzing, she has a roaring headache, and her neck is so stiff she can barely move it.

Mrs. Haroldson stands, hands all but three pages to Paul and says, "These will do. Those," she waves a hand at the three pages, "They are trash." She turns to her husband, "Come, dear. We have guests coming for dinner."

Without looking at them, Paul folds the three discarded drawings and hands the full stack to Alex. "We go now," he announces, his expression is dark and brooding.

When he takes Alex's arm as they leave the room, she jerks her arm from his grasp, "Don't allow your anger at that woman to bruise me." Alex is eight or ten steps down the hall before she looks back at Paul still standing beside the door. "Well?" she asks. "I need food and a place to lay my head before it explodes."

After an almost wordless meal, Paul is silent in the elevator. Alex follows him into his room, throws her briefbag on his bed, and walks through the open doors between their rooms. He can open the bag and look at the drawings when he wants to. At this point, she could care less. Tomorrow will be different. After a quick visit to her bathroom, she removes her clothes, pulls the long t-shirt over her head, and is under the covers of her bed in less than two minutes. Just before closing her eyes, she sees Paul standing in the door, looking at her. "Go away," she says, rolls over, and closes her eyes.

Alex awakens from her nap, with no idea how long she slept. Her headache is not as bad, but her neck is still aching. She is on her back, and has probably been sleep with her mouth open, because her tongue is dry and her throat is slightly sore.

When she turns her head to the side, Paul's face is resting beside her own. He moves slowly, his lips resting against hers as his arm slides across her to pull her closer to him. "I do not like this Haroldson woman," he announces and kisses her again.

"Is her money good?" Alex asks. When Paul nods, she says, "You don't have to like her to take her money, do you?"

"I will not make this house," he says, as his mouth captures her lips, his tongue moving slowly across her lower lip.

Alex breaks the kiss, just long enough to say, "Yes you will. I will not allow her to win. I will see her living in a house based on MY drawings. That is my revenge for her insults."

Paul chuckles and resumes kissing her. He is soon up on his elbow, leaning over her, his hand moving slowly from her hip, under her shirt to rest on her breast, and then across to do the same to her other breast, his fingers rubbing slowly from side to side, across her nipple. He pulls the covers off her, raises her shirt over her head, allowing it to fall to the floor beside the bed. His mouth moves to one breast, drawing the nipple, the areola, and much of the surrounding soft flesh into his mouth. He lifts his head, increasing the suction while his tongue brushes across the hardening nipple. He allows the breast to slide from his mouth, leaving it wet in the cool air of the room and treats the other breast to a similar stimulation. He moves over her, separating her knees with his own. His hands move to her sides, slightly lifting her body so he can bury his face between her breasts.

Sitting back on his haunches, his hands slide down her sides and continue along her hips and the outside of her thighs, and then under her legs to lift her knees. Alex watches his face as he looks at her. He leans over and places both hands around one breast to push it into a peak and sucks the nipple into his mouth. His movements are slow and gentle. There is none of the rough, near violent, treatment of the previous evening. This is a worship of her body. He moves to the other breast, holding it in both hands, blowing his hot breath around the nipple, teasing her until she arches her back in a silent plea for him to touch her.

"Patience," he whispers. He touches her nipple lightly with the tip of his tongue, leaving it wet when he lifts his head and blows his hot breath across the moisture left behind. His head goes down to enable him to lay his flat tongue on the nipple and then encircling it, going around and around, before pulling it into his mouth as the tongue continues to stimulate her nipple.

Alex lifts her hands to hold his head against her. He permits it for a moment, but is back on his haunches, taking her hands and spreading her arms out leaving her fully exposed. He moves back, his mouth trailing wet kisses from between her breasts, across the flat plane of her stomach, until his chin is resting on her pubic bone. He turns his head and rests his cheek against her as his hands slide under her hips, holding her, slowly and gently squeezing her, molding her to his hands.

Paul's chin brushes across the short hair of her sex, and is soon replaced by his hot breath. The flat of his tongue goes down across the outer lips of her pussy, ever so lightly, barely touching her, an agony of teasing and tempting. His tongue separates the lips, dragging upward as he savors the taste of her and lightly brushes across her clit, as if he is testing her arousal. He sucks one lip into his mouth flips his tongue up and down the lip and moves to the other lip, stimulating her lightly, agonizing, slowly, while he lifts her hips to give him the access he seeks.

Over and over he drags his tongue between her outer lips, stopping short of her clit. Alex groans as she pushes herself against his mouth, but he holds her hips allowing her only a minimal of movement. He points his tongue and pushes between the inner lips, sucking her juices into his mouth, feeling her collecting heat and hearing her wordless moans of pleasure. He does not rush. He savors her. He pleasures her. He stimulates her. And he feels her trembling.

He stills his movements as she has a small climax and then returns to his slow movements, steadily building the stimulation. He slows down for the next small climax, with his lips buried in her sex the muscle contractions vibrating around his mouth. He sucks her clit into his mouth, pulling and pulling on it, feeling it harden against his tongue. He tickles it with the tip of his tongue, harder and harder, faster and faster, until she has a crashing climax. Her hips move up and down, her thighs clamp around his head, and she grasps his hair, pushing his head against her.

As her climax is subsiding, he is on his knees, slowly pushing into her. Paul feels her heat and wetness surround him. He withdraws and pushes farther into her. Another withdrawal, until only the head of his cock is inside her and then he thrusts again until she is lifting her hips to accept him. He braces his arms beside her shoulders and the dance begins. When he moves his hips away from her, she lowers her hips. When he thrusts into her, she raises her hips to meet him.

Her head is back, her chin is up, and her hands are on his shoulders, her fingers digging into him, bracing herself. The squish of his movements, the slap of his balls against her, and her wordless voice are the only sounds in the room. On and on their movements combine, as Paul's arms burn from holding himself above her. He watches her face as her mindless movements join and retreat from him. She smiles, licks her lips, and her face turns intense, beautiful, yet almost ugly with her approaching climax.

He slows when he feels her climax crash upon her as he presses her down, holding her in place beneath him, enjoying the depth and heat of her surrounding him. He is taking her with him to another height, before allowing her to crash around them, holding her, moving over her, in her, changing the angle, pushing shallow and then deep. His mouth moves across her face and down her neck, he murmurs to her, encouraging her, and he listens to her pleading.

He slams into her harder and harder, not sparing her from his ferocity as he leans over her. His hands slide under her back, his fingers going up and over her shoulders, to hold her in place. He keeps her from moving away from him as he pounds into her. His head is down. Perspiration collects on his back and drips off his chin.

Paul knows his own climax is approaching. He looks down at himself, moving in and out of her. His cock is heavy, filled with blood, huge inside her, purple with sex, and slick with her juices. There is a dull emptiness at the base of his cock as his balls draw up tight, no longer loose and slapping against her. He is unable to continue with the even movements. He jerks and jerks again. And then he is pouring his cum into her, the spasms jerking through him, his head going down and jerking back, shooting his cum against her cervix, jerking against her, as his legs tremble. And then, he is still, holding himself above her, the feel of her muscle contractions an ecstasy he does not want to end.

Her hands come up to his face, smoothing across his cheeks, brushing across his forehead, and one finger moving gently across his lips. He levers himself down to her mouth, resting against her for a moment, before he rolls to the side, almost angry he must be separated from her. His breathing is labored, lights flash beneath his closed eyelids.

Barely able to stand on shaking legs, Paul pulls Alex to the side of the bed and carries her to the bathroom. He washes her hair, soaps her body and his own, dries her off and takes her to his bed. He takes his time, feels the softness of her skin, and glides his hand down her arm, down her thigh and across her belly, appreciating the beauty of this woman. He may need to have her again before morning, his erection is already building. He nests her against him, holding her as tight as he dares, slides his hand down to hold her sex, nuzzles the back of her neck, and closes his eyes. ****

In the darkness of his room, Alex hears Paul whispering to her. She does not understand the language. When she can think clearly, she must remember to ask him what the words mean. She has been sleeping on her stomach, or he turned her over in her sleep. He is resting much of his weight on her hips. He is massaging her shoulders and rubbing his warm hands up and down her still aching neck, his fingers pressing into the stiff muscles and soothing her with his touch.

She hears her own voice, a deep groan, each time his hands move up her neck, to press into the aching muscles. She is too relaxed to move, but he seems to know she is awake. "You watch a cat, the pet, as you stroke the animal; there is the purr of contentment. This, you give to me as I touch you, eh?"

His hands continue to move across her back as he slides his body down and separates her legs with his knees. She feels his erection against her, he is hard and throbbing. "You will give yourself to me, like this?"

He has not asked before, he has taken, albeit with her cooperation and unspoken consent. Alex raises her hips and feels his hands under her, lifting her, and then on her waist as she is being pulled back against him as he enters her. He moves her slowly, back and forth until he is fully sheathed inside her. His movements are slow. He takes his time, stroking her deeply, with his balls swinging against her in a gentle rhythm. He pulls back, all the way back, until only the head of his cock is inside her and teases her with shallow strokes. When she tries to move back against him to take him into her depths, he chuckles and moves away from her. He is playing and enjoying the game.

"To find joy in the giving of pleasure, a man must know what a woman wants. This is true, is it not?" He asks, bending over her as he slides his hands up and down her back. The rhythm of his movements is mesmerizing and his words are relaxing. Alex feels the heat building inside her as he moves in and out. How long can this last? His hands are on her hips holding her as he moves. He is not breathing hard. He is not straining. He is giving her more pleasure than she has ever felt before. "This body you allow me to touch is of a goddess. You give this softness to soothe the anger from a man, yes? This I take from you. What you would wish I give in return, huh?"

He moves in and out of her, a slow, rhythmic, gentle slide, his thighs pressed between hers, holding her open for him. He presses her shoulders down as he moves against her, changing the angle of his penetration, stroking into her. He places his hands on her breasts, cupping them in the warmth of his hands, pushing against her to bend her back, changing the angle of penetration again. Alex hears a whimper or a moan, not realizing the sounds are her own.

How he does it, she does not know. He moves, his arms under her breasts, lifting her against his chest as he slowly lowers his back to the bed, leaving her sitting astride him, facing his feet. "Now the goddess takes from the mortal, eh?" He rubs his hands up and down her back, lifts her hips to show her she can slide up and down his shaft. She takes over giving herself the stimulaton she wanted. She leans forward feeling him inside her as he seems to grow longer and harder. Paul lifts his own hips to thrust against her, his movements increasing, and increasing even more, faster and harder.

Alex shudders through her climax. She feels him jerks against her as the heat of his sperm jets into her. Her breathing is hard and labored. Paul holds her hips in place, lifts his knees, and pushes her against his thighs, giving her a resting place against him. His cock is still inside her, no longer hard and rigid, but still firm. She squeezes her inner muscles and hears his quickly indrawn breath. She does it again and feels his lower stomach muscles quiver.

"The goddess would demand more sacrifice from her slave?" Paul asks and chuckles, as his hands slide up her back, move across her shoulders, and down her arms, leaving chills on the surface of her skin. He holds his hands against her back and rolls to his side as his softened cock slides out of her. He moves behind her, his hands stroking her, calming her.

"I have no wish for you to leave me, but I must return you to your bed." The words are whispered in her ear as she sees the clock on his nightstand shows it is not yet five o'clock in the morning. In a near somnambulant state, Alex is led back to her bed, covered up, and her last sight of Paul is his bare butt going back through the connecting doors. ***

Experiencing déjà vu, Alex awakens with sunlight streaming into her room through the fully opened drapes which covered her windows the previous evening. Male voices speak her name, Vivian Haroldson's name, and the word "airplane". This is day number three of the preliminary consultation. After this visit Paul will begin to work on the details of the house design. But first, Alex must survive Day Three, and retain her job, despite the fact that she is sleeping with the boss.

Unlike Day One, when the clients appeared at the beginning of the day and then again later, while options for the site of the home were considered, today will be intense. Day Two was easy, with only a few hours of listening to the woman describe some of her preferences. Today is in the woman's home, on her turf, seemingly under her control as she shows off her possessions, demonstrates her wealth, and demands her wishes be met.

Only people who can afford what Aeolus P. Cerigo charges will put up with his ill temper on the third day of the preliminary consultation. Every article Alex read, where a previous client was consulted, described the man's irascible attitude, quick temper, and querulous character, most of which was reserved for the third day.

He has been known to walk out of a house in mid-tour, demand transportation, and disappear for a week, before returning, occasionally unannounced, to pick up the tour where it was halted. A tabloid newspaper reported that one client, so indoctrinated in the religion of having Aeolus P. Cerigo design her future home, she dismissed her husband's objections to the interruption of his annual board meeting. She insisted he return home within the hour or she would divorce him and expose his sexual peccadilloes to the very same board he left. In his absence he was discharged, much to his wife's delight. She saw to the dismissal of the entire board, saw herself ensconced as President of her father's company and proceeded to enlarge her original expectations of the house Aeolus P. Cerigo designed.

Between the time Alex leaves her bed, and returns from the bathroom, a cup of hot coffee and a napkin wrapped plate of warm bagel, cream cheese, and a bowl of scrambled eggs, is left on the small night stand beside her bed. Unlike yesterday, Harlan's voice is raised, making objections, and Paul's is calm, refusing to yield, making his demands without heated words, expecting his assistant to make the arrangements.

Once again seated in the middle of her bed, Alex is reading email messages, one of which included a link to an enhancement to one of the software programs the technician loaded on her computer. She is downloading the upgrade when she hears the hall door of Paul's room click shut. She looks up to see him standing in the opening of the connecting doors between their rooms. He is wearing boxer shorts and a t-shirt. The beginning of an erection is pushing out the front of his shorts.

He looks at her, his head cocked to one side, watching as she lowers her eyes to the laptop and types on her keyboard. When she stops and looks at him again, he glances down at his erection. "The mortal slave wishes to worship his goddess, eh?"

As she shuts down the computer and disconnects the telephone line, she asks, "Why, Paul?"

"You do not know?" There is surprise in his voice, as if he expects her to read his mind, crawl inside his head and see how he thinks. "Perhaps like me, the goddess wishes to be a mortal and does not care for the sacrifice her slaves offer, eh?"

Alex shakes her head, "I don't think you are my slave. I am mortal, as you said, certainly not a goddess."

"This man you draw. His hardness is for you," Paul declares.

Alex shakes her head, "No, he was a paid model. There were six other people around the room drawing him."