Shake Blush Rush...

I would have let go of this. No, that's not right. I would have kept this just to myself, but he asked me very nicely to tell this story. But his requests, even his very nice ones are not optional.

I know him, and he knows me, much too well for my own good. No, that's not right either. He knows me for my own good, and he makes me forget, and remember, he makes me shake, blush, rush. He makes me come. But I'm ahead of myself now, and when I get ahead of myself he slows me down. He slows me Way. The Fuck. Down.

He was waiting when I got home today and I did what I always do. I unloaded on him about the Schoeber's deal, about how Kathleen still hadn't called on the Chevron grant and how for once the problem wasn't meeting payroll. We didn't have enough people to fill orders. Thirteen interviews next week. Fuck.

He stood up, his finger to his lips, and walked across the room. He took my laptop bag and set it on the recliner. He took my coat, hung it up. Every time I started to speak he just shook his head.

"Baby," he said, "You're all marbled up."

And I started to tell him about Kathleen again, but he didn't want to hear it. He had a shot of bourbon in one hand and a bunch of marbles in the other.

"Tell the marble," he said, "Just breathe it. I don't think I can stand to hear about fucking Kathleen again."

And he held up this... yellow marble. He touched my lips with it.

"Breathe her out, baby," he said, and he wouldn't even make eye contact. He stared at the corner of the room. And I got it. Kathleen was between us. So I breathed her into that urine colored marble. He blinked, slowly and looked at me, finally. He dropped the marble into his bourbon.

"Now the Schoeber deal. Get it out of your system."

He touched his ear to my cheek and I let him hear me take a breath, hold it for a couple of seconds. Then I blew it out on a green marble he had between his fingers.

"Baby, you're becoming yourself again," he said, and he dropped that marble into his bourbon too.

He chose a red marble next and put it between his teeth.

"Hiring," he said, and carefully around the marble, he said, "firing."

So I kissed him, obviously, and stole his fucking red marble and spit it into his bourbon. I hoped I would break his glass, but it didn't. The marble just rolled slowly to a stop next to the yellow and green ones.

He smiled at me because he always knows the answers to his own questions. But he asks them anyway.

"Anything else you need to leave in the bourbon?"

And I lied and I shook my head. He's watching me type this into his computer right now because he took mine away. I lied. And he had a plan for my lie, and he made me pay, and he's waiting for me to tell how I paid. He let it slide, but he didn't forget. He just waited. He put a blue marble in his pocket for later. He'll make me tell you when the time comes.

Anyway, he shrugged and set the glass down. "Let's let those disinfect," he said. "I booked us a room at the Piedmont."

And you have to understand that he runs a nonprofit, so he's always skimping and he drives an old Jeep and wears business casual every day. I'm very much a for profit CEO. The pant suit I was wearing cost more than his car. So when he dropped two grand on a hotel room it got my attention.

"Baby" I said, "I practically own that hotel..."

And he said, "Shut the fuck up" in the sweetest way. "Besides," he said, "I want you to owe me after tonight. A lot."

I... want to owe him.

I slipped my phone into my pocket and we drove to the Piedmont in his Jeep. You should have seen the look on the valet's face. "Is this a vintage Willys?"

He said it saw combat in Korea. I'm pretty sure it's bullshit, but who knows? He has wine older than me in his cellar. He has an original Sgt. Peppers pressing, but that's music. He says there are different rules about music.

There are different rules about sex too. I still don't know how he reads me. His fingernails are tickling my scalp right now. How does he always know? The room comes with a masseuse, but he won't call her. He says it's too complicated with another person in the room.

So when my phone buzzed all hell broke loose. I mean, he raised an eyebrow which is basically All Hell Breaking Loose.

"You brought your phone?" he said.

And there wasn't ever a rule exactly, and I didn't sign some contract, but fuck. I knew when he asked about "anything else for the bourbon" the phone would be included. He probably would have dropped it in his liquor.

And of course it was Kathleen with her 90th excuse about the grant. Bitch. So I was kind of surprised when he didn't just snatch the phone away. Instead he curled around me, his chest against my back, his hands around my waist. He kissed my ear and I shivered. Then he unlatched my bra.

"Take it off," he said, and I did. I pulled my lace bra out of my sleeve. I don't know why I was so modest. He's had me weeping in the middle of an orgasm. He's literally licked tears from my face as I shook on his fingers. I shouldn't have been shy, but the phone was still vibrating in my pocket with fucking "KATHLEEN" on the screen. He took my phone and watched the call go to voice mail. Then he took that last marble out of his pocket.

I told you already my outfits are expensive. All natural fibers. The blouse was creamy silk, so without a bra I was floodlights on an Atlanta pickup truck, especially after his lips touched my neck. God. He knew.

"Let's take these down to the hotel safe, okay?"

I swallowed. "What?"

"You heard me. The bra, the phone, the marble," he said, "take them to the desk downstairs. Tell them to put them in the hotel safe for you."

He came with me, his hand on my lower back as we walked the hallway. In the elevator he pressed me against the mirror and kissed me hard, his left hand covering my breast. I almost dropped the phone. When the doors opened, he acted gentlemanly. He let me go first, unsteady on my feet and with my nipples hard from the kiss and his hands.

The concierge was polite, of course, but he saw him standing back, watching. He saw the bra, the marble, my nipples. Then, as I put my phone on the counter he sent that picture I took of his cock in Brooklyn, shimmering with the shine I had put on it. The concierge was very professional, but he looked into my eyes and I swear he smirked. "Have a wonderful evening, madam. We'll take good care of these for you."

Fffuuck.

It was my kind of play though, and naturally I expected him to attack me in the elevator on the way back up, but he put his hands on my shoulders and waited until I stopped trying to kiss him. He said "You have no responsibilities now, except to be my favorite plaything."

I unbuttoned my blouse one button at a time. "Are you going to write your name on my foot?"

"No," he said, "but that gives me an idea."

When the elevator door opened on the penthouse floor his lips blew warm breath just below my ear. He pinched my left nipple between his fingers and pulled me into the suite.

"What did you think would happen, Baby?" he said, a laugh playing over his lips. "Bringing your phone? This, probably." He pulled his own phone out of his pocket. He kissed me and then he dropped it in the champagne bucket. "Airplane mode," he said.

I was going to owe him so much.

But he makes me shake and rush and blush and come.

"Slow down, Baby," he said, watching me type this. He wants you to know everything that happened next.

He ripped my blouse and tore the zipper from my slacks. He didn't have to. He did it slowly, deliberately, looking into my eyes. He calmly turned that power outfit into tatters. He looked at me, and I could see how hungry he was for me. I turned toward him, just wearing lace panties and my Tom Ford pumps. He wrapped some shreds of the blouse around my wrists loosely. And I could have gotten out of it, but he shook his head and I felt as helpless as if he had put handcuffs on me.

He had me sit on the edge of the bed and wait while he poured champagne. He handed me a crystal flute in one silk-restrained hand, then he put a flute in my other hand. I had to be careful not to spill. I waited and watched him walk across the room, and he knows how I feel about him rolling up his sleeves, how it makes me blurry and sharp all at once. How it makes me melt. He rolled up his sleeves slowly, expertly, god, what a strip tease. He picked up a pen from the suite desk. I had only ever seen him using cheap yellow BIC pens. Always skimping, but that black and gold Montblanc ballpoint looked like it was made for his hands. I've seen him hold his cock like that sometimes, like a pen. Or maybe he holds a pen like he holds his cock. I'm never going to be able to innocently watch him write again.

He lifted my left foot, slipped my pump off and set it aside. He slipped off my other shoe and set it carefully next to its mate. I was still wearing the panties, but barefoot felt somehow more naked. I bobbled the champagne flutes. A few drops splashed cold on my thigh.

"Be careful," he said, "If you spill mine I'll eat yours."

"Drink?" I said, "Drink mine?"

He uncapped the pen and shook his head. "You heard me."

The ball point touched the ticklish sole of my right foot and I jumped. "What are you writing?" I said.

"Shake," he said, and I tried to hold still because I knew if I spilled, or if I made him mess up his letters he'd wash them off and start again.

He finished one word, and I didn't have time to relax before he started another word. "Rush," he said. I bit my lip, I squealed. I spilled a little more on my thigh.

He put my foot down and leaned up and slurped the wine from my thigh. "Mmm," he said, smiling up at me. "That's a good year."

He lifted my left foot. He watched me, took in my breasts, my shoulders, my lips. He pressed his thumb firmly into the sole of my foot and muscles relaxed I didn't even realize were tight. He put the pen in his mouth and worked my foot from heel to toes. "Two more words, Baby. Are you going to make it?"

I was weak with the delicious, but I nodded. I might have hummed some kind of yes-sound.

"Blush," he said, and I felt my toes curl as the tip of the pen stroked the bottom of my foot.

He watched my face, looked at my fingers tight around the flute stems, my knees widening a little. His favorite plaything.

"Come," he said, and wrote, and, well, I was on that road and gaining speed. He had barely touched me.

He stood and I could see his cock through his jeans, curving up and to the side.He took one of the flutes and drained the champagne, took the other and held it to my lips with one hand. With the other he cupped my right breast and I don't remember if the wine was good, but God he had good hands. He untied my wrists and kissed each one.

He took a step back and unbuttoned his shirt. "Tell me about how it feels to go down on me," he said. He took his time, dropped his shirt next to my slacks.

I shouldn't have been tongue tied. I'm never tongue tied. "Um," I said. He had kicked off his shoes and was unbuckling his belt. I licked my lips.

"Your cock is just..." and I should have said anything- literally any of the million things that rushed through my mind. Hard, soft, velvet, hot, pulsing, alive. What I said was "Your cock is just such a power trip."

He laughed and dropped his pants. His cock swung out, bounced once, lazily. "For me or for you?" he said, and I slipped to my knees. "What's the difference?" I said.

"Good answer," he said. He let me envelop him, slip my tongue around his edges and length. He held my head with his fingertips, brushed my jawline with his fingers. I knew if I let him go now there'd be nothing lazy about his cock. But I wasn't about to let him go. He was familiar in my mouth, delicious. I could feel his steel when his breath hitched. He moaned. There were other nights when I had tackled him at that moment, crushed him into the mattress, brought fire and rhythm. Those were other nights. Tonight I just kept sweetening him, swirling and skirting. When he gasped and pushed my head back, there was no power trip at all.

"Fuck, Baby," he said, between gasps, "You could turn me inside out and I'd love it."

I had turned him inside out, but I didn't mention it. There were times to gloat and times to glow with the pleasure and the pride, so I was feeling pretty good about myself when he hooked my panties and slid them off. They were in poor condition anyway.

"On the bed," he said, and he smiled as I scrambled, flopped, spread my legs for him, but he took my right foot in his hands instead. "I can't forget this one," he said, and dug his thumb into my arch. He admired his writing as he kneaded my foot, and more groups of muscles just turned to jelly. I said "Please Baby," and he put his index finger over my pussy as though it was my mouth. "Shhh. You're rushing. Your foot says you shake first."

So I let him have me, feet first, then my calves, with deep long pulls toward my heels. He kept brushing my pussy accidentally with his forearms, touching with his elbow, sneaking in stray caresses as he massaged my thighs.

"You owe me," he said, and I nodded, trying to point my pussy at him, trying to get him to brush me again. "You spilled at least a quarter of my champagne."

"Oh fuck," I said, and I couldn't think to say anything more. Not then.

But when he went down on me, it was definite, confident, swirling pressure and I arced into him. "I think I spilled more than that" I managed, and I felt him smile, but more than that I felt his laugh buzz up through me and I would have laughed too, if he didn't have me so wound into him. I arced again, hungry. My fingers tingled with anticipation- for what I don't know. I didn't know what he would do- what would come next. It felt good not to care. I was in his hands and he had good, good hands.

He wrapped his arms around my thighs. It helped hold me still a little, but I felt like I was shaking the whole bed, the whole suite. He hummed into me, said "Blush baby, come Baby, blush Baby, come Baby" over and over and it was like a song for me, that I could feel more than I could hear.

When I came it was a sweet syrupy orgasm that stuck to my skin, made me blaze and squeal and shudder. I said his name and I half wished he had written it on my foot. I was such a good plaything.

Then he crawled up and curled around me and tucked his cock between my thighs "To keep him warm" he said. But he rested and he rested me, my head on his arm as he told me what it feels like to go down on me. How he loves my pleasure. He loves when I bruise his lips. He says I am the cure.

Our breathing had returned to normal when he reached for the hotel phone and dialed the concierge. He was still curled around me. I could hear the thin "Hello" through the earpiece.

"Do you remember the blouse my companion was wearing when we arrived?"

"A Chanel? Silk Jacquard I believe?" I was impressed. The concierge was very, very professional.

"That's right. The one she was wearing has met with an unfortunate accident." I felt his cock twitch between my thighs. "Will you kindly have a replacement delivered to our room along with a pair of her slacks as well? Any time before nine in the morning will be fine."

I heard the concierge clear his throat. "And will the shoes require replacing as well? Alligator skin, I believe."

He kissed my shoulder before answering. "I'm not an animal."

"Of course, sir," tinned out of the headset, but I thought I heard a trace of disappointment.

He hung up and I turned and kissed him. I owed him so much. He growled and grew. I could feel his pulse between my legs. I felt it when his next idea came to him. He slicked my skin a little.

"I want you to look into my eyes and make me come, Baby."

He rolled me on top of him and I straddled his chest. I had his cock behind me, gripped in my right hand and I knew this is what my fingers tingled for. I slid down his body until my breasts touched his chest. His cock just touched my pussy. I slicked him and kissed his neck. Then I sank on to him, my mouth open, my eyes open. He watched my face as I stretched around his cock. Then I bit his lower lip a little and started to rock, a fluid snakelike dance with his cock at my core and I hummed with pleasure, with the fill of him and how he looked at me, like I was a meal, like he was the meal. He looked at me like he was tasting ice cream for the first time. Like he couldn't believe I was the one burning the same air as he was. We made the air burn, We soaked and slid, hard, soft, pound and caress. I came when I saw his eyes widen, when he said "I... I..." because I know him for his own good too. He bit my shoulder when he came, as gently as he could, but it's a mark I will nurse in the days to come. My fingers will drift there when I am in the world again because they won't be able to drift anywhere else.

He told me I was beautiful as we were falling asleep and this time I believed him.

~~~~

He let me drink his bourbon when we got home the next day, but he took away the marbles and I never knew where he put them. He said I didn't need them anyway, and maybe... maybe he's right.