Thursday, 15 August 2013

An Acute Attraction Part 1



This is exactly what I, Isabel Chambers, need. Being a single mother to two, weekends like this never come along!
Working as a teacher certainly has its perks, especially when it comes to the summer holidays. This year however, is the first time that “number one” son is old enough to stay home alone and “number two” son is spending a fun packed weekend with his grandparents.
Sat in the swanky hotel lounge, I can smell the luxury of the leather upholstery. I make sure I am sitting in a prime position so that I can participate in my third…no fourth favourite hobby…People Watching! I’ll let you guess the first three. The Haveril Lodge isn’t particularly busy, but whilst sipping on a cool glass of Pinot Grigio, I am witnessing a steady stream of comings and goings.
There is a group of Spanish men, dressed in jeans, t-shirts or polo shirts. On their feet they wear cement splattered boots….Ah! They’re building a new science park down the road; an ideal location, with it being twenty minutes from Cambridge.
A middle aged couple, both smartly dressed then attracts my attention. The gentleman, greying slightly, carries a suit with its protective cover and a black holdall. His petite wife, or partner, following him holds a hat box in one hand and wheels a small suitcase with the other….Wedding! I’d put my money on them attending a wedding.
I smile to myself. Weddings! I silently toast the happy couple. Good luck to them, they’ll need it at some point in their joyous life together. Not that I’m bitter or anything. Having reached for my glass, I take a mouthful of the ever so sweet liquid. Not sweet in taste, but sweet for the situation I’m in now. I slowly close my eyes savouring the taste, sighing with happiness. Opening them again I look up……
Holding back a cough and splutter I cover my mouth with my hand, so as not to lose any of the precious nectar I’m holding. Oh my! I intently watch the next guest to arrive in the reception, for all I know he could be walking on water for how his streamlined and buff body glides to the desk. Shifting in my seat, I try my best to hear the conversation between this God of a man and the receptionist. Standing at least 6ft tall, he pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as he leans over the desk. Although his dark brown hair isn’t especially long, the front strands flop deliciously over his face.
It’s only when I feel the cold wine being spilled on to my lap, I realise I’ve been holding my breath. Dammit! I stand putting my glass down on to the table in front of me. Wiping my now wet trousers down, I curse to myself. Embarrassed and blushing furiously, I look around to make sure nobody has seen me make a complete ass of myself. Oh God, please don’t let him have seen. Glancing over to the desk I notice he’s not there. Should I be relieved? What if he saw the whole spectacle? Dropping heavily into my seat I yet again curse.
“Well done Miss Chambers, well done”, I say to myself.
Hoping that a shower will dispel the smell of humiliation as well as alcohol, I head to my room. As rooms go in a hotel, number 112 is sufficient. It had nearly everything I needed for a short stay:  Soft double bed; needed more pillows though: a hair dryer;  TV; tea and coffee making facilities; a view over the car park; and a power shower lacking in the power department.
Ok so it was adequate.
Now, I’m not a body confident woman. A size 18-20, but having lost 2 & a half stone, dropped 3 dress sizes I was getting better…until I step into a shower that has floor to ceiling mirrors surrounding it – room downgraded again!
Despite all of that, the Non-power shower has been refreshing. Now sat at the dresser, my red/auburn tresses piled high in a towel; I apply the new vanilla scented body lotion I treated myself to. Inhaling such a sweet aroma meant I can almost taste it. Would it be the same for the mystery guy? Shaking such thoughts from my mind, I continue to get ready for the evening. Sliding into the knee length dress, straightening my hair and applying a little make –up I am almost ready. Being 39, I don’t go mad. Without being too modest, I feel and look pretty good, airing on sexy.
I opt to dine in a restaurant a couple of blocks away. It is the mouth-watering smell of steaks being grilled that entices me in. Inside the atmosphere is set with low lighting, easy listening background music and cheerful chatter. Needless to say the food tastes as good as it smells. So leaving feeling happy and full, I saunter back to the hotel.
According to the reception clock it is 9.30pm by the time I get back. The bar is open 24/7 so I know I can sit and relax. An hour or so later I see him. Oh.My.God! I’m sure I could hear a choir of angels signalling his arrival. Willing my heart to slow from its rapid beating, I take several deep breaths. Calm yourself Chambers, he’s just a man. Ok, a goddam gorgeous and heavenly looking man, but still just a man.
Distraction! Thinking of a distraction I decide to go over to the bar and order another Pinot. With a half full glass in hand I call the bartender over. Realising I now look like an alcoholic; I turn to return to my seat.
“Shit!”
Not two seats away from where my jacket is draped over a chair, Mr Fantastic is sitting back with his right foot leisurely resting on his left thigh, as he casually reads a newspaper.
This is stupid! Deciding to get a grip of myself, I walk back to my seat, placing both of my large wine glasses on the table. I have brought my kindle with me, so reaching into my bag I pull it out and find the book I have been reading. I’m not afraid to admit that I enjoy reading contempory, erotic romance novels. Saying that, thankfully the advantage of having a Kindle is there is no cover to the book to advertise the fact. Starting from where I left off, I continue reading occasionally sipping at my wine.
What makes me look up from my book, I have no idea. When I do though, Mr Fantastic is looking directly at me, with an amused smile on his beautifully sculptured face
As I’m looking behind to see if there is someone standing there, he speaks to me.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just that you were making some interesting faces. Then when you giggled to yourself and bit your lip… Well I just found it amusing; in a nice way of course.”
I listen to his velvety American accent, but my sense of hearing has shut down not long after he said “interesting faces”, so his hot, sensual mouth is moving without the sound coming out.
Once he has stopped I reply “Oh!”
WTF, is that all I can say? Bloody “Oh!”
If I could, I’d face plant myself on to the table. Knowing that it isn’t an option I continue.
“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“Oh you didn’t. I found it, how can I say, cute in a way.”
Did my stomach just do a perfect, triple axel or am I imagining it?
As he goes back to his paper, it takes me a good 5 minutes to compose myself. I need to talk to my best friend, Jackie; this is a moment where I know I really need her.
Jackie lives up to her name. Her mum had loved the elegance and sophistication of Jackie Onassis, widow to JFK and married to multi-millionaire Aristotle Onassis. My Jackie wears her “Hollywood” sunglasses with the same flair and grace, ever likely then she is a hit with the men. A happily married career woman with a beautiful daughter, she has it all. I am so proud of her.
Hastily I send her a text.
“There’s one guy sitting in the bar. I am a sexually frustrated woman and right now could just jump his bones.”
Within no time my phone whistles, yes whistles, its reply. I quickly set my phone to silent before I read and continue to exchange messages.
“Is he cute?”
“Cute!! He is hot, he is smouldering, and he is oozing sex!”
“So he’s ok then? Hahaha!”
“Haha!”
“Well, flash him a smile and bat your eyelashes”
Great advice, I think sarcastically rolling my eyes.
I type out;
“Haha! If only that’s all it took…”
“Well you have to start somewhere. Be brave, you won’t ever be there again.”
How true are those words. Bravery is something that doesn’t come easy to me though.
Taking a deep breath, I wait for a moment where he isn’t engrossed in his newspaper. So when he puts it to one side to take a sip of his red wine, I dive in… Not literally of course.
“It’s quiet in here tonight,” I say in his direction. Inwardly I cringe at such a naff statement.
“I don’t know what it’s usually like as it’s my first time staying here.”
My inner woman is doing a merry dance right now. He didn’t guffaw at my lame attempt to start a conversation - just don’t mess it up now. 
“Oh right. Are you here for a holiday, short break?” I nervously ask.
He sounds so cool and confident when he explains to me that he’s here on business so to speak.
Marc, I later find out is his name, is a senior research executive at Harvard University. In two days’ time he’ll be presenting his medical findings at Cambridge University on a new development into how antibodies help fight diseases, leading to better vaccines. We converse for about an hour or so, talking about ourselves.
Showing him I understand a word he is talking about is difficult. I may be a teacher, but this isn’t something I come across when planning lessons for eight year olds. I am interested though. So when he excuses himself to go to the bathroom, I whip my phone out and call Jackie. I fill her in and seeing as her career background is in medical supplies, I assume she can help me.
“Izzy, unless he is a consultant or researches the pros and cons of penile extensions, I’m not much help, I’m afraid.”
Great!
Sighing and sitting back in my chair, I play with the soft material of my dress.
This guy is way too smart for me. No way would he even consider looking at or talking with me in any other circumstance.  I may as well give up now.
Still lost in thought, I jump at the sound of Marc’s voice next to me.
“I have a bottle of Highland Park Whisky in my room. You’re very welcome to join me for a glass.”
Taken back a little by this invite, I then graciously accept.
My inner woman is now doing a tango whilst holding a rose in between her teeth.
Picking up our belongings we ascend the stairs to the same floor as I am on. Stopping just 3 doors short of my room, Marc uses his key card to unlock the door marked “Executive Suite”. This being yet another first for me, I tentively walk in to the most amazing hotel suite I have ever seen. On the left through the door is the luxurious bathroom which house’s twin basins, a roll top bath and a shower that could easily accommodate two people.
I clear my throat to halt where my mind is going, as he leads me into a stunning sitting room. I notice a chaise longue by one of the two windows, two Chesterfield sofas, a walnut coffee table, also various other expensive looking furniture. Are we really staying in the same hotel?
I walk over to one of the windows. With this being a corner room, Marc has both a view of the car park and the spectacular lake that adorns the grounds at the rear. It is lit with soft lighting that is scattered around the edge.
I’m brought back to the here and now as I feel the presence of Marc behind me. The heat radiating off him brings my eyes up to meet the reflection of his green eyes in the window.
“I apologise, Isabel, I have already put ice in without asking you first.”
Turning, I take the glass he’s offered.   As I do, our fingers brush against one another sending a surge of electricity up my arm and down to in between my thighs which starts to pulsate in reaction to the touch.
Trying to control what’s happening I take the proffered glass.
“No that’s fine. Thank you.”
Clinking glasses we both take our first swig of the amber liquid. The whisky burns slightly as I swallow, but I don’t notice it too much as it is the intense look in his eyes that seems to be burning me the most.
Breaking the hold he has on me, I look to the crystal tumbler in my hand.
“Delicious. I’ve not tried this one before. I’m afraid I’m not usually a single malt person, but I may have to buy myself some.”
 Marc throws me a smile that reaches his eyes.
“I've converted you have I? I wonder what else I can convert you to.”
Those words hold a thousand meanings.
Taking the glass from my hand, Marc puts them on the low wooden table.
Turning back to me, he gently shifts the hair that is settled against my cheek. The same electrical charge I felt earlier is conducted through my body. Fisting the hair at the nape of my neck, he brings his mouth down to mine. All I can do is to hold tight on his upper arms, afraid my legs might buckle. The taste of the whisky transferring from his tongue as he finds mine makes it all the sweeter.
The kiss intensifies as he pulls me closer. Having the need to come up for air, he releases my mouth, but not before biting on my lower lip.
I watch on as he removes his blue suit jacket and tie. I am caught up, mesmerized by this man. It is as though I have been drugged by his touch, by his kiss.
Never taking his eyes off of me, in a low dulcet tone he asks;
“Isabel, what do you want? What do you need?”
Only one answer comes to mind.
“You.”
The smoothness in which he delivered his question was suddenly gone. Roughly he takes my mouth again, this time both of our tongues in search of what we want. While I have both of my hands flat against the taught contours of his chest, Marc brings one hand up in to my hair as the other desperately reaches for the hem of my dress.
Once he holds it, he uses both of his hands to pull the dress up over my head. He looks down at me, studying hungrily. All of the insecurities I had earlier vanish as he gazes at my ample breast, the nipples of which were audaciously teasing him.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathes.
I can feel the sting of a tear at the corner of my eye. No man has ever said that about me. Fighting to control my emotions, I shift the power of what he is doing over to me.
Without fear I remove Marc’s clothing, revealing broad shoulders, a smattering of chest hair and a well-defined stomach. I inhale at the sight and smell of this man.  All he’s left standing in is black boxer briefs. My hand reaches for him, when he suddenly stops me.
“My turn again.”
Marc presses delicate kisses down one side of my neck and shoulders.
Taking off my bra and lace topped knickers, he discards them on to the floor. Once completely naked, Marc takes a hold of my breasts, rolling one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, whilst taking the other nipple into his mouth. His touch is exquisite. Already wet from the foreplay, I let out a moan as my hands take in his hair.  Closing my eyes intensifies the sensation.
I want this man. Somehow Marc knows exactly what I am thinking. Pushing me back to one of the sofas, I stumble back on to it. Grabbing my thighs he pulls me towards him so that now I am virtually laying on it, I'm open and ready for him.
I curse at the first touch of his tongue on my clit. Playing, teasing it. Pushing one, then two fingers into me, I arch my back.
My first orgasm is beginning to build. I’m so close and this is how I want it to be. Marc sets a rhythm with his fingers, tightening around them he rubs my clit with his thumb. That is the undoing of me.
Still breathing hard, Marc closes his mouth over mine. I can no longer taste whisky, but my own sweet juices.
Wanting to touch him, I reach down, finding him hard and rigid, fighting against the material of his briefs. Releasing him, I’m able to wrap my fingers around his shaft. I feel it pulsating against my palm and twitch when my thumb stokes the head of him. With a steady cadence of my hand, Marc curses and moans.
It’s too much for either of us, Marc wants release and I want to feel him inside me.
Taking my right hand, he holds it above me on the sofa. Still wet from my orgasm, he can easily slide into me. Hooking my legs over his shoulders means he can thrust deeper into me. It’s only at that point I realise I still have my heels on. No matter, my body and mind is with this man in this moment.
The velocity in which Marc moves means we are both close to our impending orgasms. Feeling me tighten around him has the desired effect.
“Come with me Isabel”
The sexual cry from both of us signals our climax. Coming hard, I feel the seed Marc has spilled.
Collapsing on top of me, spent and exhausted, he finally let goes of my hand. My legs ache as I drop them to his sides. Beads of sweat mingle as one on our bodies.
After what seems like an eternity, Marc finally lifts his head and places a tender kiss on my breasts. I shiver from both the touch and the cold that is now descending. Sliding out of me, Marc stands holding out a hand for me to take. No more words are exchanged until I’m enveloped in his arms and the cover of his bed.
Kissing my forehead, Marc whispers for the second time, as sleep takes over:
“You’re beautiful.”

©AJ Walters.

Via Twitter:

. From @StellaKnightley:- (Author of 'Girl Behind the Mask' and 'Girl Behind the Fan'.)

'@A
J_Walters74Just read your story. Loved it! So much fun. Great set-up. Made me wonder what the author gets up to in real life! ;-)'

'@AJ_Walters74- I really enjoyed it. You've got a lovely writing voice and you should definitely do some more! X'


. From @Book_ishOne:- (Book reviewer)

'@AJWalters74 Liked it? I loved it! I thought it was engaging, exciting and well written. Great job on part 1'

5 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. Thank you LT. I hope you liked it. x

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  2. Replies
    1. Thank you. I'm glad you liked it. x

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  3. Loved it !! adding to my TBR ! Looking forward to reading... xx

    @cherryinthesnow / Cherry Snow {FB}

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