Suite Encounters

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  She knew that sometimes he wanted his cock touched right away, and others he wanted to be teased a bit, even quite a while, before she touched it. In the “old days,” as she put it, she would have guessed at which it was he wanted, sometimes being wrong, though not finding out till much later. But eventually they’d learned (they’d had to) that communication—talking about it—made being sexual with each other easier.

  “But?” Gerald gently prodded her to continue. Hard to believe that years ago he would have just let the conversation die, preferring to just get on with the sex. But he’d seen how Jillian had bloomed once his encouragement helped her to express her deepest thoughts and emotions. The payback hadn’t been bad either, come to think of it.

  “Well, I wasn’t sure what was going on. Annie and I had messed around some, and I’d really loved it, though there was no talk of starting up any sort of ‘relationship,’” Jillian made air quotes, then returned to Gerald’s zipper which she’d been about to slide down. “When I saw her and Tom kissing out in the garden before dinner, I was afraid all my fun was over. Annie had been the one to make a move on me, and I knew that I didn’t have the nerve to approach anyone else—any woman, that is. Not then.”

  “Had you approached a guy before?” Gerald was suddenly very curious. He’d never heard Jillian mention any specific dalliances before Annie. Or if she had years ago, he’d forgotten.

  “Well, yes and no. There’d been a few guys I’d flirted with pretty seriously, and one in particular I would have done in a heartbeat, but he never gave me an in. I’m pretty sure he knew what I wanted, but he chose to play dumb. At least that’s what I think. So nothing ever came of any of that. Unfortunately.”

  She followed this with a sly smile as she lowered herself to brush her lips along the edge of his boxers. She remembered the shame she’d felt back then about her desire for something more, and she rested her forehead on Gerald’s abdomen. He stroked her hair and leaned a knee against her leg in a small gesture of understanding. When he spoke, she lifted her head.

  “I know you sometimes feel bad about all that went on in those days. By the time we came here, I pretty much suspected that something was going on between you and Annie. But I guess that I wasn’t as bothered because she’s a woman. I know it doesn’t really make sense when you think about it. But I’m glad that Annie came on to you when she did. And I’m glad that she brought Tom here that time.”

  “Really?” Jillian had gotten to her knees and looked down at him while she pulled her shirt over her head.

  “Yeah. I think I knew instinctively that if you kept trying to deny that part of yourself, the part that needed more than I was willing, or thought I was willing, to give you, you’d start slowly dying inside. It was even starting to show in your drawings. It sure as hell wasn’t easy. I guess I figured that if I allowed you anyone else, you’d end up leaving me. Simple fear of competition.”

  “Ohhhhh.” Jillian lay on top of him and snuggled into his neck. “No need for that! And I’ve never really compared. Honestly.”

  They kissed a long time, and she felt his erection, which had flagged a little, come back to life. He reached behind her back to undo her bra and paused.

  “Do we have time? I have to get ready for my reading before dinner. What time are we meeting Annie and Tom? And I thought you wanted to walk down to the beach and do some sketching.”

  “We’re gonna be here for four days, I can sketch another time. So that gives us a couple of hours before we have to meet them.” Jillian smiled as she reached back and helped Gerald with the hooks. All these years and he still hadn’t quite figured them out.

  They stopped talking and concentrated on sensations. His beard against the skin of her breast as he sucked at a nipple. Her knee, sharp and hard as she pressed up against his scrotum with it. At one point they both got up and turned back the covers on the bed and took their jeans off.

  For some reason, this afternoon they were both in a very kissy mood. Sometimes they never once kissed while making love, while other times their fucking was filled with kisses. They were feeling affectionate and played with each other’s pubic hair and giggled a lot while slowly becoming more and more aroused. He went to plunge his fingers into her when she stopped him.

  “I don’t want to stop and unpack the lube,” she said with a laugh.

  “Lazy.”

  She climbed on top of him and slowly lowered herself onto his cock. He let out a loud sigh—she always felt so good to him. His hands rested on her thighs as she ground back and forth on him. It had taken her a while to relearn her body’s responses after menopause, but she’d eventually come to an understanding that as long as she accepted that her body was different, and had patience with herself (and her lovers), sex was richer than before.

  Sometimes she liked to teeter on the edge of orgasm, knowing it would be more like an escalator going down than a plunge off a cliff, subtle and almost missed if she wasn’t paying attention. But today there were people to meet and places to be, so she let her mind wander to its darkest corners where the quick orgasms lived, and soon was there. She bit her lip to keep from crying, since she knew that Gerald could misinterpret her sex tears. He pumped into her faster and faster, and just as she got ready to shift position for him, he came, shuddering.

  “I think I like this bed better than the one when we were here last. That was creaky and I was constantly afraid someone would hear us. Especially later in the week.”

  They’d just finished getting dressed for the evening when Gerald said this. Jillian looked at him and smiled. He was dressed in his authorly outfit and looked quite staid. While she was dressed a little more flamboyantly, as befitted her reputation, they still both looked their age.

  “Plus it has way more room.”

  THE DEACON

  Tahira Iqbal

  Mark Deacon, the billionaire head of a legendary hotel empire, is holding the room in the palm of his hand. He’s dressed in black trousers, a crisp white shirt, embodying the casual style that he’d asked us to all adopt today via a company-wide memo. From the elevated podium, he delivers a genuine, praise-filled speech about the impending opening of his latest hotel and the effort it’s taken from the men and women standing before him.

  He’s more handsome than I expected…which is a strange thing to think because we’ve only ever communicated via email. I’d been brought onto the project in the late stages of the build, and curiosity had me searching for images of him online, but the man was surprisingly camera shy.

  “You’ve all done a fantastic job,” he says, white teeth showing against his true, easy smile. “We open in one month, so today, let’s enjoy the facilities as if we were guests, take notes; anything, no matter how big or small, good or bad, I want them submitted to my PA by the end of the day. We’re going to make the Deacon the best place to stay in town!”

  Rapturous applause breaks out; the room and I are all charmed as he heads off the stage to the floor, shaking hands with a few of the construction crew.

  His PA, at his side, whispers something in his ear and he politely makes his way from the men, snaking through the throng toward the back of the hall and…me.

  I get azure eyes that darken once he sees me. Immediately, there’s a rolling heat unfurling within my system that makes my heartbeat rise so much that I can actually hear it in my ears. He’s six foot plus of pure presence, totally suave, and the women around me are staring. Yes, our boss is actually that good looking.

  “Leila?” the PA says, “Have you got a minute? I’d like for you to officially meet the man who hired you!”

  I smile at the PA who’d arranged my first few days here, then focus my attention on reaching for his waiting hand, his smile dazzling, much like the diamond-studded watch he’s wearing.

  “Mr. Deacon.”

  I have to blink back the charge in my system as we touch.

  “Please call me Deacon, I prefer that.” He says warmly, “Leila, it’s a pleasure to f
inally meet you, I’m sorry that it’s not been before today.”

  “That’s okay; I think we’ve done fine over email.” His cologne, a stunning, expensive scent, winds around my senses, easily elevating my pulse to a rolling thunder.

  His PA hands me a file marked PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL.

  “I’d like to go over the security for one of the penthouse floors,” Deacon says.

  I go cold as I rifle through the papers and schematics. “I thought everything was okay?” I must look worried because he says, “It’s nothing to be wildly concerned about, but we do need to address something.” He reaches for his ringing phone. “I noted a blind spot that I’d like for us to check. Our previous security contractor wasn’t as good as you, so I’d like to chat through it. How’s three p.m. on penthouse level three?”

  He tips his head in a parting greeting, walking away on his call, his PA in tow after she confirms the meeting by sending me a meeting request via email that makes my BlackBerry buzz in my pocket.

  I’m a perfectionist and so is Deacon, apparently. We’d exchanged hundreds of emails about security; he really knew this place inside out and considering how many ventures he had around the world; the thirty-two-year-old was seriously on the ball.

  I’d been hired right off the back of a job in L.A., flown first class and set up in an apartment the very next day at his request.

  I merge with the crowds onto the carpeted mezzanine level that overlooks the spectacular glass-roofed reception, aiming for the lazy, looping staircase that will take people to the drinks waiting for them below.

  Great… I had hoped that I would have been able to enjoy the hotel along with everyone else, but now I’m going to be working. I lift out my phone, call the spa, and cancel the manicure I’d promised myself for weeks now.

  I walk to my office located in the basement of the hotel, which is more like a mini subterranean city. Staff walk purposefully along the corridors, some aiming for the large catering kitchens, others finalizing the notices and signs that will ensure we don’t get lost in this lair (like I did for the first week). The housekeeping department has been prepping rooms all month and I dodge a giant stack of fluffy white towels being wheeled toward a large service elevator.

  I push open the glass doors to the main security hub after swiping my pass against the reader. The room looks like something that NASA would launch a shuttle from; rows of desks, each with its own computer, all facing a bank of over one hundred high-definition screens that show me every inch of the hotel. Or so I thought.

  I open the file, take out the papers and plans, tie back my dark shoulder-length hair and take a deep breath.

  There was a minor catch in reception, due to the support columns holding up the mezzanine but I’d compensated for that by installing cameras above the front doors that my predecessor hadn’t bothered to do…but Deacon had been talking about the penthouse levels, specifically level three.

  I check the plans again, but don’t see anything.

  After two hours, I’m frustrated and hungry as I’d barely had time for breakfast and my run this morning. I stuff the documents back into the file as Kelly, one of my security managers, arrives,

  “Damn, that spa is something else!” she says. “I got a manicure for the staff party tonight.” She flashes me blood-red nails. “Hey, who stole your apple?”

  I lift the file. “Deacon says there’s a blind spot on one of the penthouse floors.” Kelly stops smiling, “Would you look through this?” I hand her file. “I’m going to get some food, and then I’ll head back.”

  “Leila, you’re the best in the country, you don’t miss anything. We should have hired you right off the bat.”

  “Yeah, you should have.” I sigh wearily, rising from my seat.

  “Hey, that Deacon guy, he’s kinda something, right?” Kelly fans herself theatrically with the file.

  The attraction I’d felt earlier stirs. Eyes the color of rich seas. Charisma that hits like a punch.

  “He’s something all right.”

  I arrive at the second floor restaurant where a casual lunch is being served. The space is a noisy cavern as I join the buffet line, chatting to a few colleagues as I collect my food. I avoid the elegantly presented dessert mountain, but make eye contact with the giant ice sculpture of the hotel that mirrors the spectacular knife-shaped tower to perfection.

  I take a moment, plate in hand, to appreciate the view beyond the huge windows that overlook the man-made beach, the expansive spa and the winding trails that lead to the private two-story villas in the grounds of the hotel.

  I hear a deep laughter from somewhere to my right…Deacon, at a large table, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his dark hair catching the sunlight coming through the glass. He says something funny and the people around him laugh with real enthusiasm.

  I get a funny knot in my stomach when he excuses himself from his companions and then weaves his way through the diners toward me.

  “Leila, have you had a chance to look through my notes?”

  I take a small breath; plaster a smile.

  “Yes, I have. I’m just getting a colleague to go through them as well, to make sure we really haven’t missed anything. I’m not quite sure where the blind spot is, so our meeting will be helpful.”

  “Good, I think you and I both know that the person who did the work before you…”

  “Wasn’t me.”

  Deacon appraises me; lips first, then eyes.

  “He certainly wasn’t.”

  The room fades away suddenly. It’s just him. Those vibrant eyes. Still fixed on me.

  There’s a wonderful crash of heat in my pelvis.

  “Enjoy your lunch, Leila,” Deacon says, heading back to his table, a smile on his lips.

  I’m at my desk, Kelly with me. “I think I know what he’s talking about…” she says, turning one of the plans toward me. “Look, do you see anything strange?”

  I assess the plan and then flick the papers looking at penthouse levels one and two. My shoulders slump. “The camera on level three… It’s in the wrong friggin’ place.” I press a finger to the paper. “That’s why I missed it, because it’s exactly like that in the corridor and on the plans, so technically there’s no mistake…” I groan, moving my finger. “We’d have a full field of vision if the camera was here.” I point to the position directly opposite from where it has been installed. “How did I miss it?”

  “You didn’t, because the plans are an exact match to the installation, so the problem isn’t actually highlighted,” Kelly says. “Deacon did a walk-through about three months ago, flagged up the issue, because he’s built a million of these places…”

  “He knows the layout better than anyone.” I say.

  “Yeah, I guess so, but he’s just being…”

  “Hey, when it’s eight billion dollars of your own money on the table, you’re allowed to nitpick,” I interject, leaning back in my chair, taking the papers with me. “I better go check it out.” I reach for a walkie-talkie that’s sitting in the base unit, then hand one to Kelly, adjusting the settings as I do. “I’ll let you know when I’m there.”

  I exit the lift nearly seventy stories up, walking into a freshly decorated corridor that still smells like wet paint.

  “Leila to Kelly.”

  Static, then Kelly’s clear voice comes through,

  “I’ve got you on the screen; you’re in the north corridor.”

  There are only four penthouse suites on each floor; each one nearly ten thousand square feet of stunning, opulent, no-holds-barred luxury.

  I walk to the end of the corridor before turning a sharp right and stopping at the first penthouse door.

  “Can you see me?”

  “Negative.”

  I press the walkie-talkie into my forehead; curse something under my breath as I look at the dome-shaped camera at the end of the hallway in question. I step forward, away from the doorjamb and two feet into the corridor.

  “I�
�ve got you now.”

  “I shouldn’t have missed this.”

  “Leila, you’ve been dealing with the beachfront security for the last three weeks.”

  “Yeah, and no tan to show for it.”

  Kelly laughs, I don’t.

  “Right, this means we’re going to have to get some remodeling done ASAP and I need to fix the plans with the architect as soon as possible.” I mentally pick out the spot on the wall where the camera should be reinstalled.

  “Want me to email the tech guys? Plan the work?”

  “No, we can do it later, why ruin their day?” I check out the corridor again and then hit the talk button. “I’m going to stay here for a while, make some of my own notes. Over.”

  “Okay, take your time. Kelly out.”

  I lift out my master key and slide it into the reader, entering the penthouse. I’m instantly impressed by the wide windowpanes that show me a bright city that stretches for miles. The living area has angular wooden tables, low white leather sofas and rugs on the hardwood floor. The private decked terrace, accessed through the bi-fold doors, is devoid of any furniture; a design fault with the customized table and chairs had pushed back the delivery to later this week.

  I take a seat at the desk, lift out a sheet of headed notepaper from the letter rack and lift the complimentary pen. I quickly sketch the corridor. The suites have already attracted some high-profile bookings…it’s eighteen grand a night to stay here and for that you get luxury amenities, a twenty-four-hour butler and a pick-up from the airport in a custom Phantom. And if something went wrong…it would be on my watch, so Deacon was right to pick up on it.

  I lift out my buzzing phone, deactivating the reminder for my meeting in thirty minutes.

  Feeling annoyed, I head to the window, watching the world go by. It really is a stunning day, giving everyone at the poolside the best weather to enjoy the water.