Edward Cullen, CEO, stood gripping the rough, brick edging of the low wall in front of him while, all around, the City of London spread out like a magnificent canvas. A sleepy, golden haze had settled over the city already, but his focus wasn't on the scenery. He lowered himself onto his elbows and leaned forward experimentally, judging the tipping point. A wave of giddying nausea pulled him back just as quickly. He was panting now in short, shallow gasps, and his heart pounded in his chest. Why wasn't he just getting this over with? He'd been so sure when he'd come up here, but in the half hour that he'd been on the roof his feet hadn't left the concrete. He had to get a grip or this was never going to happen. Slowly, he mastered his breathing again and tried to regroup. He was a long way up; even sounds were faint and indistinct, as if the bustle of people and traffic were a distant memory. He wondered how far it might be to the pavement. At this height, a few feet either here or there was immaterial, but doing the calculation appealed to him, there was safety in numbers. At least that's what he'd believed until recently. It was ironic really. He forced his eyes to focus so that he could triangulate the height from objects at known distances. His brain whirred into action, grateful for something else to think about, but all too soon the calculation was done. Of two things he was certain: the height was enough, and the wall would be easy to clear, he wouldn't even need to climb over, just leaning would do it. The only thing he was less certain of was why he wasn't getting the job done. What was the matter with him? Was he afraid? He had thought he was more...numb. In the centre of the roof, right behind him, a large construction of black, slender scaffolding supported an advertising hoarding. Almost as if to prove his daring, he pushed, lightly, against the wall, spun round and two steps later was grabbing one of the cold, flaking poles. Effortlessly, he climbed about half way up and once there, felt ridiculous, it was an empty gesture, like everything else.
He descended, dug his hands into his pockets and turned his back on the scene, feeling pissed off. He had wavered, and the moment had gone. He would have to come back in the morning. Right now, he didn't know what he wanted, except that he wouldn't say 'no' to a warm bed. Checking his watch, he discovered that it was late and that he'd missed the last train home. But he wasn't sure that home was where he wanted to be anyway. So, he allowed his feet to take him where they wanted. As he walked away, his designer coat, tailored, perfectly, to his lithe frame, flowed with his movement, enhancing every step. It was one of the luxuries money had afforded him. Money; just as quickly as he'd acquired it, it had practically gone.
Twenty minutes later, he stood looking at the familiar entrance to the Dorchester Hotel. The cost of a room there would completely clean him out but what did that matter? He had no need of money where he was going. The heavily brocaded doorman recognised him, touched his cap and nodded before ushering him in. The blonde receptionist recognised him, too, and smiled briefly before burying her attention in the register while she took his booking. It was a good attempt at remaining professional, but the heaviness of her breathing and the pink tinge to her cheeks gave her away. Edward had seen that look before. He seemed to have that effect on women. There were times, in the past, when he'd taken advantage of it. It was surprisingly easy. The smallest gesture, the slightest smirk, was enough to signal his intentions and women followed him as if hypnotised. But tonight, even the thought of sex did nothing for him. Tonight he wasn't a man, he was an empty shell.
"Yes, just the one night. No, no luggage", he said dully, barely acknowledging her presence as he signed the register and collected his card key.
Within five minutes he was waiting for the lift. It was empty when it arrived, but just as the doors were closing, someone else slipped in, invading his personal space. The person was petite, slender and smelled fresh and sweet, a female. At the moment that her hand reached forward to select her floor, so did his. She pulled back.
"Where to?" he offered, blankly, his hand hovering over the buttons.
"Nine", she responded in a lilting voice, a voice that caught his attention. He glanced over to see her smiling up at him with large, deep-brown eyes.
He pressed the button, steadfastly avoiding eye contact in the way that strangers forced into close proximity do, and stepped back.
"Thank you", she answered.
He could just make her out in his peripheral vision, but he didn't need to, a disquieting picture of her had planted itself in his mind's eye. She was dark-haired, no, more than dark-haired, silken waves of ebony locks cascaded down her back. She looked about mid-twenties and wore a smart, navy trouser-suit that hugged every inch of her neat figure. Edward cleared his throat, feeling a strange sense of unease. He found himself wondering who she was: a guest, maybe, or someone's PA, not that it mattered. She was of no interest to him, he reminded himself. At least, she shouldn't have been, but with every millisecond that passed his body responded more and more acutely to her presence. The unease had turned to heat; it flickered in his loins and licked through his body like a flame following alcohol. He didn't want this and racked his brain desperately searching for an idea or image that would he could latch on to, to pull him back. But in defiance of him, primeval lust continued to surge through his entire being. It energised his muscles and fired-up his nerve endings. He felt strong and virile, and he wanted her, wanted to grab her and bind her to his will. He placed his hands in front of him, holding them close to his body and squeezed the fingers of one hand with the other. With his head bowed, he tried to control his breathing while pictures flashed, unbidden, into his head. His imagination was joining in with the torment now. In the secrecy of his private thoughts, a scenario played out: him pressing the emergency stop button, him pinning her against the steel wall of the lift with his body, him holding her around her throat as he consumed her mouth with his kisses. She would not be frightened by any of this; she would want it. She would be eager, responsive and hungry for him.
His fantasy was interrupted by a slight jolt and the doors slid open to signal their arrival at the ninth floor. He glanced up, hoping that his face had given nothing away, that he'd remained impassive throughout. But, as the object of his reverie moved forward to leave, he caught her throwing him a little smirk over her shoulder as she stepped lightly through the opening. Almost against his will, the hint of a smile played across his lips in response. The doors closed. With his heart thumping, he breathed in deeply through his nose and, slowly, out through his mouth and then turned to press a button again for his, the fourth, floor.
His room was only a few doors away from the lift. He swiped the card in the lock, pushed down the handle and heaved open the weighty door. The room was exquisite if a little chintzy and overly floral. The drapery that adorned the floor-length window also adorned the headboard of the enormous bed, but for all that, the room had the stamp of quality. Edward flung his card key onto the nearest surface and made his way over to the bed where he sat on the edge and flopped onto his back. He felt overwhelmed and completely bewildered. The violence of the intense sexual arousal he had felt had left him breathless. He didn't remember ever feeling like that before and why he should feel it now, when he'd lost everything and planned to end it all made even less sense. As if to make matters worse, he couldn't stop thinking about her. Still acting on auto-pilot, his hand started to care of business. He felt for the zip on his trousers and slid it down. Reaching into his boxers, he freed his erection and cupped his balls before stroking up and down the shaft. Then, he wrapped his hand around it and pulled up and down in the familiar way. With his eyes closed, his thoughts returned to the lift, allowing his imagination to take the fantasy further. In it, her inconvenient trousers became a skirt. He wanted his access to be free and unencumbered:
He manoeuvred his hand up her silken thighs encountering no resistance – under the suit she was naked. He teased her with his fingers, sliding them in and out of her delicious wetness, watching her gasp as he tantalised her clit.
As he quickened the pace on himself, his face grew ever more contorted. By the time his body stiffened, his balls tightened and creamy-white spunk was sliding over his fingers, his inner narrative had him buried, balls deep, inside her.
He cradled the spent penis for a few moments. Then he rolled slightly to one side and pushed with his elbow to bring himself back to sitting. Fumbling in his pocket, he found a monogrammed handkerchief and used it to clean himself off before throwing it in the bin. He sat, despondently, with his shoulders slumped and his hands dangling between his knees, wondering what to do next. He turned the hands palm up and ran his thumbs over the finger tips. They were still sticky. In a daze, he stood and trudged, wearily, to the bathroom. There, he washed his hands, dried them on the white, fluffy towel and rested them on the edge of the basin. He looked at himself, a man condemned, in the mirror, but there were no answers to be found there. Incredibly, the girl was still in his thoughts. Hopeful little ideas popped into his brain. What if she were still around? What if he could persuade her into his bed? The moral side of him counter-argued. Was he the kind of immoral bastard who would seduce someone, knowing that they would have no future? His inner self sulked in response. Should he be denied one last night of pleasure? Instinctively, he knew the argument was pointless; his mind was already made up. The notion of finding her was too irresistible; it invigorated him. He washed the errant penis and returned it to the confines of his boxers. He checked his shirt; fortunately, he'd managed to avoid getting cum on it. Once he was fully dressed, he realised that he needed a plan B in case she wasn't still there. It was obvious, get drunk. Either way, the last thing he wanted was to spend his final evening in solitary confinement. He checked himself one more time in the mirror, spun round and strode decisively back into the bedroom. The card key was on the dresser. Swiping his hand over it, he snatched it up and headed toward the door.
His first stop was the ninth floor, but there was no sign of her there so he headed for the bar. There was a sexiness about the bar at the Dorchester with its mirrored ceiling and strains of soft jazz. On one side of the room, plush, aubergine-velvet seating invited you to relax, while on the other, the long, majestic sweep of the mahogany bar itself invited you to drink. It was the perfect place for seduction. Edward stood in the doorway, scanning the room for signs of the girl but to no avail, so he wandered, somewhat dejectedly, over to one of the bar stools. It looked likely that he'd have to accept plan B. The length of the bar and the number of seats meant that you could commandeer one for the evening without guilt, and now, that's what he intended to do. Ignoring the extensive menu of cocktails, he went straight for a double of twelve-year old malt, no ice. He was just staring into the second double, swirling the amber liquid, when slender legs brushed passed his thigh with a waft of familiar fragrance, and he looked up to see the face that made Plan A look like a possibility after all. There she was: the seductress from the lift. Lascivious thoughts popped into his brain, eager to get started, but he couldn't give in to them yet. She didn't seem like a hooker, and, if he wanted any chance of success, he would have to take things slow. He didn't want to frighten her off. She seemed to be focussed on trying to get the barman's attention, but something made him feel she was fully aware of his presence. His opening gambit was predictable but normally worked well.
"Can I get you a drink?" he offered.
She twisted her body toward him, hesitated, then nodded.
"White wine. Thanks"
So far, so good thought Edward. He signalled to the bar man and reiterated "white wine". The girl lifted herself lightly onto the adjoining bar stool, took the drink and sat, quite comfortably, without speaking, taking occasional sips. She wasn't looking at Edward. He appreciated it; it gave him an opportunity to study her further. As he watched, she slipped her jacket over her shoulders with a slight shrug and pulled her arms out of the sleeves before placing it neatly on her knee. He felt his libido nudge at him and wink. This was a good sign; she was undressing for him already. Then she took her right hand over to her left shoulder and swept her hair round and onto her right collar bone in one smooth move, revealing a delicate, creamy, neck temptingly close. He wanted to nuzzle into it and plant a soft kiss there. He licked his lips and forced himself to swallow as he studied her fine features: her little upturned nose, full lips and warm eyes. With a casual glance he traced the contours of her body. Her fine, white jumper outlined the round and full breasts underneath and her dark trousers hugged her peach of a bottom. The attire was plain, but her figure was so perfect, she would have enhanced anything. It was time to make another move.
"Edward", he said, offering his hand.
"Bella", she responded, facing him now and placing her delicate hand in his.
He lifted her fingers to his lips, and kissed them gently, hoping that it wasn't overstepping the mark. It caught him off guard to feel nervous around a woman, usually they were grateful for whatever he was prepared to give them. To his delight, she didn't object, nor did she fluster or blush, she simply smiled sweetly.
"Are you here for the conference?" he asked, casually.
Whether there was a conference or not, he didn't know, but there usually was at these places.
She looked at him squarely, "No. Is there one?"
She was calling him out, it amused him.
"I have no idea", he answered with a wry smile.
"And why are you here? You don't exactly look as if you're stopping."
Edward frowned quizzically.
"Coat", she explained, gesturing to his body with an elegant wave.
"Goodness, coat", he admitted. It must have looked odd. He had forgotten he was still wearing it.
"I'm in the hotel because I missed the last train home and the coat is ...". He paused, trying to find something to say that didn't sound stupid, but his mind went blank. "The coat is an oversight", he finished weakly.
She raised a good natured eyebrow with a slight grin.
He was beginning to feel more than a little awkward, although whether it was due to the presence of the woman or the image of pleasuring himself in a coat, he couldn't tell.
She rescued him by leaning in conspiratorially and whispering, "Can I tell you a secret?"
"Yes", he whispered back, intrigued and alert.
"I'm here under false pretences. I'm not a guest. I was just delivering something."
He grinned in relief.
"Can I tell you a secret?" he whispered back. "I'm here under false pretences too, I'm broke".
It was like a private game, one he was pleased to be able to share. She giggled and he laughed, too - a genuine, throaty laugh.
"Listen", he said, feeling suddenly animated. "Do you have any plans for the evening?"
"Well, in an ideal world, I would don a ball gown, a tiara and dancing shoes and go to the Ambassador's Ball but no, nothing planned".
It was the last thing he expected her to say.
"Ambassador's Ball?"
"Yes, I caught a glimpse of it when I got here, it looked amazing."
In that moment, her face seemed even lovelier, lit up, as it was, with a childlike enthusiasm. Something about it called to something in him. Excitement sparked in his chest.
"Let's gate-crash", he said, holding out his hand.
She beamed at him with a mischievous twinkle in her eye and bit her lip. Then, she placed her little hand in his, slipping down from the bar stool as she did so. He stepped down, too, and led her out of the room.
The main entrance to the ballroom had a white-gloved official in a dinner jacket checking people's invitations. Edward led Bella beyond the entrance to and through a door marked Staff Only. The genteel atmosphere of a guest area gave way to the clang and hiss of a busy kitchen. She didn't ask how he knew which way to go. Expertly, he manoeuvred her through the bustle before following a waiter through double swing doors. There, they were greeted with a scene of opulent beauty. She had been right about the decor. The enormous ballroom was a giant celebration of cream, white and gold, dotted, here and there, with splashes of reds, purples, blues and blacks. The walls were cream and interspersed with doors and full length windows. To either side of these openings were tall mouldings, like classical Greek columns, in gold leaf and marble. Against this backdrop was an arrangement of circular tables decorated with lace cloths, sparkling crystal, shining candlesticks and large displays of white roses. Stuffy dignitaries were seated at the tables. Some of the men were officials in military regalia, others wore dinner jackets. They were accompanied by their ladies in ornate, jewel-encrusted evening dress. It was the ladies, perched primly on gilded chairs, who provided the colour. In the corner of the room, a string quartet played, and in the centre, was a clearing for dancing where one or two couples waltzed sedately. Above the clearing, within a fluted ceiling dome, hung an enormous chandelier which threw stunning displays of bouncing light over the whole room like an extravagant glitter ball.
Hand in hand, Edward and Bella made their way to the open space in the centre; Edward weaving confidently through the tables, and Bella skipping after him. As they approached the dance floor, she flung her jacket away in a gesture of wild abandon. He knew why she did it and felt the same. At that moment, nothing mattered. He swept her into his arms and whirled her round. The guests were unprepared for such a spectacle. They were stunned into silent immobility, unable to signal their outrage with anything more than a disapproving glare. The sheer audacity of the young couple made them invulnerable. Edward held her body close to his, as they danced together, encased in a bubble of pure joy.
"You are so beautiful", he told her.
For a few seconds, he felt a lightness in his heart that he hadn't felt for years but he knew they couldn't stay, that, at some point, they would be ushered out by someone from hotel security. He didn't want anything to sully the memory of this moment. So, as quickly as he'd brought her there, he led their escape. They zigzagged between the tables and stiffly formal guests, back toward the kitchen and through to the hotel. Slowing their pace the moment they reached the public area, they appeared, to the casual observer, just another couple of faceless guests. They strolled, nonchalantly into the lift, and stood, politely, side by side. The moment the doors had fully closed, they giggled into each other like a couple of naughty children.
He reached for the lift buttons.
"Where to?" he said.
"I told you, I'm not staying here."
He waggled his eyebrows playfully, "I know, but I am."
For a moment she bit her lip, looking up at him from under long eyelashes, clearly tempted. Then she shook her head in mock admonishment.
"It's very tempting", she said. "But no, I ought to get home."
He nodded, belying his indignant erection and smiling reassuringly. "OK", he said.
She was right, of course. He could wait; she was worth more than a one night stand. Besides, he wanted to get to know her, even though his whole body ached with a need for her. He had never known a feeling like it. Sex, for him, had never been a big deal before. It fulfilled a need, like scratching an itch but meant nothing. But with her, if she would allow him, he felt sure it would be different. He held out his hand and pushed the button to open the lift door, then he led her to the front entrance. At the doorway, he gently faced her to him. He removed his coat and, reaching around her, he draped it over her shoulders.
"Take this, it's cold", he instructed.
Tenderly, he stroked a stray curl from her forehead and cupped her cheek. She reached up to place her hand over his.
"I must see you again", he practically pleaded.
He needn't have worried.
"Of course", she reassured him. "I'll be back in the morning to return the coat".
She reached up and kissed him lightly on the cheek, turned and walked away. He didn't know how, but he was sure she would keep her word. Already, he couldn't wait to see her again. "In the morning", she had said. "The morning", the start of a brand new day.
The end
7