Warning – this chapter contains explicit language.

Fast Approaching Death

2. My Faceless Knight

SPOV

I shake off my dazed feelings. I'm really thankful my reverie didn't jeopardize the safety of cars next to me. My whole body tingles softly. That's strange.

For the rest of the road trip I can't help feeling a bit lightheaded. Other motorbike groups come and go, all of the riders in a hurry to get around me. They just pass me by, unnoticed in my tiny car. There are no more encounters similar to just what happened.

I make another stop, and after first calling for directions, I arrive later than intended at our hotel booked for the weekend.

Sinaia is a beautiful resort, with many historical buildings nestled beside some ugly so-called modern ones. The Villa Domina is in the Italian neo-renaissance style, part of a three villa complex. It's located very close to Peleş Castle, probably the most beautiful castle in Romania. It is also probably way pricier than I could afford on my own. But for our pharma company, such expenses are peanuts.

No one bothered greeting me, but the boys had been waiting for me to arrive. They began swiftly unloading my car, my colleagues treating the beer in my trunk as if it was the last water on a long desert trek.

Beer safely stored, the boys returned to fumbling with the oversized grill, mumbling that the beer was warm. No other girls in sight. Probably they had retired to their rooms, to reapply and repair their heavy layers of makeup. Gran had always told me that make up gives older ladies a younger look while too much makes younger women look older. I had heeded her warning and was always very sparing in my use of it.

I take my bag up to my room to discover that my room is … unusual. Decorated in black and white, it looks classic, but in my opinion, a bit too much on the gaudy side. Since my presence wasn't required for at least another hour I headed in to take a shower. Opening the door, I stood in awe of the marble room and the gleaming Jacuzzi bathtub. I had nothing like it in my house in Bucharest.

The hot water streams felt so good, melting away my fatigue. Mmm… some of them were strategically placed. Feeling a familiar sense of emptiness between my thighs, my hand descended, and I slowly started to pet my long neglected clit. No man had ever been was as nearly as satisfying to me as my imaginary hunks, not that the two short time boyfriends counted as very many.

What fantasy should come to in my aid at this hour of my need? The long haired elf emerging from the waterfall, wearing nothing but a leaf, as green as his huge eyes? Scowling: Legolas had begun to feel a bit juvenile for some time now. The two guys – one redheaded and the other blond and SO into each other? Twi-slash has been fun for a while, but I'm just not feeling it now. I'm in need (ha, ha!) of something new. The earlier encounter popped up behind my closed eyelids. Yes! Lots of potential there.

He is again seated on his motorbike outside my car window. When he goes ahead, and I am able to admire his slender form from behind, he is pointing to the right, indicating I should take the next exit onto a side road. I take the turn, obediently following him until he stops at a fork in the forested road. There is no more traffic here, just the thick relentless march of tall silent evergreens on either side of what has become a dirt track. I slow down and pulling off onto the soft, sound-deadening surface of the forest road and shutting off the engine, I exit the car. Slowly, I move closer to him like one who has been mesmerized. He stays on his metal beast, watching, waiting. I marvel at the sight before my eyes. So powerful and commanding, just like an armored knight on his warhorse.

I am close to him, so close. I can smell the hot engine oil and the leather of his suit. I hesitantly reach to touch his helmet but he stops my hand in midair. Seizing me by the waist, he effortlessly lifts me up on the bike saddle facing him. I open my mouth to protest, to tell him that I ache to see him but he silences my attempt with one finger encased in the black glove. Forgetting what I had in mind until now, I take the finger in my mouth and wrap my tongue around it. I close my eyes tightly, liking and sucking it eagerly.

I suck the thumb of my left hand. It's not the same as the one in my ongoing fantasy but it is a no less arousing thing. Note to myself - should try to taste leather someday, just for the sake of accuracy.

He withdraws his finger, and slowly traces with it the outline of my mouth. Then takes hold of my hips, bringing me closer. He is back in his observation mode. I stare at the glass in front of me, trying to see something, anything beyond the shiny black surface sparking under the sunlight filtered by the evergreen's branches. A delicious shudder passes through my body at the thought of what might hide here and what fate awaits me in his unforgiving grasp. I abandon myself, totally opened and exposed. I'm here to be taken. I ache for more. His powerful grip loosens, and I take hold of the handle bars behind me, bracing for the hurricane about to be unleashed on me.

One, ah…so big, hand covers my panties. Powerful. Grabbing them. I feel the material being pulled and stretched, over my eager self, applying a terrible pressure to my aching clit. The fabric snaps and the mountain air feels like a wintry blizzard blasting across my overheated flesh. The strangest sensation overwhelms me. The leather-clad hand is cupping my mound, and, it seems my ass as well. Those gloves are designed to grip, steer and tame the roaring motorbeast. And now they are gripping and steering my inner, untamed tempest, rubbing me with maddeningly slow and strong moves.

The pleasure giving hand abandons me too soon, leaving my throat choked by the hammering of my heart, and I then I hear it, the faint sound of a zipper. In a deliberately slow movement, the long line of the leather suit in front of me is peeling open, exposing a tight black t-shirt. I don't peak to his south - I love receiving a surprise gift box, properly wrapped. Unwrapping it adds to the pleasure, increasing my excitement at the unexpected pleasure.

Wait, could I imagine a leather clad cock? Or is it too much? Is there even such a thing? I remember that the first condoms were something like this. Yuck, too weird. And this is a fantasy, no need of a condom of any kind.

Why do I keep overanalyzing even my daydreams, my erotic ones no less? I smack my head in frustration: STOP!

But not you, hunky biker boy! Please continue.

Purposely inserting a finger to fill up my empty space, I finally end my inner rambling.

Silk-like flesh is poking me and begins probing the void only filled with lust until now. And now, ah, now, that lonely space within is filled with the most delicious sensation. Filled and stretched, the empty ache between my legs is long forgotten. Taking hold of my thighs he is lifting me for better leverage, and I impale myself on his pleasure-giving cock, riding it into oblivion.

Too soon my orgasm erupts. I slip down in the tub, submerging in the water, not caring for a few lazy moments that my nostrils and gaping mouth are flooded, and that I should lift my head up before drowning myself. A quick flash of an obituary floats in front of my closed eyes: "naked young, single woman drowns in hotel bathtub due to unexpected orgasm." Okay, I immediately push past the water line; I'm getting air now, while coughing up a few mouthfuls of the bathtub water. When I can move, even if my knees feel as steady as rubber ducks, I get out of the tub panting, and sluggishly use my towel to mop up the water spilled along the floor.

I feel so happy and relaxed now that I could sleep until tomorrow. Sated. I haven't enjoyed myself so much for some time now. He is a keeper (in my spank bank), my faceless dark knight.

I will put you to good use again soon. I think, beaming like a proud momma.

All I want to do now is lie down on my hotel bed and bask in this rare, totally relaxed and contented sensation. But I know I have to go out and mingle with the others from my group.

Since I'm in such a good mood, I choose something less nun-like than my usual attire: a clingy white tank top over a knee-length jean skirt that buttons down the back. And I allow my hair to flow unrestrained over my shoulders, drying naturally.

On the patio, the missing girls from my company are now smoking slim cigarettes while talking about the new garments they bought for themselves, since the summer discount season just started. Stela was parading around in a beautiful white kimono style dress with black cranes she bought during her Milan shopping trip last weekend. The obi, instead of hugging her waist and make a gracious knot at the back as designed, was turned into a big bow pinned in the front. Hilarious! I briefly wonder if she even knows what a kimono is. She probably thinks is an exotic cocktail drink. Ada was proud of her new big rhinestone fake Chanel dangling earrings, and Diana was going on about some fur coat she got at a halfprice shop. I had to be more practical, and could only afford a new lacy bra, but since breast augmentation is a hot topic among my female colleagues, my E cup is something I really don't wish to draw attention to by recounting the details of my purchase.

I looked up to notice that the men are still gathered around the grill. For some reason, grilling is always treated as a manly thing, while they won't even deign to come near a kitchen oven. They're pretending to ignore us, busily emptying small glasses of ţuică (plum spirit) as their laughter reaches out to ensnare the assembled females.

I'm feeling hungry just as piles of steaming trout, grown in local basins, and the even more appealing mici, the juicy cylindrical spicy meat rolls, were delivered by the hotel staff and arranged on trays on the outside tables. I like fish, but not the bones. I always spend an unreasonable amount of time picking the bones out of it, usually dampening my enjoyment of the food when I finally feel safe enough to eat it. But when I don't take the precaution of finding the bones, my tongue ends up feeling like a pin cushion. Mici it is then; I douse it with plenty of mustard.

The villa-sponsored lunch was followed by hours and hours of debate about various business issues. The issues were just remotely of interest to me in my daily duties as secretary to the bunch. I sat in a corner trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible. But as time passed and the topics became increasingly boring, more glasses of wine and bottles of beer were passed around and enthusiastically emptied. I began to feel uncomfortable as I noticed both Miron and Lucian eyes' glazing over as they stared at me. When Bill joined in the leering contest, I suddenly regretted my decision to show any skin.

Groaning internally, I thought - this is going to be a very long weekend…

A/N

My humble thanks to Kjwrit and Scattered21 for helping me to shape my ideas and writing of this story. You should check those ladies amazing stories if you didn't already.

Against my earlier decision I will use primarily Romanian names since are local characters. Using English names of their SVM counterparts seem off. On my profile page I posted links for the places and things in this story since I doubt my words are evocative enough.

Since is known that an image is worth a thousand words, there are links on my profile for Sookie's accommodation, Peleş Castle, the forest that is staging her fantasy, Eric's motorbike, Eric as a rider, and others.

I appreciate each and every review, story alert and favorite story tagging. I'm looking forth for your opinion and constructive criticism. Thank you.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the mistakes in this story. Sookie is and always will be her own woman. I'd like nothing more than to own Eric…fat chance with that.