The Resistance(73)
Dalton sits back and looks around the restaurant. He says, “They have really great soufflés. The black truffle and cheese pasta with smoked chicken is also good.”
“Dalton?”
His gaze rises to meet mine. “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For bringing me on a date.”
His smile is charming and light, worry not weighing on his expression. “Thank you for coming to Paris.”
The evening is divine and we stay past midnight. Like time hasn’t passed, we talk openly and intimately all through dinner and the dessert course.
“That chocolate soufflé was orgasmic,” I say, sitting back, feeling full.
“Now I’m competing with a soufflé?”
“Never. You always win.”
“Good to hear.” He pays the check and we leave.
Back in the suite, I run a hot bath while he opens a bottle of wine and pours me a glass. After setting my glass on the edge of the tub, Dalton comes in and sets a chair in the middle of the opulent bathroom. He starts Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” and sets his phone on the counter. Sitting down, he takes a sip of his wine, keeping his eyes on me, and says, “Strip for me.”
“You want me to strip?”
“Yes,” he says, “I want you to strip for me.”
With the water filling the tub, I turn to face him, his eyes penetrating my body with an intensity that warms my blood. Without looking away, I take my shirt off and toss it on the counter. Sliding the zipper of my jeans down slowly, exposing my black lace panties, I reveal the tiny hot pink bow in the front. I turn my back to him and slide the denim over my hips and down my legs, stepping out and kicking them to the side.
I pick up my glass and take a large sip, letting my gaze slide over him as he relaxes in the chair, his eyes heavy as they look me over, a calmness settling in. I set my glass down, bending over and slowly rising, letting my own hand slide from my knee up my thigh, grazing over my panties and up my stomach to my lace covered breasts. I sway to the music with my back to him, my hips moving in time to the erotic melody. I see him in the reflection of the mirror. I like the look in his eyes as he takes me in. I like him watching me. With his eyes on my body and his hand over his erection, he says, “Show me your tits. I’ve missed them.”
Reaching around my back, I unclasp my bra and let it fall to the floor before I shut the water off and test it with my finger.
“I want to watch you take a bath,” he says. “I don’t want to talk. I just want to watch.”
When I glance over my shoulder, he licks his bottom lip then bites it.
The music stops suddenly and is replaced by his ring tone. We both look over at the counter, but he doesn’t move. With a nod, he encourages me to go on. The music continues when the ringing stops and I slip my panties down, one side then the other, gradually, I can tell too slow for his liking. He sits forward resting his forearms on his knees. He’s close, but just out of reach.
I step into the warm water and sink down, relaxing back. His phone begins buzzing on the marble, moving from the vibration. “For fuck’s sake.” He stands, setting his glass down hard on the countertop and picks up the phone to read his text. He turns his back to me and says, “I need to make a phone call.”
He’s not asking, so I pull the water up and over my chest and wait.
His eyes are on mine in the mirror as I start to lather with the body wash. He takes in every circle of motion I make. Sitting back down with his glass in hand again, he watches me as he talks into the phone, “What?”
I look down, pouring more body gel into my palm and covering my shoulders, but the chair skids across the slick tiles when Dalton stands abruptly.
I still, not wanting the water to splash, and watch as the depths of his eyes go shallow and confusion takes over. He looks up at the ceiling, and asks, “What did you say?”
His patience wears and his expression hardens as he’s told something he doesn’t want to hear. “No. No,” he says again, shaking his head. “No way. Double check… then check again. There’s no fucking way, Tommy. No fucking way.”
I rinse the soap off quietly and step out of the tub just as he hangs up, sensing something bad has happened. I grab the hotel robe from the back of the door and slip it on. He drops down on the chair again, sitting there in silence, staring at the empty bath tub. Wanting to know, but treading carefully, I kneel before him. “What’s wrong?”
“Rochelle had a baby boy.” He stares ahead, his expression blank.
“That’s great news,” I reply. Moving closer, I touch his arm. “Why are you upset?”