Breaking My Own Rules

He appeared at the end of our booth. I glanced up and then away. He was obviously there for one of my co-workers. The three of them were younger, prettier, more vivacious. I could go on, but it gets depressing. Hell, those were all the reasons that I was there with them. They were fun. I was bored. My fridge was empty. And the plate of chicken wings in the middle of the table was my idea of decadent. I had a game I would play. Guess which friend had attracted the hot guy this time.

"Ladies," he said, as if that required a response. I guess it got one because they all looked up at him. I looked at him, too, trying to detect which one he was zeroing in on. But he was cagey. His gaze went to each of us and rested there for almost exactly the same amount of time. "I was wondering if I could buy you a round of drinks," he offered magnanimously.

Tall, dark and handsome - check. Bedroom eyes - check. Perfectly tailored suit, crisp shirt open at the collar, tie missing-in-action - check. Late night radio voice - check. I'm pretty sure my friends were beginning to drool. Damn. I was drooling. The girls were giggling and scooting around the booth to make room for him to sit. He snapped his fingers at someone, then settled into the booth straight across from me. I crossed my legs, tightly, and concentrated on what blonde friend was saying, as she rubbed her shoulder against him, and probably rubbed more body parts against him under the table. He seemed politely dismissive, though, so I ruled her out as his target.

Next to Blondie, Brunette was simply staring, at a loss for words. Not a common problem for her. He smiled graciously at her several times. Too graciously. I ruled her out. That left Exotic. She was of mixed race. I'd heard countless different versions as to which races. It didn't really matter, because whatever the true mix, she was simply, unequivocally drop-dead gorgeous. Equally annoying, she was absolutely flawless at choosing and applying makeup. She would have been my top choice as a target of any man in the bar, except for the ones who had issues with race. Yeah, there were still some guys out there who would turn down Aphrodite if she wasn't pearly white. Their loss.

A waitress showed up with a tray of shot glasses. She made a point of shoving her cleavage in the face of our new friend. I realized belatedly that I hadn't even caught his name, because I was busy playing my little mind game. Not that it mattered. I was convinced that he and Exotic would soon be disappearing to someplace more private. I was primed to get up so that Exotic could slide out of the booth.

I looked at the shot glass that had appeared in front of me and pushed it toward the middle of the table. "Sorry," I muttered to no one in particular. "I don't do shots. No tolerance." My friends all knew that, though they still rolled their eyes at me. But before I could extract my hand from the icy shot glass, his hand covered mine and the glass was moving back toward me.

"Just one," he said with that damn radio voice. I looked at him, actually studied him, and realized he had smiled; politely, graciously, pick-your-adjective, at all my friends, but not at me. What he aimed at me was dark, serious, not quite cold, but definitely not warm. My mind raced backward in time. Had I offended him? I felt a cold chill. What did he care if I drank the shot? I flashed on a nightmare of roofied drinks, but this bar was clean. That's why we came here. They kept drinks out of the reach of lowlifes, at least until they were served.

And then I realized that his warm hand was still covering my hand, trapping it against the icy glass. It seemed that drinking might be the only way to retrieve my hand, so I raised the glass to my lips and - sort of - tossed it back to the chanting of my friends. When the burn eased up and I turned my eyes back to table, he was watching, like he was measuring something he saw in me.

There was more idle chatter as the girls vied for his attention. That attention, though, seemed to be coming back to me over and over again. I wasn't sure I liked the feeling in my belly that his dark gaze seemed to be stirring up. I much preferred to be the one that decided when and if that flame should ignite.

Before long, however, the night fell back into a normal pattern. Men came, chatted up one of the girls, then either joined our booth or led their chosen target away for a more private encounter. At some point, another glass of wine appeared before me. Brunette was cuddling with a well-muscled jock type in the back of the booth. Blondie and Exotic had disappeared. But he was still there. I figured my total lack of interest in idle chitchat would have discouraged him, but he seemed actually pleased to sit quietly, observing me with what came uncomfortably close to a stalker stare, to my mind.

I downed the rest of my wine and stood to leave, muttering goodbyes which Brunette either didn't hear or ignored. He stood with me, a hand planted firmly in the small of my back. "I'll walk with you," he said. Damn if that voice shouldn't require a special license.

"I live in an apartment building a couple of blocks from here," I said, instantly realizing that sounded like an invitation. I hurried to add, "I mean, you don't need to..."

"It's a dangerous world," he said softly. "Let me protect you."

I scoffed and offered up the perfect line. "Who's going to protect me from you?" Not original, I know, but I'd had a few drinks by then. I turned to leave and he followed, but at least he had put his hands in his suit pockets and seemed to be keeping a measured distance between us.

Once outside, I turned to him. "I don't do hookups," I said as firmly as possible.

"I don't either," he said with a shrug.

"Well, it certainly feels like that's where you are trying to go with this," I countered.

"No. I see you as a long-term challenge."

I threw my hands up in exasperation. "Look, you could have had any of my friends. Hell, you probably could have had all three. You don't need to follow me home like a lost puppy. It won't get you in my door."

I spun around and broke into a brisk stride (No fuck-me heels for me.) He fell into step beside me, still maintaining that safe space as well as a companionable silence. He didn't even move closer when I shivered. I hadn't chosen the proper coat for a late night out when I'd left home that morning.

A couple of blocks later, I made sure my doorman was keeping watch and I turned back to my shadow and put my palm firmly against his chest. Damn, his pecs were hard as a rock, of course. "This is where we part company. I have a hard rule. No men in my apartment."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Why?"

"It's a tiny little apartment but it's mine. It is my space."

"Then I need to convince you to make an exception," he said taking my shoulders and pushing me firmly against the brick facade.

"What? Wait... Oh!" When the 'oh' stumbled its way out of my mouth, his tongue took that as an invitation to enter. Okay, to be fair, his hands were cupping my face, not restraining me in any way. I could have slipped away; probably should have. But damn, his tongue was so insistent, so strong, alternately teasing and wrestling with my tongue, probing every nook and cranny of my mouth. I couldn't help it. I imagined that tongue on other parts of my body, insistent, probing. Maybe he sensed my knees getting weak, because he backed away, just a fraction of an inch. His hands slid down to rest on my shoulders. His lips - oh god those lips, slipped past my jaw, with the faintest brush, then stopped right by my ear.

"Invite me in," he whispered. His teeth closed on my ear lobe. I was sure if I tried to pull away, he would draw blood. The message was unmistakable. He wasn't going to let go until I gave him an answer. My belly clenched and I shuddered uncontrollably. Apparently, that was all the answer he needed. He smiled as he took my arm and led me up the steps to the door.

The doorman's eyes were wide as I slipped past him. I'd lived there for a couple of years. He knew my rules about men. But he was too discrete to say anything; now, at least. I was sure I would hear about it later.

As we waited at the elevator, the outward silence was intense, but not nearly as intensely deafening as the thought-storm in my head. Part of my mind screamed, "What are you doing?" Another part screamed back "Have you actually looked at him? What would you not do with him?" Then there was the part that just kept asking if it was too early to start stripping.

Once in the elevator, even before the doors finished closing, he pressed me against the back wall and kissed me again, deeply. I was only vaguely aware that he had pulled my hands over my head and pinned them there. When he pulled back slightly, he smiled - or was it a smirk - and said, "I saw that in a movie. I understand women find it really hot."

I could only gasp, trying to catch my breath. When the elevator doors opened, I wondered if I would be able to remember my apartment number. To hell with the brain being the primary sex organ. Mine was definitely situated much lower. My brain had pretty much shut down for the night with a wakeup call scheduled for late morning.

I fumbled in my coat pocket for my keys as he pulled me from the elevator. He took the keys from me, glanced at them and quickly located the apartment. It didn't hurt that it was right across from the elevator. A moment later, we were inside my apartment, which consisted of a bathroom, a bedroom and an everything else room. He oriented himself quickly and I found myself in the bedroom with no memory of getting there. He was pulling my coat off. The remaining part of my brain, which desperately wanted to get on with things, kept saying "Now? Now?" I even reached for the top button of my blouse, but he caught my hand and pushed it down.

He pulled me close, hands at my back, low on my hips. Somehow he could speak softly, barely above a whisper and yet still in that late night radio voice. "Pretend it's my birthday. I want to be the one to unwrap the package." God, there was no mistaking the hard rod of flesh I felt pressing against my belly. He held me away from him at arm's length, then began a slow, torturous unwrapping. Every time I made to hurry him along, he hushed me and ordered me to be still. A very small, very quiet part of my brain that was still awake asked to know exactly when I started obeying orders from a stranger. I found it easy to ignore.

My blouse eventually floated to the ground. I tried to remember which bra I put on this morning. I only had one that I considered sexy, so odds were it was one of the practical, padded, cotton versions. He went to my skirt next. A button and a zip and it joined the blouse on the floor. My panties were undoubtedly even more mundane than the bra. Would he realize he'd made a bad choice, or a pathetic one, anyway? I dared look at his face; his brow was furrowed gently in concentration. He circled me slowly, admonishing me to remain still at one point.

I closed my eyes in chagrin. This perfect man could have any perfect female he chose. Any hard body from any gym I never went to. Any surgically enhanced top-heavy Barbie. Even any curvy-hipped, genetically-preferred exemplar. Me, I was too small on top, suitable for boy jeans below, and, well, let's just say I would never, ever be described as wasp-waisted.

I felt my bra clasp release, and the shoulder straps slowly slid down my arms. I didn't open my eyes. I felt my panties slide slowly down my legs. I still didn't open my eyes. His hands took mine and pulled me away from my practical mules and the pile of clothes that lay on the floor. I finally opened my eyes. He was looking into mine with that intense dark stare. "Why are you ashamed? Embarrassed?"

"Look at me," I muttered, half afraid he would and then run from the room.

One of his hands suddenly cupped my face. "You have eyes, lips, ears," his thumbnail scraped the bottom of my ear lobe. Who the hell knew that could be erotic? His other hand trailed lower, encircling my throat gently. "You have a neck. You have a collar bone." His fingers traced the arrow of the bones that led downward. "You have breasts, nipples." His fingers slid over and around my flesh, his thumbs pressing against my nipples.

I bit back any sound of pleasure and muttered, "Too small," but he only laughed.

"The smaller the area, the more concentrated the nerve endings." A sudden pinch and twist put evidence to his assertion. I gasped, and he smiled. Point proven. His fingers, spread wide, traced down the plane of my belly. I confess I sucked my tummy in, without any hoping of fooling him. His fingers closed the gap and made for the bush between my legs. I actually thought I might faint, but suddenly I was flat on my back, on my bed, if somewhat askew. His face was above, a few inches from mine. "Are you going to argue that you are inadequate down here?" He asked, and just like that, one of his hands was there.

I gasped and my back arched, and then I squirmed, trying to get his thumb, which was pressing down on my clit, to move, to rub. I felt so pathetically needy. I couldn't meet his eyes as his face remained a few inches from mine and his fingers teased me without mercy. "Answer me," he said, but I couldn't even remember what the question was. His hand disappeared. I shook my head from side to side. I didn't know what was worse; the total withdrawal of sensation, or the overdose of sensation that his fingers had delivered.

One of his fingers slid slowly across my lips, leaving a trail of moisture. "Taste," he ordered. I readily obeyed, anything to get those fingers to return to where I so desperately needed them. My tongue left its own trail of moisture. "What do you taste?" He demanded.

"Hunger. Need." That little voice in my brain that wouldn't shut up was shouting, "Desperation," but I wasn't ready to confess that out loud. He leaned down and his mouth descended on mine. I arched my back, trying to increase the contact with him, but he kept all but his mouth and glorious tongue just out of reach. I reached to pull him closer, and he pinned my arms at my sides. Then even his lips pulled away. Just an inch, but it might as well have been a mile.

"I'm looking at you. What do I see?" His eyes bored into mine. His voice was stern, demanding an answer. Oh gods, he wanted to play some kind of mind game and most of my brain was asleep on a beach in Tahiti.

"A woman," I stuttered. I was playing for time, trying to figure out what he wanted me to say so that he would get back to the sweet torment he had inflicted on my body.

"What woman?" He demanded, pulling away entirely to stand beside the bed. I sat up, looking for something in reach to wrap around myself. This wasn't going at all well. I spotted my robe at the end of the bed and reached for it, but he snapped it away. "A strong woman? A bold woman? A beautiful woman? Or a woman that tags along with others to avoid being alone?" Nope, not well at all.

"That last one," I replied, intently studying the bedspread.

Suddenly, he was in my face again, refusing to let my eyes wander anywhere away from his. "I see a woman capable of being strong, bold, beautiful. Of leading, not following. I see a woman who can light fires in the hearts of men." He pressed forward and I fell back on the bed. "I can make you that woman." His lips brushed mine, but when I lifted my head, desperate for more, he moved out of reach. "But you must obey me, do everything I tell you to do, without question." That niggling part of my brain that was still with me wanted to know how obedience made someone strong. I ignored it. "Can you do that, cherie?"

Adrenalin surged through my body. He was leaning over me, braced on his arms, waiting for an answer. "I don't know," I stammered. What I had really wanted to say was "Yes, of course, now touch me." It just got garbled on the way out. But once the words were out, I expected cold anger from him. Instead he straightened and removed his suit jacket.

"Then let's find out." He stared darkly down at me as his fingers slowly unbuttoned his shirt. I stared hungrily back at him.

"You can do this," the voice of what was left of my brain cheered me on. "What's one night?" "One night, indeed," I answered silently as his Adonis-carved chest came in to view. His eyes never left me as he bent to remove his shoes. He was moving so slowly, so methodically, even folding his clothes as he removed them. It felt like forever before he was back, leaning over me, one knee resting beside me on the bed. If, at that point, I had any doubts remaining that he found me somehow attractive, his cock put those to rest. It was at full attention and seemed to stare at me much as his eyes did.

His lips brushed mine softly. "When I say hush, you will not make a sound." They brushed again. "When I say be still, you will not move, not a muscle. Do you understand?" I nodded, but he immediately snapped, "Say it!"

"I understand," I agreed.

Immediately, his mouth was on mine, tongue demanding entry and his body was pressing mine into the mattress. It was hard to breathe and I didn't care. After a few moments, he pulled back slightly. "When I put you in a position, you will remain in that position until I move you or give you permission to move. When I tell you to wait, you will wait, exactly as you are, no matter how long. You will not speak unless I ask you a question. You will not ask me to do anything for you. You will trust me to know what your body wants and needs. And whether you've earned it. Do you understand?"

"I understand," I replied promptly, though I was promising the voice in my brain that we would bail the minute it got too intense.

"If you disobey, there will be suitable punishment," he continued. "Do you understand?"

My mouth opened, but the words stuck in my throat. "Nothing happens until you say you understand," he warned, starting to pull away from me.

"I understand," I replied quickly, sounding hopelessly desperate. Immediately, he was back, devouring my mouth. I thought that I would climax just from the intensity of his kiss. His cock pressed against my belly, alive and twitching. I thought I would surely die if it wasn't inside me in the next moment, but he wasn't about to rush anything. When he had done with my mouth he slid lower and began on my neck. In places, his lips barely touched, in others he nipped and sucked. I moaned, but softly. I didn't want him to tell me to hush, because I was pretty sure there was no way I could keep from making a sound, especially as he slid lower and found my breasts. Down below, his thigh was spreading my legs, and then his cock was sliding along my pussy lips even as his mouth latched on to a nipple and his tongue went to work on it. The intensity of it was almost unbearable, but his full weight was on me and there was no escape. "Oh, God," I gasped, and immediately, he pulled back.

"Hush," he commanded. I bit my lip and that seemed to satisfy him. He turned his attention to the other breast. His hands enveloped my breasts, the thumb of one hand playing with the nipple he had recently released. Had I really thought my breasts were too small? In his hands they seemed just right. I reached up and laced my fingers through his hair. I thought I felt him smile against my breast. But then, when he had finished tormenting my nipples and his lips and tongue trailed lower, he reached for my hands and pulled them aside, pinning them to the bed. I took that to be the position he required, and to help me keep them there, I grasped a handful of bedspread on each side. "See, I can do this," I congratulated myself. Then he reached my navel. I had never thought of my navel as an erogenous zone. But then, I suppose no one had ever stuck their tongue in it before. An electrical shock shot from my navel straight to somewhere near my g-spot. I both gasped and arched my back. Giant fail. But maybe he didn't notice. I glanced down toward the top of his head. He was diving again for my navel, but his eyes were looking back up at me. Oh, yeah. He noticed. Worse, he easily elicited much the same response when he repeated the navel attack. By that point, I was pretty sure I was hyperventilating.