Encounter in Darkness

The next morning at the publishing house, Edward looked at her closely. Obviously he would have been told by Sam just how late she had left. "Little shade of dark under the eyes," he said, with a wry smile. "I'm so pleased you had a good night."

They put in the afternoon at the book festival, and Edward invited her to his home for an evening meal. She was delighted to meet Dorothy, his wife, a tall, elegant, lady, and Sara hoped she could look that good in her later years. Dorothy was interested to know whether Sara had considered Edward's offer. "He tells me everything," she said, with a smile. "It would be lovely if you took the offer, and I'm sure it would take a load off him.

Sara told them both that she was considering their kind offer. And before she left, Edward reminded her that the following day, being Sunday there would be no festival. "I think I'll see a bit of New York." Sara told him.

And that was her intention, when she awoke the following morning. The day was set fair. After a shower, she dressed in a thin summer dress, and was about to set off without any real direction in mind, when the internal phone rang.

Answering it, Sara was surprised to be told that a Mr Grover was downstairs asking for her. Stanley Grover? Why would he be calling to see her?

Puzzled, and reckoning the desk clerk was not a movie fan, when he did not recognise the name of a top movie director..

"Tell him to come up to room 526," she told the clerk, immediately wondering if that had been wise, remembering the lustful glint in Stanley Grover's eyes.

"I've done that, madame, but he said, it would be best if you could meet him in the lounge."

"Tell him I'll be down." Mystery on mystery. First why the visit? And then , he was such an open character, why wouldn't he come up to her room? Discretion? She doubted that.

Stepping out of the lift, Sara turned left through the arch leading into the lounge. Hereyes cast around the room, seeking out the silver hair, or if he was standing, the rotund belly. She briefly spotted a man seated to her left, and his dark hair discounted him. The same for the man who sat at the bar, and another at the other side of the room. Everyone else was in pairs or in a party. So where was Stanley Grover?

Realising she would need to ask at the desk she began to turn away, when the man sitting to her left, spoke out, "Excuse me, Miss Manning? Sara Manning?"

Facing him, as he came to his feet, Sara told him that was right. But already her heart was beating faster. Tall, dark haired and really quite handsome, he was wearing a lightweight blue blazer, over a white shirt. His brown eyes were traversing over her whole body, and his face held a 'I don't believe it' expression. He spoke again, "I'm Ian Grover. You were probably expecting my father."

Sara tried to catch her breath in order to speak coherently, "I certainly wasn't looking for a man with that deep brown voice."

His grin was attractive, "Do voices have colour?"

Little doubts began to seep into Sara's mind. Maybe she was jumping to conclusions. This couldn't be who she was hoping it was. Deep brown voices weren't one man's prerogative. But that voice linked to the Grover name? Was that coincidence?

Ian Grover resolved it all for her, "I can see you are just a little uncertain. Maybe this will help." And he held out a small black plastic bag which had been near his left hand. "Take it. Look inside."

He was lead once more and she obeyed, and there was the clincher-the panties she'd left in room number four.

Ian Grover shrugged, "That's all I came for. To return your missing-er—garment." He moved towards the arch.

Sara was sure he was about to walk away. She didn't want that. He turned suddenly, and must have noted the despairing look on Sara's face, for he smiled, shrugged, before telling her, "That was a big lie."

Sara moved towards him as though he was a magnet. "Was it?" she said numbly.

"Truth is, I've been trying to find you since Friday night."

Sara just couldn't get her mind around this situation. She was seeing this man, this Ian Grover, for the first time, yet he had had access to every corner of her body, and she knew far too much about his. Just what was in his mind?

Ian Grover settled that one very quickly, "Look, are you free for a while. Central Park is just across the road. Would you mind walking with me, and I'll explain."

Mind? Although struck almost dumb, Sara could think of nothing she would rather do. Within seconds, they were out on the street, and he took her hand as they hurried to cross. As they entered the park his hand did not release hers, and she could only think that these broad fingers had been in her most intimate parts.

Ian looked down at her, "If I say too much, say the wrong thing, please stop me. I'm not here to embarrass you in any way. I just had to know the lady who had given me such good sensations the other night."

The park was quite busy, it being Sunday. Little groups had formed around the various artists and musicians who put on impromptu performances along the walkways. Sara felt so calm, so elated, to be walking with this man, this stranger, this lover. That thought pulled her back for a moment, but then made her smile.

"What are you smiling at?" Ian asked.

"Passing thoughts."

"About our time together?"

"Partly," she said. Totally, she meant.

"Anyway, I didn't see my father until last night. He's always chasing around on business. Fancy a coffee?".

Slightly irked by his breaking his story, Sara agreed, and soon they were sipping latte at a small table, while happy folk wandered by.

Ian sighed, "I love it here. Sunday in the Park with George. Did you see that show?"

Sara told him she hadn't, and he went on, "Last night I asked my father if he knew anything about the lady who had been in room four. And you know what he said?"

Sara was keen to know just what Stanley Grover had said.

"I thought you'd appreciate a taste of a beautiful English rose. Those were his very words."

Sara was trying to assimilate that piece of information. "You mean, he knew it was you in that room?"

Ian nodded, his eyes studying her reaction, "He can be a sneaky old bastard, my father. And he naturally assumed, since I was asking about you, that you'd been something special . He wasn't wrong there."

His brown eyes appeared to glow, and Sara was sure she was blushing. She just had to recover some ground here, try to lose this feeling of being caught in a strong current that was pulling her towards a waterfall. "I suppose he told you who I'd come with on Friday night."

"Oh, yes. I know Edward quite well, and I've been to see him this morning. Of course, I didn't tell him about the circumstances of our meeting." He smiled at her, "We'd just had a casual chat."

"And he accepted that?"

"Well, he's a wily old bird, but God, he thinks the world of you, doesn't he? Said how he was amazed how you had remained unmarried. Told me he had offered you a job over here. That would be perf-" He checked himself. "Anyway he told me where you were staying, but warned that you might be away seeing the sights of New York. And here we are."

"Here we are." Sara said, beginning to warm to having his eyes on her face. Warming too, to his broad smile, his strong jaw line, and the comfort she had found when his hand had held hers.

Even as that thought was in her head, Ian reached across the table to clasp bother her hands, and say in a so familiar growling tone, "Would you do me the honour of allowing me to guide you on your tour of New York?"

Only slightly taken aback, Sara had no hesitation in accepting his offer. His car was parked back at the hotel, and they were soon driving down Fifth Avenue. Ian asked if she wanted to see all the sites without spending time at each. "You can give time to individual places if you take Edward's job."

The prospect of that job had suddenly taken on a new perspective for Sara. But for that day they cricked their necks gazing up to the top of the Empire State Building, looked over the water to the Statue of Liberty, and Ellis Island. They took in the Flat Iron building and moved up Broadway to Times Square.

So many other quick-view places, and the whole time out of the car they held hands. As lovers do, Sara thought, and the idea was so pleasing she was certain there was a moistening between her thighs. Their night together was never mentioned until they were in Times Square, although Sara kept telling herself to stop misreading the way Ian kept looking at her. Not sideway glances, but direct, full on, his eyes boring into her mind as though trying to read it. Occasionally those eyes were on her bosom, and Sara only found that even more stimulating.

Ian told her of his work with his father, as, what he called, "A kind of script adviser. I check out scripts that he's accepted. I look for books that might be adapted. In fact I was at the festival on Friday, but didn't see you."

"I'm not very noticeable," Sara said modestly, and was delighted as Ian, briefly, wrapped his arms around her and said, "Oh, yes you are."

As they stood in Times Square he told her that he had tried writing a few scripts of his own. All of which, his father had rejected. "I've just started on one this week." His eyes held hers as he went on, "It's about this mini disaster in the subway. There is a massive power cut and this train is stuck in utter darkness, total black out. Have you any idea what that is like? Anyway, this boy and girl bump into each other-and what would you say should happen next?"

Sara had to return the smile that played on his face, "I've no idea. But how can you film complete darkness?"

They laughed together, and Ian said, "Good point."

As they drove back to the hotel, Ian said, "I only learned your name this morning. My father couldn't remember it. I was so glad you hadn't the 'air' sound in it, with that 'ah' sound, Sara, it is just like a sigh." He had driven down into the underground car park, applied the hand brake and turned to her and repeated, "Just like a sigh, Sara."

He said it with such breathy gentleness that Sara was compelled to lean into him, and the moment their lips met they were clinging to each other, and Sara was recalling the first kiss in room four, when he had scolded her for her use of her tongue. There was no scolding this time, and they meshed together.

Panting, Sara pulled away, knowing exactly what she wanted, only needing to find the right words, "Would I-would I be—like a brazen hussy-if I was to invite you to see the lovely view from my hotel room?"

"I have a thing for brazen hussies," he said, rubbing his lips over her cheeks. "A view of the park, is it?"

"Of everything," she said, shamelessly.

"But just remember," he grinned, his face close to hers, his hand on the side of her breast, " We've only just met."

On entering her room, Sara momentarily had the ludicrous 'first date' idea in her mind. "I'd never do it on a first date." How many times had she said that? But this, here and now, was so remote from that, and it was enhanced just moments later, as they stood face to face, hand in hand, and Ian said, "My finger described that beautiful face to me, so accurately on Friday night. It is gorgeous."

"Does that mean you'd like to kiss me?"

Without delay they were standing locked together, mouths together, tongues wrestling. Sara was very aware of the moistening between her thighs. She was even more aware of his hardness pressing against her lower belly, as though searching for that moisture.

Breaking apart, it was Ian who asked, "Clothes?"

To avoid any delays or awkwardness Sara suggested, "A race?"

"You're on," Ian said eagerly, immediately unfastening his shirt buttons.

Within seconds they were declaring a draw, and they were standing, slightly in awe, each absorbing the body that they had experienced, but had never seen.

"Just as faultless as I assumed," Ian admitted, and Sara could not avoid a little shudder of pleasure as his eyes caressed over her breasts, and down over her belly to that other region.

Sara had known that he would be well muscled, but even so, she was captivated by the way every part of him was well proportioned from shoulders, down to his slim waist. Of course, she had no doubt about what his penis would be like. Hadn't she already taken it in her mouth? Hadn't it been inside her to its very limit? But seeing it there now, pointing out at her in all its glory, was electrifying.

Ian reached out for her hand, and led her gently towards the bed, "I know we've touched before, but it would be good to have a reminder."

Sara willingly lay back on the bed, and Ian lay alongside but over her, and said quietly, "No 'lead', no 'obey, just you and I, in daylight, and we may ask each other for whatever we want, and be eager to give in."

Then they were kissing, and it was just one step short of desperation, as their tongues searched, tangled, swept along the inside of each others cheeks. For Sara the kiss set a thousand electrodes teasing her, low in her belly. Ian's hand was stroking, squeezing lovingly at her breast. She ran her hand down to his hip, and reached for his penis. Her hand was able to make only slight contact. Ian shifted his body position, and his enormous organ was fully in her hand,

Sara recalled that in room four she had been able to take it in two hand, now she had the scope to slide her fingers up and down over it. She grunted as his hand moved swiftly down to finger at her labia, subtly slip between those lips and touch her clitoris.

Within just a few seconds that whole pretence of casualness was gone, and Ian was poised with his penis head nestling at her vaginal lips. "Time?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, yes. Definitely time." She managed to breathe, and lay almost stunned as that penis moved slowly, gradually, but with steady determination, up, up deep inside her. Ian's face was above hers and she knew he was watching her reactions to each thrust. At first he was thrusting, slowly, but gradually it became faster and stronger.

Sara flexed her vaginal muscles, to draw him in, as she attempted to match the rhythm of his pushes with the vigour of her own hips. She could tell by his breathing, and his increase in pace that he was nearing his climax, and she was relieved at that, for without any extra stimulation having been applied, she knew she was about to float away on whatever cloud was passing at the time.

That time came as, with two massive final thrusts, and a gargantuan cry, Ian burst inside her, and Sara let herself go, as her vaginal walls flared, and that fire that Ian had ignited in room four blazed inside her sparks throughout her lower body, and beyond. The sensation of his fluid pulsing into her, again and again, was almost startling.

It was a very old line to say, "I've never had it like this," but if it wasn't in room four then it was now.

They lay still for a while, and Ian said quietly, but she detected the laugh in his voice, "Not much happened there, did it?" And he grunted as her elbow drove into his ribs, and she replied, "I was brilliant."

Ian kissed her and whispered, "Yes, you were."

They showered together, soaped hands over eager skin was fantastic, and Sara's bathing of Ian's flaccid penis saw it begin to revive. Then they were back on the bed, and their mouths took control. Sara sucked avidly on Ian's hard as metal penis, having told him, "I want it to finish in me down there again, but I promise I will take it all before long."

Ian had hugged her at that, and said how delighted to hear her first suggestion of longevity in their relationship. "I know I couldn't be happy with anyone else."

When he was poised between her thighs, and had parted her labia with his thumbs before reintroducing his tongue to her clitoris, he said something which reminded Sara of what he had said in the same situation in room four. "Ah, I knew you would be that colour in there. And if voices do have colour, as you say, then, this colour down here perfectly matches your wonderful English accent."

Their orgasms on this occasion were as near together as they had yet achieved. Before trying again, they talked about Sara leaving the following evening, and Ian asked, "Have I helped make your mind up about that job offer?"

There was no doubt in Sara's mind. She would let Edward know she accepted, his offer. She'd fly home to clear up all her loose ends there, say farewell to a few friends. She leaned happily over Ian and asked, "But accepting Edward's job will not be the only reason I'll be returning. It may take me a week or so to clear things over there, but will I find you waiting for me when I return?"

"For that laugh, that roseate accent, and the other colourful assembly you have, I will wait, and wait, and wait. You can be sure of that."

And Sara knew that he would, as she recalled her thoughts when she arrived, about the chances of having a romantic encounter in the brief time she was here. Could she have ever imagined she'd find that encounter in pitch darkness?

Sara Manning was a very happy lady.