The Proposal Ch. 01

It was probably the first place she had ever been that truly could be called a "Lounge." After all, there had been many bars, joints, clubs and other assorted locales that had born such a title through their neon and plywood signs, but they all tended to lack that essential quality that let you truly 'lounge.' Most of them were loud joints, with music blaring, cheap beer on tap, and guys in dirty t-shirts and flip flops trying to look down your shirt while they tell you how big their dick is. Usually not in those words, but the message is the same, isn't it?

But this place was different. Named "Reflections," and hidden away on the 45th floor of the Hilton Downtown, it had elevated itself to #1 on her list of best kept secrets in the city. The view of downtown was breathtaking, the city lit up, the lights from the football stadium in the distance serving as a dramatic backdrop for the slow crawl of traffic down the main drags, and people scurrying through the encroaching cold. January around here could be a bitch. And the drink and cigar selection was extensive.

She turned back towards the piano sitting on an elevated platform, letting herself go in the song. The woman was not splayed across the black wood, but standing at the microphone, slowly swaying with her own voice, accompanied by the two men behind her. Amber loved it.

Unfortunately, it had been another failed date to get here. Spencer had seemed like a nice guy, a lawyer dealing with copyright law. They had meet through work, which should have been her first clue. An intern with an accounting firm, she had been tasked with helping the accountants hired by his team of legal beagles to find some discrepancies in a tech firms books. It had been two months of backbreaking labor, pouring over books that were shoddy at best, down right felonious at worst.

But throughout it all Spencer had been an upbeat, friendly face. He was human to the people that worked for him, and managed to make her laugh when they were still in the office at ten at night. So obviously laughing had lead to a bit more, before they had managed to recover their professional decorum, and postpone any hanky-panky until after the project was complete.

Which had been last Thursday. So he had called her, and on this Friday they found themselves in the Hilton Queen's Ballroom at some charity function. It had taken him precisely 38 minutes to get sloppily drunk. At 55 minutes he had interrupted the keynote speaker by screaming out loudly, and throwing a tumbler of scotch at some of his friends at another table. At 1 hour, 6 minutes those friends had thrown two back. She had left not twenty seconds later.

The sign for the lounge had caught her eye on the way out, as she mentally calculated her chances of finding a cab, downtown, at seven at night on a Friday. Things did not look good. But the promise of a relaxed drink did, so she ascended upwards in the glass elevator, grabbed a seat at the bar, and let herself go in the music and atmosphere, the stress of the week and the pain and embarrassment of a bad date bleeding away.

Jonathan stepped out of the elevator, and looked down onto the city. He loved it here, loved living in the city. To bad that his ex-wife hated everything about it, and had done her best to poison the last ten years of his existence here. Which was amazing, seeing how she had been on the West Coast, three thousand miles away, for the last two of that decade. Women were another thing that fascinated him.

Turning to his right, he was greeted by Mario, who worked the Reflections coatroom. He handed the man his heavy overcoat and gloves, glad to be rid of the layer. He loved winter as much as the next man, but this one had not really been up to snuff. Little snow, lots of rain. If this kept up, he might have to permanently relocate somewhere with guaranteed annual snowfall. To bad most of those places were closer to the ex-wife. He really had to stop thinking about her.

The lights in Reflections were always dim, letting outside lighting play in, and giving the place an intimate, comfortable ambiance. He had seen that the charity ball downstairs was letting out, and he hoped that it did not filter up here. He doubted it, those things rarely did, but shit happened. He had an invitation to that abortion somewhere in his house, but he stayed away from such functions, sending a check instead. Nothing worse then a bunch of rich and wanna-be-rich people standing around telling each other how great they are because they gave peanuts to starving kids in Africa.

His eyes danced across the bar, and he spotted Rick trying to catch his eye. Heading his way at the back end of the teak bar, the massive black man leaned down to his friends level. "Seat number four, came up earlier. Bad date downstairs."

"What makes you think I'm here for that tonight?"

"You're always after that."

"Touché, touché."

He walked back down the bar, and sat next to the indicated seat, admiring the back view of a beautiful woman. Her hair was almost auburn in color, a deep, passionate flavor of hair. It even smelled good, and he was a good foot away from it. The gown she was wearing gave away that she not dressed up for a night at the clubs, but for something a bit more formal. It was a shoulder-and-sleeveless affair, dipping dangerously low towards her derriere, exposing a nice hourglass figure, tapering into a narrow waist, and a nice roundness sitting straight up and down on her stool. She was swaying gently back and forth with the music, one hand on the glass sitting on the bar. The fingers were long and elegant, with dangerously red nails tapping alternately on the bar and the glass.

He did not realize it, but he must have been staring, because suddenly he realized that she had turned around, and was looking him dead in the eye. Her eyes were big and green, dominating a face that was the picture of angelic innocence, with pouty red lips, a cute small nose, defined cheekbones and a high forehead. Her make up was soft and accenting, drawing attention away from the small groups of freckles that spotted the otherwise flawless skin on her cheeks.

But looking at him she was, and the alarm claxons were going crazy in his frontal lobe, trying to get the Duty Brain cells to get the mouth into gear, fire up the conversation processors, DO SOMETHING! But duty brain cell was not answering the radio, mainly because currently his eyes had tracked down her front, and realized that not only did she have a nice ass, but that her gown had a slit up the side to the top of very nice legs, which gave way to a flat stomach, which gave way to a very nice rack, the top of her gown barely containing the breasts looking up at him.

"Hello." Her voice did not come towards him the way that normal sound waves do, did not vibrate the air between them and resonate in his eardrums. It was more of a wave, like a cloud of perfume that envelops and intoxicates you. It was low and smoky at the same time, with a gentle purring quality, with no hostility or aggression, just an offering of an opening.

Finally the Duty Brain cells ripped themselves away from the periscope, and hit the emergency startup button. The lungs fired up the oxygen burners, and the cortex spun into high gear, instantly developing a response, spitting out his most charming line.

"Hello."

She smiled, slowly, spreading from the edge of her lips all over her face, like the sun rising. It was all he could do to tear his eyes away from hers, her emeralds mesmerizing him. "Can I buy you another drink?" Somehow the message that her glass was empty had gotten through, and he was acting on it. Small miracle at this point.

"I'm not sure. Already had one bad experience with a man today, why ruin the moment and create the opportunity for another?"

"Yeah, Rick told me. I was just offering it out as an apology from the rest of us, who would never treat you like that." He was not really sure what last dude had done, but he was an idiot, and he was already thanking him. He had always been on his best at the rebound.

"You must come here often, if you know the bartender by name."

Jonathan shrugged. He did not think it would help his cause to mention that he was a co-owner of the place, and that Rick was his personal trainer with a need for extra income. So instead he just waved at the man, and made a motion that told him to refill her, and bring him his regular vodka and cranberry.

She watched as Rick poured the drinks and deposited them before them on the little stone coasters, sliding her now empty glass beneath bar with a smile.

"Well, thank you, I guess." She smiled at him again, and he told her that if she smiled like that again, he would buy her another one. Finally she laughed. "A charmer, are we?"

"Flattery gets you everywhere."

"Ain't that the truth!"

She watched as his eyes briefly roamed the room, tracing across the people, the piano, back to the massive walk in humidor, the bar, and then back to her. There seemed to be restlessness in him that she found rather alluring at the moment. "Am I keeping you from something?"

"No, I'm scooping out where I can abscond you to if the abortion from downstairs spills over."

"You look like the type that would go to such a thing."

"I hate them. I have an invitation somewhere at my house, but as you can tell, I did not attend."

They looked up at Ricky as he approached, indicating the racks behind the bar with his head. "Anything tonight?"

Jonathan cast a look at Amber, then shrugged, thinking why the hell not. "You smoke cigars?"

"Rarely."

"Good enough." He nodded to Ricky, who disappeared through the stained glass door, reappearing a second later with two aluminum cylinders.

He did Amber first, cutting the back, and then letting her roll the cancer crutch in the flame from the massive torch he produced. Jonathan almost forgot inhale as he watched her smoke, adding an extra couple of seconds to the display of flame.

It was an intoxicating sight; the way her slender fingers held the cigar, bringing it up to lips that slowly enveloped it. She closed her eyes, cheeks slowly sucking in, and the look on her face was one of relaxed bliss as she let the cancer stick slip out, and she exhaled up and away from him. It was a very sensual display, one he could have watched all night.

"Is this your usual Friday night pursuit, chat up lonely girls in cigar bars and watch them smoke?"

"No, I was actually just thinking that I should do this more often. And besides, Friday nights should not be spent in sobriety, nor in loneliness."

"You came in alone."

"But I come here, where I know everybody."

"Good one." She looked around, not really sure who he meant by everybody. Besides the bartender, there was the singer, her pianist, and a man stringing a guitar. Three waitresses prowled the place, and she could make out about ten or so more patrons. "I just found the place earlier."

"It is a bit of a secret." Makes it more exclusive that way, he did not add.

"So am I into the secret club now, I have to keep the secret?"

"Sure do."

"You the club president?"

"One could say so. I'm Jonathan."

"Amber."

"Naturally."

"Excuse me?"

"Beautiful woman, beautiful name. Damn, that's a pretty bad line." They laughed together.

"You guys have a secret handshake?"

"Yup."

She offered her hand, and he shook it, up and down twice, then let go. She gave him a bit of a queer look, then turned her hand over. He had slipped a piece of paper between her fingers. Slowly she unfolded it, the writing simply reading "Room #2718." Her look turned questioning, and she saw something flash in his eyes.

"It's an offer."

"An offer?"

"Well, we can sit here all night, and I will do my best to dig you out of that dress. I put my chances at about 70%, gauging from everything I know. By the time we get through all that we'll be decently drunk, and it will be about eleven o'clock or so. We'll go to the room, and do our thing. It will be mind-blowing for me, but probably only ok for you. I'm not that young anymore, late hours and alcohol conspire to rob me of my athletic abilities. So instead, why don't we just go down there now, I rock your worlds as best as this old man can, and then we do whatever comes to mind."

He smiled as he finished his little monologue, realizing that his chances now were about an even 50:50. But it did conserve the rest of the night, which meant that if this did not work out, he had all night to try something else. But he really wanted this one.

She leaned back in her chair, slowly sipping her Cosmopolitan, her eyes roaming him. His suit was custom tailored, she could tell by the buttons on the arms and the material she had felt brush up against her when they had shaken hands. The white shirt and tie were of the same high quality. His skin was tanned and was the first indicator that he had passed the legal age for drinking a while back, probably about twenty years or so. But aging had probably made him more attractive, she admitted as she looked into his eyes.

They were a deep brown, surrounded by small laugh lines and crows feet that joined the graying temples and black hair to give him a distinguished appearance. He was sitting straight up and down, and she could tell that he kept in shape by the way his body managed to hold the form and the suit with no problem. She had been with an older man once, a man who had probably forgotten more about sex then all the rest of her partners put together had known. He had displayed that same subtle confidence, a knowledge of self that was not arrogance but an understanding of ones abilities and limitations acquired through a life of living.

She set down the glass, and looked back at the piece of paper. "Meet you there in ten minutes."

He watched her slide out of her seat, smiling at him past hair hanging into her face, and then glide across the floor towards the ladies room. His eyes followed her every move, the way her hips moved, the flow her hair, the soft scent she left behind teasing him with what he hoped was to come. How delicious.

The elevator chimed as the doors parted, and she stepped out onto the 27th floor, already impressed. Unlike the Motel 6's and Quality Inn's that had defined most of her hotel experience so far, the lighting here was a bit more subdued, not the harsh hospital illumination favored by many. The artwork on the walls looked a lot better, and the carpet beneath her seemed to muffle her steps, absorbing her step as she moved along.

She came to the door with the ornate 18 on it, watching it glide open when she knocked. The click of the lock behind her sounded unnaturally loud, but she put that down to nerves. In here, the carpet was even higher quality, and the pictures on the wall were of vivid nature scenes. She walked down the short hallway, seeing a half bath in a hotel room for the first time. The living room she looked like it belong in an upscale private home, with the entire back wall being glass, looking down on the stadium. One could probably watch a football game from here, if you didn't mind the players looking like ants with jerseys on.

He was standing by the glass, turning towards her when he heard her enter the room. She accepted the champagne flute he offered, and they looked down on the city, sipping silently. He could see her shoulders and back clench and relax, and he smiled to himself at the display of nervosity.

"You see that line of lights down there, along the edge of the interstate."

"Yeah."

"That's City Park."

"Really?" He worked his way back, pointing out other city landmarks, including the university she attended. The conversation came easy and natural, moving from things they liked and disliked about the city to the professional sports teams that called it home, until they were both sitting on the couch, on their second glass of champagne, laughing together at her predictions for next years world series.

When the kiss came, it was natural, a slow, relaxed conclusion to something that they had both hoped for. It was not rushed, not frantic, but a peaceful enjoyment of each others lips and tongues that took their breathes away, and left them glued together by passion. He came back for more, and she willingly gave it to him.

Crawling into his lap, she felt his hands on her, felt him touch her, felt him kiss her. But there was no urgency, and he took his time, building her ember into a raging fire with his fingers. They seemed to be everywhere, and she felt his teeth on her neck, lips on her back, hair rising standing up to greet him.

She had never experienced it before, the slow enjoyment of the beauty she had to offer, never listened to the soft whispers of treasures discovered, never enjoyed the comfortable dance of mutual seduction. Jonathan took his time with her, and she greatly appreciated it.

The move to the bedroom was not a frantic race, but more a slow journey with uncertain outcomes, and many stops in between. It left him naked, and she marveled at the firmness of the body she had discovered. He was very fit for his age, not the bulging muscles and tendons of boys her own generation, but with the type of body built by a lifetime of hard work, a life fully lived, and the marks and stories that come with such work.

When he finally slipped the gown over her head he marveled at what he found, kissing every inch of her skin, and leaving her wanting more. She offered it, but he refused, taking his time with her.

It was a match she could not win, no matter how hard she fought. The more she pushed it on him, the more he slowed her down. The more she fought it, the more he gained. She tried to speed up, but he only slowed down more, loving every inch of her with his lips and fingers. She cried and screamed in frustration as he pinned her hands above her head, sucking her nipples, teasing her pussy.

Her thong slipped aside, forgotten somewhere as he pushed his fingers inside, and she begged for relief as he toyed with her clit, licking her tits. Her whole body shook when he granted her wish, but he was not done, and continued to drive her higher and higher, promising sexual ecstasy while delivering excitement unlike any she had ever felt.

She writhed on the bed as he made another journey down her skin, out of breath already, and realizing that they had not even started yet. He was playing her like a violin, eliciting the sounds he wanted, and bending her to his will. His tongue on her clit drove her mad, and she screamed his name again as he tongue-fucked her.

He started at the outside, moving past her lips, pushing inside, stopping to take liberal time at her clit and pussy opening, before moving in and out, up and down, eating her, tasting her sweetness, licking her wetness, enjoying her body and soul. Her legs wrapped around his head, his hands continued their dance, and she cried, screamed and begged.

It was madness, it was stars she saw flashing before her eyes, it was the continuous shaking of her body from the orgasms he gave her; it was her sweating, panting, eyes rolling back in her head from the experience. It was too much, and it was unlike anything she had ever felt before.

It was an expected outcome when he entered her, but it was a release in and of itself when she felt him inside her. She clawed his back, tried to suck him deeper into her, her heels digging into him, her voice straining as she cried out. It was not gentle, it was not soft, it was hard loving, the kind she had dreamed of, the kind given to her by a man who was certain what he wanted, and knew for a fact what she needed. His cock felt massive in her, the big head teasing her lips and frigging her clit as he fucked her with strong, hard thrusts.

They were glued together by sweat, combined in panting and sucking air, their bodies moving independent yet together, driving each other higher and higher, the night seemingly endless as they lay together, enjoying the presence of the other, kissing, licking, biting, clawing, screwing. His release was just one more step in their journey, but one more that pushed her over the edge.