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  “It’s that. My experience, of lack thereof.”

  “I don’t care about your past. There’s only the future. Only us.”

  “But that’s just it. There is no past. None.”

  He looks confused, and suddenly his eyes open wider. He begins to speak, but stops in favor of releasing a deep exhale.

  “Oooh,” he says.

  “I knew this was going to be a problem.”

  “No, no, no. It’s not a problem at all. It’s absolutely beautiful. It makes this all the more special.”

  “Are you sure?” I say, not really believing him.

  “I absolutely promise. So special in fact that as much as I want you right here and right now, we can’t.”

  “But I’m ready.”

  “I’m ready too, but we’re not ready. We need to take this step together, and I want it to be special…perfect.”

  “But it is perfect,” I plead.

  “Beautiful,” he says, bringing a finger to my lips. “There’s only one first time. There are no second chances, and I’m going to make absolutely sure your first time is an experience you will cherish forever.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Barbara

  My body walks through the back entrance to the theater, but my mind is somewhere else entirely. All I can think about is tonight, and the “surprise” he has planned for me.

  I’m on cloud nine during my performance. My anticipation of what’s to come has me feeling light, relaxed, and ecstatic.

  He told me he couldn’t make the performance tonight as he had some final preparations he had to make, of course not telling me what those preparations were which just added to the excitement.

  As soon as the evening’s over I take a quick shower at the theater and step outside. He’s promised me car service, but he’s delivered much better…a limousine. The driver offers me a friendly, yet professional, smile and opens the door.

  “At your service, Miss Brown.”

  I step inside, making myself comfortable in the back. I think of how he must have told the driver what I looked like. I wonder how he described me. Whatever he said had worked. There was no doubt in the driver’s mind as to who I was.

  “Can I ask where we’re going?”

  “Yes, ma’am. You’re welcome to ask anything you wish, but unfortunately Mister Bowen has given me very specific, and strict instructions, not to tell you.”

  “Not even a clue?”

  “He was adamant that if your inquiries persisted I was to simply to increase the volume on the radio.”

  I laugh out loud. “He said that?”

  “I think it was somewhat tongue-in-cheek, but I’m not about to take any chances.”

  “You’ve driven for him before?”

  “Going on seven years now, and I certainly want to make it to an eighth. He’s been very generous with me and my family.”

  “He seems very generous with everyone.”

  “I can definitely confirm that. People enjoy being around him, and he’s very open and giving to those he considers close.”

  And he considers me close, I think to myself. The closest it seems.

  Before long driver stops and exits the car. I look out the tinted window at the beautiful building in front of me. There are some words on the building’s facade, but I can’t quite make them out through the window tint. They’re either in white or gold, I can’t tell due to the beautiful lighting that is illuminating the entrance.

  The door opens and I’m greeted by an absolute palace of a building. It’s the thing from a little girl’s fairy tale, but this is no dream…this is real.

  “Do I owe you something?” I turn back to ask.

  “Not a dime,” I hear from beside me, and I look back towards the entrance. “Thank you, Jackson.”

  “My pleasure, Mister Bowen.”

  Brian hands him an envelope and leans in to kiss me on the cheek as his hand finds the small of my back. It fits perfectly there…it belongs there.

  “Shall we?” he asks.

  “We shall.”

  He offers his hand, which I gladly accept. I can read the sign now. St. Regis.

  We enter the building and it’s like the Red Sea parting. The staff all step to the side, greet Brian, and make it known they’re all there to accommodate his every wish and desire…our every wish and desire.

  I realize immediately that Brian was right last night. It was better to wait. As much as I wanted to feel his hands all over my body last night, tonight I’m getting the princess treatment. And I know those strong hands of his will latch onto my body soon enough.

  We arrive at the elevator. The doors are gold plated, and beyond opulent. The doorman is holding one of the elevator doors open with one hand and welcomes us inside with his other hand.

  I can feel the goose bumps on my arms as we begin the ascent. Brian must notice my anticipation, as his grip tightens slightly on mine, reassuring me he’s here for me.

  I look up at him, and he smiles down at me. I like that he’s enjoying this experience as much as I am. For a man who has everything I’m expecting the extravagance of the lifestyle that’s being presented this evening might not register as particularly special for him, but that’s clearly not the case. And not just because of what will happen later in the bedroom, but what’s happening now. The lead up to the main course…the anticipation…the sharing of this moment, and I hope a lot more moments to come.

  The elevator stops and we’re shown to our room. I’m expecting something masculine, modern, and presidential but I know he’s thought of me first when I see DIOR SUITE on the gold plate affixed to the pastel purple door.

  “Oh my god, Brian.”

  “Do you like it?” he says, as the gentleman on staff swings the door open giving me my first look inside.

  “Like it? I love it!”

  I release his hand and walk around the room, spinning in a circle without even thinking about it. I go to the window, and open the blinds. “These views,” I say in a hushed tone.

  Brian’s chatting with the gentleman who showed us to the room, but I barely notice. I’m totally lost in the moment.

  I pick up the brochure on the table and read it silently to myself.

  Offering a bespoke design inside and exceptional views of Central Park and New York’s famous Fifth Avenue outside, the 158-square-meter/1,700-square-foot Dior Suite unites the legacy of the original St. Regis hotel with the French elegance of Dior. Infused with signature soothing, muted hues—subtle greys, purples and whites—and distinctive design details straight from the Dior ateliers in Paris, this sumptuous suite houses a spacious living room with a decorative fireplace and windows overlooking the park and street. An eight-person dining room with complementary kitchen and glamorous statement pieces throughout add to the one-of-a-kind ambiance. Moving into the bedroom, a King bed is topped with lavish Pratesi linens, while the adjacent Italian marble bathroom joins exclusive Remède bath amenities and distinctive design details to create a serene escape from the surrounding city. An additional half bathroom is located off the living room. Reserve online or through your travel professional.

  Your travel professional? I consider a cab ride from one of the five boroughs to the other travel, the cabbie being my “travel professional.” This brochure is talking about someone who’s in charge of finding extravagant accommodations such as these.

  “They’ll be right up with a bottle of champagne,” I hear him say as his arms wrap around me from behind.

  I turn and hug him tight before stepping up on my tiptoes to give him a kiss.

  “Oh. There’s a bottle over there,” I say, noticing a bottle in a bucket on the table.

  “There’s a different one I’d like you to try,” he says. “There’s an excellent non-alcoholic one.”

  “Non-alcoholic champagne?”

  “Believe it or not it exists.”

  “How did you ever hear of it? Wait, let me guess. Your travel professional?”

  �
�You saw that on the brochure as well?”

  “I almost laughed out loud when I saw it.”

  “Me too, and to answer your question I don’t have a travel professional, but with all the plans I have for you one could certainly come in handy.”

  “Plans?”

  “Plans, as in plural, but for now let’s take things one step at a time. Tonight is all about us, about this moment. Let’s not think about the future. There will be plenty of time for that. For now, let’s just enjoy tonight.”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “Your champagne, sir.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Barbara

  “Cheers,” he says.

  “Cheers,” I say, raising my champagne flute to meet his.

  We clink glasses, and he playfully wraps his forearm inside mine, bringing a smile to my face. I love that he’s adding every romantic and thoughtful touch possible. We take a sip, before carefully unlocking our arms.

  His hand slides across my back and we turn to face Central Park together. It’s amazing to see New York so green even under the lights of the night. The contrast between the trees and the buildings off in the distance is striking.

  “Thanks for thinking of me with the non-alcoholic champagne.”

  “I’m always thinking of you. You know that.”

  “You never stopped after that first time we met?”

  “Never.”

  I believe him, and it feels incredible to know he was thinking about me all this time.

  “And you knew you would find me?”

  “Eventually. I tried relentlessly the first few years, but nothing. I’m really surprised I wasn’t able to track you down. I figured it would take five minutes, but I hadn’t had a single slimmer of hope for five years.”

  “Five years?”

  “My daughter, who you met, mentioned you one day. I asked her and she said you had moved to Chicago.”

  “I tried to track you down in Chicago, but still no luck. But I knew one day I’d find you.”

  “You didn’t just give up after Chicago?”

  “Never. I’d never consider that.”

  “Well I’m glad you didn’t.”

  “Me too, especially now. Now that we’re here to share this time together.”

  I put my arm around him and squeeze him tight.

  We both look back out across Central Park. I feel his hand run through my hair, lifting my locks at the ends. He leans in and smells it.

  “Your hair smells so beautiful. It’s so silky, shiny, and smooth.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And your skin. I don’t know how you manage to keep it looking so flawless, especially considering all the makeup, perspiration, and those hot lights.”

  “It’s far from flawless, trust me.”

  “I do trust you, but in this case I don’t agree with you. Your skin couldn’t be nicer,” he says, rubbing the back of his free hand across my cheek while his other hand places his drink down.

  He takes my drink from my hand and places it on the table just back inside the room.

  When he returns he takes me by the hand and guides me back into the bedroom.

  He scoops me up in his arms, and before I know what’s happening he’s placing me down on the bed, softly like I’m small and fragile. I like the way he’s making me feel.

  He steps back from the bed and turns off the lights before closing the thin drapes to the balcony, allowing the light from the city to shine in. The light from outside is greatly reduced thanks to the drapes, but still just the perfect amount of illumination to see him, while not feeling conscious about myself.

  “I’m not done,” he says, moving to the other room before returning a couple minutes later with an array of candles on a serving dish. They’re lit and illuminating his sculpted upper body, which is in full view since he decided to remove his shirt while he was in the other room.

  “You’re pressing all the right buttons,” I say.

  “I didn’t even know I started pressing yet.”

  “Oh you have,” I say leaning forward in the bed, grabbing the bottom of the top I have on.

  “Ah, ah, ah. Not yet. That’s my job.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Sir, huh?”

  “Sir.”

  “You’re showing me a lot of respect, and now it’s time that I worship that work of art that is your body.”

  He places his hands at the foot of the bed, before his feet come up of the floor and his knees join his hands on top of the bed. He’s on all fours and ready to come straight at me. He stops to slowly pull off each of my shoes, and I feel my stress levels release even more.

  With his thumb he works circles into the ball of my foot.

  “Ahhh,” I say. “Right there. That…is…perfect.”

  “What about here?” he says, pressing his thumb into the middle of my foot and running it down to my heel.

  “Even more perfect.”

  He takes his thumb and index finger and cups the back of my foot, before pressing into the tight spots and dragging his grip all the way back, before massaging forward again.

  “I thank you from the bottom of my feet,” I say.

  He smiles at my corny joke, which makes me feel more sure of myself in continuing to try and be funny.

  “And from head to toe…I want you to know…you’re putting on one heck of a show.”

  “Jokes and rhymes, huh?”

  “I try.”

  “I like it, but I think those lips were made for something else other than talking. Don’t you?”

  “What might that be?” I say, thinking I know all too well what he has in mind, but soon finding out that he’s thinking about tenderness more than steaminess.

  He’s already on top of me and hovering over me. I’m back on my elbows looking up at him. He’s so masculine and in control above me. I’d submit to him anytime, inexperienced or not.

  He gently moves my hair away from my face and moves in for the kiss.

  The times before he’s always stopped just short, making me want him even more. Not this time. His lips meet mine and my elbows move to the side sending me onto my back.

  “You took my breath away,” I say, half-joking, but half-serious as well.

  “And now I’m going to take your clothes away,” he says, unbuttoning my top so smoothly I can’t believe how quickly it’s off.

  “You look amazing in any color, but especially white.”

  “I thought it would be appropriate for tonight.”

  “Very.”

  His hands return to my hips where he hooks his hands into my nylon, polyester, and lycra bottoms and lowers them down past my legs. He stands next to the bed and pulls them off, inside out, before throwing them across the room.

  “My turn,” he says, as he unbuttons his belt, allowing his pants to drop to the floor. He never takes his eyes off mine, as he steps out of each pant leg. First the right leg and then the left. All that’s left is a pair of white briefs, but these are not the kind you find in the local department store catalog. Even in the limited amount of light in the room I can see the quality of the fabric and the Italian cut that makes him look like a male swimsuit model going for a dip along the French Riviera. He doesn’t look tacky at all, like someone smuggling grapes in a Speedo inspired banana hammock. It’s more like he’s packing heat in those drawers of his.

  Major heat, buy the size of the bulge. I narrow my focus.

  “Horse escape the barn?”

  He looks down to see the head of his cock has broken free. “I wondered where that draft came from.”

  “I can help you with that,” I say. “It’s much warmer back here in bed.”

  “I’m already burning up.”

  “And I’m burning up with desire to feel you inside me.”

  He slides out of his underwear, standing there in his birthday suit. You could never, ever guess he spends his days in an office and eats airplane foo
d at least a few times a week. Somehow he’s managed to keep his body rock hard, from head to toe.

  He comes to the side of the bed and grabs the sides of my panties, sliding them down and off.