Chapter 28 #2
He rewards looking, and I take my time about it.
Shirt open two buttons, the strong column of his throat, forearms bared where the sleeves are pushed back, veins standing under tan skin, the watch catching lamplight, big hands quiet on his knees, all of that ordnance sitting obediently on the end of a bed because I pointed.
Power looks best where it’s been set down on purpose.
“In what capacity?”
“To be determined by performance.” I unpin my hair, take my time about it, watch his eyes follow my hands the whole way down. “There are two roles available to you this evening, Mr. Conti. Useful, or decorative. The management reserves the right to reassign you without notice.”
“And the scoring?”
“Marks awarded and revoked throughout. I’m considered a hard marker.
” I cross to him, tip his chin up with one finger, and stand between his knees in the lamplight, eighteen weeks of us between us, his hands staying exactly where I haven’t yet told them to be, which earns him, though I don’t say it aloud, his first two points. “The review begins now. Impress me.”
He starts with my hands, which no one has ever thought to impress before. One wrist at a time, his mouth at the inside of each, where September left marks that have faded to history, thorough, silent, his eyes up on mine the whole time, awaiting scores.
“Adequate,” I say. It takes more voice than I planned. “Two points.”
“Out of?”
“Withheld. A good reviewer never shows the scale. Shirt.”
He takes it off, all decision, no ceremony, and I take my time.
The rib scar runs its pale seam. The shoulders carry their bulk without theater.
His forearms rest heavy on his knees, veins raised, hands open, all of it sitting quietly on the end of a hotel bed awaiting instruction, which does something to a woman’s scoring objectivity that I keep off my face.
“Milan performs. You audit.” I told him that the first night, at a rail, before I knew his name. I lean in and give him the correction against his jaw. “Tonight you perform. I audit.”
“Noted.” His voice has gravel in it already. “The reviewer’s preferences?”
“Will be issued one at a time.” I let the robe slip from my shoulders and watch his eyes follow the fabric down.
Eighteen weeks sits high and round between us.
The way he looks at it makes heat drop straight through me.
“Hands first. Here.” I guide his palms to my tits, heavier now, nipples already tight. “Squeeze. Good. Three points.”
He obeys immediately, thumbs brushing over my nipples until I have to bite my lip.
I spread my legs wider on the edge of the bed and point.
“Mouth. Lower. Lick my pussy like you mean it.” He drops to his knees without hesitation.
The first slow drag of his tongue makes my thighs twitch.
“Flatten it. Hold it there. Four points.” He does exactly what I say, broad, steady, and I feel myself getting wetter against his mouth.
“Now suck my clit. Gentle at first. Five points.”
His hands stay where I put them, one braced on my thigh, the other sliding up to rest warm over the bump.
I keep scoring him out loud, voice already starting to fray.
“Two fingers. Fuck me with them while you suck. Six points.” He pushes in slow and curls them just right.
The suite is quiet enough that I can hear exactly what his fingers are doing to me.
I rock against his face and try to keep my voice even. “Good. Seven points. Don’t stop.”
He improvises once. He sucks my clit harder than I told him to, adds a third finger without asking, stretching me sudden and deep. The shock of it whites out the edges of my vision.
“Point revoked,” I manage, breathless.
“File an appeal.” He laughs against my pussy, low, rough, then goes back to exactly what I asked for, patient, thorough, until I’m shaking.
When I’m ready I push him onto his back and climb over him.
I take his cock in my hand, thick, hot, and rub the head through my slick folds before I sink down.
The stretch is slow and perfect. I settle onto him with a long exhale, feeling him fill me completely, my belly resting on him.
“Hands on my hips. Don’t move them unless I say.
Eight points.” I start to ride him at my own pace, rolling my hips in deep, grinding circles that let me feel every inch.
His cock drags against the right spot with every movement and I have to brace one hand on his chest to stay upright.
The lamplight catches the sweat on his skin, the cords of his throat standing as I take him.
I try to keep talking. “Your cock feels so fucking good inside me. Stay just like that. Nine points.” The words come out rougher, less of them each time.
I ride him harder, faster, chasing it, and the rubric slides off the bed with a soft sound. I don’t reach for it.
At the end I lean down until our foreheads touch, still moving on him in slow, deep rolls. I give the power back the way it was given.
“Off the record now. Impress me.”
He does. Comprehensively. The review will reflect it.
After, I collect my breath on his chest while he lies wrecked beneath me, one arm flung out, the other holding us, the abandoned rubric facedown on the floor with the pen still clipped to it.
After, in the dark, with the bay knocking small change against the jetty and the adjoining suite tactfully pretending not to exist, he traces the line of my shoulder like a man signing something.
“For the record,” he says, “I’ve stayed in this hotel under a false name to prove a wash, and it wasn’t the most interesting thing that happened in the room.”
“That’s because the room got reviewed by a professional.”
“How did the hotel score?” His voice is half asleep, loose, twenty years younger than his reputation. “Final marks.”
“Tomorrow Lev takes his measurements, Rurik takes my notebook, and at breakfast I’ll watch the confession itself, sixty covers laid for twenty eaten, the kitchen firing for fifty anyway.
Then the Ondina takes its last full season.
” I say it to the ceiling, feeling the shape of the odd trade I’ve become, reviews that end empires.
“Sleep, Mr. Conti. You’ve earned your marks. ”
“Final marks,” he insists, half gone.
I consider the question with the gravity it deserves, my head on his chest, four heartbeats going about their business between us, the west wing’s lie waiting in my notebook to be handed to a war, my whole strange sweet dangerous life gathered quiet around this bed.
“The staff’s a disgrace and the bed is getting a very strong write-up.”