Chapter 2: The Negotiation
Otis leaned closer, and the heat of his body seemed to push against the air between them. His voice was a low, coarse rumble that brushed against her ear like a secret, sending a shiver straight down her spine.
"You've been staring at it all night, haven't you? Since the second you sat down." He didn't make it a question. His eyes, calm and knowing, held hers. "Would you like to see what all the fuss is about?"
Janet's throat tightened. She felt the pulse between her legs throb in response, a dull, aching beat that made her shift on the barstool. Her panties, already damp from the relentless arousal that had consumed her all day, clung wetly to her cunt. She swallowed, and her lips parted, but no words came. Her mind, that rational, professional part of her that had been a faithful wife for fifteen years, screamed a warning. But it was drowned out by the raw, primal hunger that had seized her the moment she'd seen the outline of that massive cock straining against his trousers.
She watched his hands, large and weathered, wrap around his glass of whiskey. He took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving hers. He was in no hurry. He had all the time in the world, and he knew it. He knew exactly what she was, what she was feeling, and what she was going to do about it.
"I've had a few women in my time," he continued, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "One look at a woman and I can tell what she needs. You, darlin', need to be filled. And I don't mean with conversation."
Janet's face flushed. The bluntness of his words, the sheer audacity, hit her like a physical blow. She should have been offended. She should have gotten up and walked away, gone back to her room, and called Frank. But Frank's six inches felt like a distant memory now, a pale shadow compared to the monstrous proportions she'd glimpsed in this man's pants. She needed it. She needed it so badly she could taste it, her mouth already salivating at the thought of wrapping her lips around that thick, swollen shaft.
"What exactly," she managed, her voice coming out breathier than she intended, "do you expect?"
Otis smiled, a slow, predatory curve of his lips. He set his glass down and turned on his stool to face her fully, his knees brushing against hers. The proximity was electric. "I'm going to lay it out for you, plain and simple. My expectations for the evening." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a near whisper that vibrated against her skin. "First, you're going to put that pretty mouth of yours to work. You're going to get on your knees and suck me until I'm satisfied. And I take a long time. I've been told I'm hard to please."
Janet's breath hitched. Her mouth went dry, and she unconsciously wet her lips. She could almost feel the weight of his cock on her tongue, the hot, salty taste of him flooding her senses.
"And then?" she prompted, her voice barely a whisper.
"And then," he said, his eyes darkening, "you're going to submit. You're going to let me take you any way I want, and you're going to thank me for it. I'm going to use your body until I'm done with it, and you're going to love every second of it. You're going to take this cock," he gestured down at his trousers, "and you're going to worship it."
His hand moved, resting casually on her thigh. The weight of it was warm, heavy, possessive. She didn't pull away. She couldn't. Her body was betraying her, leaning into his touch, her nipples hardening into painful peaks against the silk of her blouse.
"Do you understand what I'm offering you, Janet?" he asked, and his thumb stroked her thigh through the fabric of her trousers, slow and deliberate. "I'm offering you a night that ends with you completely, utterly fucked. Raw. Used. A night you'll never forget."
Her mind was a hurricane of conflicting emotions. Guilt, desire, fear, and a desperate, aching need. She thought of Frank, his familiar face, their comfortable life. But then she looked at Otis, at the powerful frame of him, the quiet confidence radiating from his very being, the promise of a physical obliteration she craved like a drug. The thought of his huge cock splitting her open, filling her beyond capacity, was enough to make her cunt clench painfully.
She found herself nodding before her mind had fully caught up. Her voice, when it came, was a ragged admission. "Yes. I understand. I want it. I need it."
A low, satisfied sound rumbled from Otis's chest. He reached into his pocket and tossed a few bills onto the bar, more than enough to cover both their tabs.
"Then let's not waste any more time, darlin'. My room's on the ninth floor." He stood, his tall frame casting a shadow over her. He offered her his hand, and she took it, her own trembling slightly. The grip was firm, guiding her as she slid off the stool.
Her legs felt weak as she stood, her knees threatening to buckle. He put a steadying hand on the small of her back, the heat of his palm searing through her blouse. He steered her through the dimly lit lounge, past the curious glance of the bartender, and into the waiting elevator.
The doors slid shut, sealing them in a small, intimate space of polished brass and mirrored walls. Otis pressed a button for the ninth floor, and the elevator hummed to life. He turned to face her, his gaze heavy and primal.
He didn't say a word. He just reached up, his fingers catching the collar of her blouse, and pulled her toward him. His mouth crashed against hers, hungry and demanding. There was no gentle introduction, no tentative exploration. His tongue forced its way past her lips, dominating hers, tasting her with a raw possessiveness that made her knees go weak.
Her hands came up, pressing against his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt. She whimpered into his mouth, her body melting against his. His free hand slid down her back, gripping her ass through her trousers and squeezing hard, pulling her hips flush against his.
And then she felt it. The thick length of him, pressed against her belly, impossibly hard and so large it was almost absurd. Her fingers itched to feel it, to measure its girth, to have it in her hands, in her mouth.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Otis pulled back, his breathing ragged, a hungry glint in his eyes. Without a word, he took her hand and led her down the quiet corridor to his room. He swiped the keycard, the lock clicking open, and pushed the door wide.
He gestured her inside with a nod of his head. The suite was luxurious, with deep, plush carpet and a king-sized bed dominating the space. The city lights glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a seductive glow across the room.
Otis followed her in, closing the door behind him with a decisive click. The sound was a lock on their fate, a wall between Janet and the life she knew. He turned to her, his eyes traveling the length of her body with an intensity that made her feel utterly exposed.
"Now then," he said, his voice a low growl. "Show me what you're good for."