She picked a champagne flute from the waiter’s tray. When he remained close to her, she waved him away. The waiter nodded and walked farther to serve other guests. She cast a glance over the assembled party. She knew she was supposed to meet with someone here, but she had no idea who. There was something exciting about it, thrilling even.
She often met strangers, nothing new there. Mostly she was a body: a very hot body, but a body nonetheless. One that designers dressed for the catwalk; she wasn’t a super famous model, but she had a steady income. And soon she might sign a big deal as the face of one of the biggest make-up company on the market. But tonight was different. She was here for herself to figure out whether she was ready for the next step. The event was merely a place to meet. She sipped her champagne, slowly stepping into the filled room.
Men and many women too turned, as she crossed the marble floor to the wall where the painting that would be auctioned hung. The backless lace sheath she wore hugged her every curve nicely. Hot but classy. She’d chosen it specifically. The attention wasn’t unwelcome but it didn’t matter. The only person that mattered would be the one who used the code set up. As she finished her champagne, she crossed her arm, the glass negligently resting against her hips.
“Miss? May I relieve you of the glass?”
She turned; it was the waiter again. She noticed his dark green eyes because he met her gaze. She gave him her model’s smile.
She placed it on the tray and turned back to the painting she’d been observing. She wouldn’t participate in the auction but it was nice to look. It’s not because one’s on a diet that they can’t watch the menu.
Some people spoke to her and she did small talk; it was important to pretend she cared. She’d never really tried to analyse modern art: she didn’t particularly enjoy it. She was more classical when it came to paintings: give her Botticelli or a Gericault, maybe Picasso blue period, but otherwise it didn’t speak to her.
It had been almost an hour and the auction was about to start when she felt someone stand behind her. The hand at her neck prevented her from turning.
“I wish there was a Da Vinci to bid upon.”
Her shiver ran down her spine. It was her stranger.
“Indeed. Or a Van Gogh for that matter.”
She replied as planned. She made to turn but he prevented it.
“Wait two minutes, then cross to the side door. The auctioneer will capture everyone’s attention. They won’t see you leave. Take the stairs up. Right corridor.”
His voice was deep, commanding. A real man. Delicious shudders spread through her body.
When the auctioneer called people, everyone moved with a purpose. She let people flow past her and then reach the assigned door. When she reached the top of the stairs, a hand grabbed her. The other snaked its way to her mouth before she could utter a scream of surprise.
He retreated into a room; how did he open it?
His hands roamed her body, as if checking for any weapon or recording devices. The idea was funny although it wasn’t the purpose of this meeting. Then he unbuttoned the dress and pushed it off her shoulders. When she made to turn, he stopped her again. Naked – no underwear was the deal – once the dress pooled at her feet. His hands grabbed her wrists and tied them with a scarf. She gasped. He pushed her down on her knees before he finally moved in front of her. Another gasp: the waiter. Well no, not the waiter: the man she’d exchanged with on the internet for two months. And her lover tonight. If he allowed it.
“Well, well. Not so lofty now, are we? Let see what use we can put your smart mouth to.”
In response to the Daily Post writing prompt Lofty