Title: When She Least Expected It Part 4: The Dinner
Author: Dane Hargreaves – Visit him at Twitter
This story is © by Dane Hargreaves and used with permission.
Note: This story includes BDSM elements. It will be posted in 10 parts over 8 days.
If you have not read parts 2&3 , you can do that here
The one. Well over six feet tall, slim with jet black hair and a set of dimples. Impeccably dressed in an Armani suit, grey with subtle pinstripes. That was all well and good, and collectively would have made him handsome. But handsome was not uncommon in her world. It was the eyes that really held her. If one could possibly have stepped back and viewed them dispassionately, they would have been described as dark hazel-ish. Not a particularly unusual colour at all. It was how they looked at you, or to be more exact, through you. They seemed to focus not on your face, but on something behind your face. On your mind or perhaps, on your soul. They completely disarmed you; made you feel naked, helpless and utterly and completely lost in his gaze – or in his power? Candice had never in her life felt so exposed at a glance. And all he had said to Candice was, “Good Evening and Merry Christmas, Ms. Lowell. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I am Damon Foster.”
Candice was an experienced professional, tough minded from years of dealing with bankers, investors and security exchange personnel. She quickly regained her composure and introduced herself to both gentlemen. The other gentleman, Donald Something-or-other, was a new author who had just joined the firm, specializing in historical fiction. Candice’s experience kicked in again. She made up her mind then and there to focus her attention and hopefully the conversation on this gentleman. To focus on Damon was to court disaster.
They sat down. Donald was seated directly across from her, with Damon to his left.
The soup was served. Wine was served. At this point in time, it was very easy to direct the conversation. Candice made small talk with Donald and all her other table mates about the tremendous research that is required before even starting a novel about characters in another place and time. It was actually a very interesting conversation and Candice was genuinely interested in how much time he had spent in Ireland researching his last novel. Damon was mildly interested in the conversation, making a point here and there.
The main course was served, along with another few bottles of wine. The delicious filet mignon with peppercorn sauce, asparagus and saffron rice acted as a buffer to active conversation. However, during the meal Candice could sense when Damon was casting his gaze her way. More specifically, her pussy could feel it. This was something that was new and incredibly uncomfortable. How could a man look at you and make you this uncomfortable? Furthermore, how could this discomfort result in a direct reaction in her pussy? Candice was used to control. She didn’t like this one bit.
As desperate as she was to not get caught in his gaze again, it proved impossible. It happened towards the end of the main course. As her glass of wine reached her lips, she let her eyes glance over the top of her glass. Damon’s eyes were locked on her. She involuntarily stopped the glass, frozen in place. A slight smile crept across his face. It was magical how it transformed his face. It also seemed to relax his glare, bringing a little humour to the awkwardness. Candice tilted her glass and completed her sip of wine. As she was dropping her glass to the table, she couldn’t help but return his smile. It was like they were in a tunnel that no one else was in. Her heart started to race, and she felt her palms get damp. She involuntarily pressed her knees together because she knew her pussy was pulsing. Wetness was starting down there too.
Once the main course was cleared, dessert wine and liqueurs accompanied the cherries jubilee. Her Editor in Chief – not the most timid of women – opened the door that Candice had wanted to keep closed:
Margaret asked him, “So Mr. Foster, how much research do you do before composing your stories?” The quiet conversations occurring around the table came to a screeching halt as everyone suddenly refocused on the one question. Damon smiled widely, clearly pleased with the question. He paused for a second to presumably collect his thoughts, but Candice could clearly see that he was simply focussing his full attention on Margaret. She watched as Margaret shifted uncomfortably in her seat and tried with all her might to maintain his gaze. She failed in a matter of seconds. Candice smiled inwardly at this; she had never seen this tough bitch of an executive wilt in front of anyone. This man was the king Alpha.
He chose his words carefully. “It is very difficult, Margaret, to write about something you haven’t experienced.” Another smile spread across his face. Candice felt guilty that she hadn’t read his book, but made a note that she do so immediately, especially after seeing Margaret flush a little bit. This was unheard of!
Perhaps it was the wine, perhaps the mood, but before she could stop herself Candice found her lips asking a follow up question. “What do you personally consider to be the most erotic part of your book?” Candice stared at a spot on the table, stunned that she asked the question, and doing whatever she could to avoid eye contact. Damon did not answer. He was waiting for something…waiting for her to raise her eyes. Candice finally gave in and looked at him. He was not smiling. The full wattage of his gaze was tunneling into her thoughts. Candice found her throat getting dry so reached for her ice water. When she put it down on the table, she left her hand around it. Kind of a placebo for a comfort blanket. The silence stretched just a bit too long before he finally answered.
“It is difficult to narrow it down to just one sequence. I’d like to return the question but you haven’t read the book. So, if I was just to pick one, it would be when Karrie gets tied to the bars in the jail cell. I love the way she fights her enjoyment.”
Candice just stared at him, unsure of how to react. How the hell had he known she hadn’t read the book? She recovered quickly, and was starting to get pissed off at his arrogance. “Well, you had a 50/50 shot, and you guessed right. Based on your earlier comment, are you saying you have experience in jail?” Candice paused, and decided to put it out there. “You have bound some poor woman to the bars in a jail cell?”
He allowed himself a full on smile at that. “Is that difficult to for you to believe, or difficult for you to imagine? There is a big difference.”
He was talking down to her, and it really got her dander up. She said, perhaps a little too firmly, “Difficult to believe. My imagination is just fine.”
He smiled wider. Candice focused in on Damon, returning every watt of energy. Again, it was as if there was no one else at the table now. He said, quietly and with no subtlety whatsoever, “A jail can be built. It is just a matter of desire. I have one in my basement.” His eyes were on fire, boring into her. Despite the increasing dampness of her palms, the pounding of her heart and the quivering sensation in her pussy, Candice didn’t look away. She was barely aware that the people at the table were watching this little dance, rather intently.
Candice asked, “And how do you manage to…convince…women to do what you want? Go down those stairs to your basement?”
This time there was no pause in his response. “They ask.” Candice felt her eyes slam wide open. It was a reaction she wishes she hadn’t made, because it showed that she was caught off guard by that response. This shit never happened to her! She was temporarily at a loss for words. Damon went on, “The better question is, how do I tell if a woman is the type who would ask me to put them in jail?” Candice narrowed her eyes and turned her head slightly, giving a profile that screamed skepticism. But she didn’t say a word. This time he let the silence build into anticipation. Everyone within earshot was listening.
Again with the smile, Damon said, “It’s in her eyes. Most people think the eyes are the gateway to the soul. That is true to some extent, but they also, unfailingly, reflect sexuality and desire.” It annoyed Candice to no end that he said that as if it was fact, not opinion. The waiter arrived to break up the conversation with coffee. Candice could almost feel the air being released from a dozen sets of lungs. She accepted her decaf and engaged Margaret in a conversation about her family, trying to release her thoughts of her conversation with Damon. It wasn’t possible.
Hope you enjoyed When She Least Expected It Part 4: The Dinner
This was the Day 17 story for the 2012 Erotic Holiday Countdown.
Now read the Day 18 Entry. When She Least Expected It Part 5: The Walk by Dane Hargreaves