Authors: Astrid Lee Donovan
With guests opting for table service and the majority of the bar seats free, Celia slid on to a stool closest to the taps and slipped off her shoes.
“What are you having?” said a voice to her left. Casting a disinterested eye in the voice’s direction, she saw sitting two stools from her a rather rugged hulk of a man.
“I’m ok, thank you,” she waved away his offer.
“No, I insist; I’ve just had an interesting day, to say the least, and you look like you need something fortifying,” he smiled warmly, a five-o’clock shadow on his lightly tanned face making his white teeth sparkle.
Celia paused, at least he’s not senior citizen, she thought, “Why thank you,” she smiled warmly back, “I will have a vodka, lime and soda please,” she addressed the bartender.
“You look familiar. Have we met?” the guy had stooped forwards onto his forearms to get a better look at her face. He had sooty brown hair that seemed frozen mid-tumble around his head, gentle brown-black eyes and the broadest set of shoulders she had seen in a suit in a long time.
“No,” she couldn’t help grinning at the flattery, “I don’t think we have - not formally at least. I’m an event organiser so we may have crossed paths.”
“Oh,” he then sat up, “are you the one who organised this event?”
The bartender put down her frosted glass and she nodded as she took a deep draught.
“So,” he grinned, watching her guzzle the drink, “What brings you here to this lonely bar when you should be out there enjoying yourself?” his fingers played along the sides of his whisky glass.
Celia’s heart thrummed into life sending heat coursing through her chest “Well, apart from feeling like I’m trapped in the geriatric’s version of The Bachelorette, I was hung up on by some rich snob.”
“Go on,” he smiled, sliding himself one barstool across towards her, twisting his broad chest to see her better.
Celia laughed, “As much as I want to, I really shouldn’t,” her hands fluttered to her heavy obsidian pendant, “but I assure you, this snob must have a removal truck ready in the loading bay for all the things he’s buying. My guess, he’s trying to impress a lady.”
His eyes glinted mischievously over his glass, the ice cracking and sliding wetly against his lips.
They laughed and chatted for a while longer, the heat that built in Celia’s chest settled hotly into the pit of her stomach. Every now and then his eyes would wonder her black fitted dress, sometimes resting on the teardrop pendant that swung between her breasts. Celia couldn’t help but squeeze the slippery warmth that was stoking between her thighs.
With announcements for the final auction items echoing overhead, Celia reluctantly slid on her shoes and gathered her purse.
“It’s been lovely chatting, err… I’m really sorry, but I don’t think I caught your name,” she asked, proffering her hand for a business shake.
“It’s Trent. It’s been a pleasure having your company,” reaching with his large slightly callused hand taking hers, and gently bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss.
Gooseflesh rippling across her body, Celia felt her nipples pucker hard through her dress and hastily slid from the barstool. With a stupid grin pulling up the corners of her mouth she gave a final smile and swept back into the ballroom.
It was past 2am by the time the team had packed up the ballroom.
Now wearing a sensible pair of flats, Celia was waving off the last of her assistants in their corporate-booked taxi when the hotel’s concierge came jogging out the front.
“Ah, David, I was just going to ask you where my taxi was. I swore I booked one for me.”
“Actually, Celia, I’m glad I caught you. There was a booking change and a message has been left for you just inside.”
Cursing under her breath, Celia traipsed back inside into the warmth of the hotel lobby.
Handing over a folded piece of thick paper, Celia was surprised to see a handwritten scrawl:
Celia, it was lovely talking to you. Just so you know, I didn’t need a removal truck after all and there was no lady involved; I have arranged for my private town car to take you home. Yours, Trent (T.A.) X
“The town car is waiting for you out the front now,” David said.
“Are you sure it’s a town car and not some creepy person posing as a town car driver?” Celia was mortified, and a little concerned that a stranger she had inadvertently insulted was paying for her trip home. David obliged and ran out to check.
“It’s legit, Celia, the company received a booking shortly after 9:30pm by Avery Industries for one Celia McKenzie.”
That was right after our conversation, Celia thought. Well, a free car is a free car.
“Thanks, David. You know, if I don’t give you a call by 10am tomorrow could you alert Missing Persons?” she smiled and headed out the lobby.
Exhausted and aching from the previous night’s event and a fitful sleep, Celia had barely made it through her office’s doorway before one of the agency’s two hyperactive receptionists intercepted her with a phone message emblazoned with the word ‘Important.'
Taking, but not looking at, the message, Celia went into her office. It wasn’t until she saw the email icon on her desktop blinking furiously that she realised maybe something awful had happened at the event.
To her relief and surprise, all the messages were from Avery Industries – the first one an email from Trent himself sent shortly after midnight.
Celia, I have an event proposition for you. I’ll call tomorrow.
The rest of her emails, and the one phone call, were from Trent’s P.A., Ben, asking how soon they could chat about some private functions.
Before she could place her fingers to the keyboard to respond, her desk phone rang.
“Yes?”
“Sorry to bother you Celia, but it’s Ben from Avery Industries again,”
“Put him through,” she sighed, then quickly plastered a smile on her face just as the phone call clicked over, “Hi Ben, it’s Celia here, I just got in the office and have your phone message in my hot little hands. What can I do for you?”
“Hi Celia, it’s lovely speaking to you, but I’ll have to transfer you through to Mr Avery himself.”
There was another click, and Celia felt her stomach flip and her smile falter.
“Celia?” boomed a voice. She was obviously on speakerphone.
“Trent! Hi! I didn’t expect to speak to you. I, um, thank you for the car last night. You really didn’t have to as the agency sorts these things out for us, but I really appreciated it.”
“My pleasure,” there was a tiny tap in the background, “you may have seen the email from me. I have an event proposition I’d like you to take a look at,” his voice was travelling around the speakerphone. Celia guessed he was putting a golf ball around his desk. Now that the conversation was obviously business based, Celia felt a scrap of her former confidence come to life.
“Did you want me to put together a presentation for you and your team? Depending on the parameters I’m sure you’ll want to check that we can provide everything you need. How soon is this event?”
“Three weeks.”
Celia’s jaw dropped, “How many guests are you inviting?”
“About 35-40. It’s an exclusive soirée that I plan to host at a waterfront property - you know the kind - canapés, invite only and security at the doors…”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Celia went mentally through her supplier lists to see which caterers and hiring companies might have something suitable for a high-class dinner party. “Well, when can I do a site inspection? I will have to get a few of my suppliers together to see how they can move things in and out.”
“Funny you should say that,” she could hear the smile in his voice, “what are you wearing?”
“Wh-what?” her heart leapt, thighs clenched and her pelvis rocked into the seat pressing down on the sudden throb.
“Are you wearing pants?”
Looking down at her dark denim jeans she nodded into the phone, then realised he couldn’t see her. “Yes?”
“Great, I hoped to pick you up in about an hour, but I only have my bike so it works best if you’re wearing trousers so you can slip the leathers on overtop.”
This encounter was starting to sound too much like a stalker-come-killer film. Celia decided to take things a different direction, “How did you get my email and place of work?”
Trent laughed, “Yeah, sorry about Ben. He tends to get obsessive about tasks I need done. I didn’t go stalker-style on you. I asked the bartender after you left who you worked for and one of the staff members had your email address and… Google helped with the rest,”
“Oh, well, that makes sense,” Celia went red, “I guess I’ll see you in an hour?”
“Great, I’ll let you hang up this time. I can’t have you giving me dagger eyes from behind on the bike,” he chuckled.
Unsure of what he expected, Celia gently settled the phone in to the cradle and let go of the breath she had been holding.
True to his word, Trent arrived an hour later sporting an incredibly well fitted set of leathers in blacks and blues.
Handing Celia a folded set in greys and reds, Celia snuck into a toilet to get dressed and spent a few minutes battling her breasts to conform to the jacket’s tight cut. While her butt, calves and thighs looked incredibly muscular, her upper half looked less Sports Limited and more ‘I’m-wearing-a-pillow-for-support.'
Earning a grin from Trent, Celia left the office to hoots of appreciation from her team and made her way as casually as she could to his waiting bike.
The bike was larger than she expected, and even though she knew nothing about motorcycles this machine seemed to scream power and speed.
Handing her a full face helmet, Trent slipped his on and showed her how to adjust the fit, his fingers playing carefully over her neck and jaw. Now that Trent looked like a cartoon character it was easier to relax. She listened to his instructions and half hopped and slid onto the seat behind Trent’s broad back.
In an instant she felt the bike come to life and a gentle hum began to vibrate her seat. Concentrating on staying on the bike, she clung to Trent’s waist and let him mumble instructions on staying centre and balanced.
Starting slowly Trent let the bike ease gently to the end of the street, and feeling Celia’s confidence build, he revved the bike and let the tires bite down into the road. Together, they sped off.
Finding the bike exhilarating, Celia let the constant hum of the bike fill her ears. Pressing herself down into Trent’s back she could feel the steady vibration of the bike press up through her leathers and poorly chosen thong. Trying to ignore the gentle throb that built between her thighs, Celia concentrated on the bends, but every bend tipped the front of her pelvis down and her clit closer to the vibrations. She felt gentle gooseflesh flow up her body and send her nipples puckering. Even as they passed cars and buses, Celia felt her thighs squeeze rhythmically against the vibrations; her panties growing damp and her clit grinding against the seat. Clenching and unclenching her hands for distraction, Celia’s lips parted to give a gentle moan. Her body needed filling. Unable to control the urge any longer, Celia gently rocked her hips back and forth along the seat, each drop of her hips sending her senses reeling. Her thighs were tightening and she balled her fists to try to hide the desire that grew hotly in her jeans.
As they entered a residential area, the bike was dropped a gear and the vibrations flew to a new rhythm, sending her clit buzzing. Just as suddenly as it started, the bike changed gears again and the hum died. The bike revved again and as every rev lasted longer and longer, her wet, hot centre clenched tightly repeatedly.
Panting and sweating in the leathers, with the final rev at a stop sign, Celia felt her stomach drop and she ground her pelvis hard into the seat, arching her back as wave after wave of machine-driven bliss swept through her body. Panting, she could swear she could feel Trent’s chest rumble with a gentle chuckle. Finally taking a look at their location she realised she had an orgasm in the middle of a high-end beachside suburb not fifteen minutes from the office. Surely I couldn’t have been that horny, Celia thought.
Pulling up to a large bricked entranceway that protected an even larger three-storey monstrosity behind, Trent dug into his leather jacket and after a few moments of fumbling the security gates opened.
Dribbling in to the driveway, Trent set the bike next to a legion of landscaper vans and motioned for Celia to slide off and remove her helmet.
The house had very few street-fronted windows, but she guessed that the other side would have panoramic views of the glittering beach.
“How long did it take to get here?” Celia’s blush had died down into the leathers.
“Usually, about ten to fifteen minutes from where you office is,” Trent was shaking out his hair now that his helmet had been removed, “but this time I took the scenic route - you seemed to be enjoying yourself,” he grinned.
Her face blanched with horror.
“I never made a chick come on my bike before,” he smiled, “I have to say, it would’ve been cruel to cut it short. I thought it was rather,” Trent stepped forward and gently slid the zipper on her jacket down part way, “sexy.”
Before she could think to respond Trent walked off toward the entranceway, “Take off the leathers and I’ll show you what you have to work with,” he called over his shoulder.