Dior Rob Contest
Title: The Power of X
Summary: Edward Cullen has been a powerful and fabulously wealthy CEO but has lost everything and decides to spend one more night in the luxury of the Dorchester Hotel before ending it all.
Pairing: Edward Cullen and a girl not specified.
Prompt used: 1, 48, 10
Edward Cullen, CEO, stood with the City of London spread out before him. He rested his elbows on the wall that surrounded the flat roof and looked down. The height made him giddy, and he wondered how far it must be to the pavement. It was quite a distance, certainly far enough, but his brain started to triangulate the height from objects at known distances anyway. It was ironic that even now, when maths had let him down so badly, that he couldn't resist the appeal of numbers. He gripped the rough, brick edging and leaned forward, judging the tipping point. The wall was low, he wouldn't even need to climb over, just leaning over would be enough. Despite that, in the half hour that he'd been on the roof, his feet hadn't left the concrete. It wasn't that he was afraid; he felt more...numb. In the centre of the roof, right behind him, a large construction of black, slender scaffolding supported an advertising hoarding. Almost as if to prove his daring, he spun round and grabbed one of the cold, flaking poles and effortlessly climbed about half way up. Once there, he felt ridiculous, it was an empty gesture, like everything else.
He descended and went back to leaning on the wall. The lighting over the skyline was beginning to change; a sleepy golden haze was settling over the city. He turned his back on the scene and dug his hands into his pockets, feeling pissed off. He had wavered, and the moment had gone. He would have to come back in the morning. Right now, he didn't know what he wanted, except that he wouldn't say 'no' to a warm bed. Checking his watch, he discovered that it was late and that he'd missed the last train home. But he wasn't sure that home was where he wanted to be anyway. So, he pushed against the wall, lightly, and allowed his feet to take him where they wanted. As he walked away, his designer coat, tailored, perfectly, to his lithe frame, flowed with his movement, enhancing every step. It was one of the luxuries money had afforded him, and now he didn't even have wealth.
Twenty minutes later, he stood looking at the familiar entrance to the Dorchester Hotel. The cost of a room there would completely clean him out. It was a crazy idea. But What the hell he thought. Tomorrow, it probably wouldn't matter anyway. The heavily brocaded doorman recognised him, touched his cap and nodded before ushering him in. The receptionist, too, recognised him and smiled, attempting to maintain a professional front as she took his booking. It was a nice try, but she couldn't help the slight heaviness of her breathing, the tendency to look away a little too quickly and the pink flush that crept up her cheeks. Edward barely acknowledged her presence.
"Yes, just the one night. No, no luggage", he said dully.
With one nod from him, she would have made excuses and followed him; he knew that. Trysts with women were not uncommon. They were won over easily, and it helped to alleviate the boredom, but he would need more than sex to change his mind.
Within five minutes he was waiting for the lift. It was empty when it arrived, but just as the doors were closing, someone else slipped in, invading his personal space. The person was petite, slender and smelled fresh and sweet, a female. At the moment that her hand reached forward to select her floor, so did his. She pulled back.
"Where to?" he offered, blankly, his hand hovering over the buttons.
"Nine", she responded in a lilting voice, a voice that caught his attention. He glanced over to see her smiling up at him with large, blue eyes.
He pressed the button, steadfastly avoiding eye contact in the way that strangers forced into close proximity do, and stepped back.
"Thank you", she answered.
He could just make her out in his peripheral vision, but he didn't need to, a disquieting picture of her had planted itself in his mind's eye. She was blonde, probably mid-twenties, and wearing a smart, navy trouser-suit that hugged a neat figure. She might have been a guest, or maybe someone's PA, not that it mattered. She was of no interest to him. At least, she shouldn't have been, but in defiance of him, his body responded acutely to her presence. Heat flickered in his loins and licked through his body like a flame following alcohol. Right now, he could have done without it. It complicated things, but however he tried to direct his thoughts elsewhere, primeval lust continued to surge through him. It energised his muscles and fired-up his nerve endings. He felt strong and virile, and he wanted her. Of course he couldn't act on it. Even he knew that you didn't just grab a stranger and bind them to your will. But if his body couldn't have what it wanted in reality, there was nothing to stop it having it in a fantasy. In the secrecy of his private thoughts, a scenario played out. He would press the emergency stop button, pin her against the steel wall of the lift, one hand pressing hers against the cold metal, the other around her throat. He would consume her mouth with his kisses. She would not be frightened by this; she would want it. She would be eager, responsive and hungry for him.
His daydream was interrupted by a slight jolt and the doors slid open to signal their arrival at the ninth floor. His face had given nothing away, he'd remained impassive throughout. But, as the object of his reverie moved forward to leave, he caught her throwing him a little smirk over her shoulder as she stepped lightly through the opening. Almost against his will, the hint of a smile played across his lips in response. The doors closed. With his heart thumping, he breathed in deeply through his nose and, slowly, out through his mouth and then turned to press a button again for his, the fourth, floor.
The room was exquisite if a little chintzy and overly floral. The drapery that adorned the floor-length window also adorned the headboard of the enormous bed, but for all that, the room had the stamp of quality. Edward flung his card key onto the nearest surface and made his way over to the bed. He sat on the edge and flopped onto his back. He was completely bewildered. Why would a man who had lost everything care about sex? Added to that, the violence of the intense sexual arousal he had felt was completely disproportionate to the simple fact of meeting a stranger. Even now, he couldn't stop thinking about her. This wasn't like him at all. With his eyes still closed, his hands felt for the zip on his trousers and he slid it down. Reaching into his boxers, he freed his erection and cupped his balls before stroking up and down the shaft. Then, he wrapped his hand around it and pulled up and down in the familiar way. With his hand taking care of business, his thoughts returned to the lift, allowing his imagination to take the fantasy further. In it, her inconvenient trousers became a skirt. He wanted his access to be free and unencumbered:
He would manoeuvre his hand up her silken thighs and encounter no resistance – under the suit she would be naked. He would tease her with his fingers, sliding them in and out of her delicious wetness.
As he quickened the pace, his face grew ever more contorted. By the time his body stiffened, his balls tightened and creamy white spunk was sliding over his fingers, his inner narrative had him buried, balls deep, inside her.
He cradled the spent penis for a few moments. Then he rolled slightly to one side and pushed with his elbow to bring himself back to sitting. Fumbling in his pocket, he found a monogrammed handkerchief and used it to clean himself off before throwing it in the bin. He sat, despondently, with his shoulders slumped and his hands dangling between his knees, wondering what to do next. He turned the hands palm up and ran his thumbs over the finger tips. They were still sticky. As if on autopilot, he stood and trudged, wearily, to the bathroom. There, he washed his hands, dried them on the white, fluffy towel and rested them on the edge of the basin. He looked at himself, a man condemned, in the mirror, but there were no answers to be found there. Incredibly, the girl was still in his thoughts. It occurred to him that if she were still around, he might be able to find her and persuade her to come to his bed. The notion was irresistible. It invigorated him. He washed the errant penis and returned it to the confines of his boxers. He checked his shirt; fortunately, he'd managed to avoid getting cum on it. Once he was fully dressed, he realised that he needed a plan B in case she wasn't there. It was obvious, get drunk. Either way, the last thing he wanted was to spend this evening in solitary confinement. He checked himself one last time in the mirror, spun round and strode decisively back into the bedroom. The card key was on the dresser. Swiping his hand over it, he snatched it up and headed toward the door.
There was a sexiness about the bar at the Dorchester with its mirrored ceiling and strains of soft jazz. On one side of the room, plush, aubergine-velvet seating invited you to relax, while on the other, the long, majestic sweep of the mahogany bar itself invited you to drink. It was the perfect place for seduction. Edward stood in the doorway, scanning the room for signs of the girl but to no avail, so he wandered, dejectedly, over to one of the bar stools. The length of the bar and the number of seats meant that you could commandeer one for the evening without guilt, and, now, that was just what he intended to do. Ignoring the extensive menu of cocktails, he went straight for a double of twelve-year old malt, no ice. He was just staring into the second double, swirling the amber liquid, when slender legs brushed passed his thigh with a waft of familiar fragrance, and he looked up to see the face that made Plan A look like a possibility after all. There she was: the seductress from the lift. Lascivious thoughts popped into his brain hopefully, eager to get started, but he couldn't give in to them yet. She didn't seem like a hooker, and, if he wanted any chance of success, he would have to take things slow. He didn't want to frighten her off. She seemed to be focussed on trying to get the barman's attention, but something made him feel she was fully aware of his presence. His opening gambit was predictable but normally worked well.
"Can I get you a drink?" he offered.
She twisted her body toward him, hesitated, then nodded.
"White wine. Thanks"
So far, so good thought Edward. He signalled to the bar man and reiterated "white wine". The girl lifted herself lightly onto the adjoining bar stool, took the drink and sat, quite comfortably, without speaking, taking occasional sips. She wasn't looking at Edward. He appreciated it; it gave him an opportunity to study her further. Her shoulder-length hair, simply styled, shone like golden satin. She was fine-featured with a little, upturned nose, full lips and stunning, sapphire eyes. As his gaze rested on her inviting neck, she slipped her jacket over her shoulders with a slight shrug and pulled her arms out of the sleeves before placing it neatly on her knee. He felt his libido nudge at him and wink. This was a good sign; she was undressing for him already. He licked his lips and forced himself to swallow before returning his casual glance to tracing the contours of her body. Her fine, white jumper outlined the round and full breasts underneath and her dark trousers hugged her peach of a bottom. The attire was plain, but her figure was so perfect, she would have enhanced anything. It was time to make another move.
"Are you here for the conference?" he asked, casually.
Whether there was a conference or not, he didn't know, but there usually was at these places.
She turned and looked at him squarely, "No. Is there one?"
She was calling him out, it amused him.
"I have no idea", he answered with a wry smile.
"And why are you here? You don't exactly look as though you're stopping."
Edward frowned quizzically.
"Coat", she explained, gesturing to his body with a delicate wave.
"Goodness, coat", he admitted. It must have looked odd. He had forgotten he was still wearing it.
"I'm in the hotel because I missed the last train home and the coat is ...". He paused, trying to find something to say that didn't sound stupid, but his mind went blank. "The coat is an oversight", he finished weakly.
She raised a good natured eyebrow with a little half-grin.
He was beginning to feel slightly flustered, although whether it was due to the presence of the woman or the image of pleasuring himself in a coat, he couldn't tell.
She rescued him by leaning in conspiratorially and whispering, "Can I tell you a secret?"
"Yes", he whispered back, intrigued.
"I'm here under false pretences. I'm not a guest. I was just delivering something."
"Can I tell you a secret?" he whispered back. "I'm here under false pretences too, I'm broke".
It was like a private game, one he was pleased to be able to share. She giggled and he laughed, too - a genuine, throaty laugh.
"Listen", he said, feeling suddenly animated. "Do you have any plans for the evening?"
"Well, in an ideal world, I would don a ball gown, a tiara and dancing shoes and go to the Ambassador's Ball but no, nothing planned".
It was the last thing he expected her to say.
"Yes, I caught a glimpse of it when I got here, it looked amazing."
In that moment, her face seemed even lovelier, lit up, as it was, with a childlike enthusiasm. Something about it called to something in him. Excitement sparked in his chest.
"Let's gate-crash", he said, holding out his hand.
She beamed at him with a mischievous twinkle in her eye and bit her lip. Then, she placed her delicate hand in his, slipping down from the bar stool as she did so. He stepped down, too, and led her out of the room.
The main entrance to the ballroom had a white gloved official in a dinner jacket checking people's invitations. Edward led the girl beyond this to and through a door marked Staff Only. The genteel atmosphere of a guest area gave way to the clang and hiss of a busy kitchen. She didn't ask how he knew which way to go. Expertly, he manoeuvred her through the bustle before following a waiter through double swing doors. There, they were greeted with a scene of opulent beauty. She had been right about the decor. The enormous ballroom was a giant celebration of cream, white and gold, dotted, here and there, with splashes of reds, purples, blues and blacks. The walls were cream and interspersed with doors and full length windows. To either side of these openings were tall mouldings, like classical Greek columns, in gold leaf and marble. Against this backdrop was an arrangement of circular tables decorated with sparkling crystal, shining candlesticks and large displays of white roses. Stuffy dignitaries were seated at the tables. Some of the men were officials in military regalia, others wore dinner jackets. They were accompanied by their ladies in ornate, jewel-encrusted evening dress. It was the ladies, perched primly on gilded chairs, who provided the colour. In the corner of the room, a string quartet played, and in the centre, was a clearing for dancing where one or two couples waltzed sedately. Above the clearing, within a fluted ceiling dome, hung an enormous chandelier which threw stunning displays of bouncing light over the whole room like an extravagant glitter ball.
Hand in hand, Edward and the girl made their way to the open space in the centre; Edward weaving confidently through the tables, and the girl skipping after him. As they approached the dance floor, she flung her jacket away in a gesture of wild abandon. He knew why she did it and felt the same. At that moment, nothing mattered. He swept her into his arms and whirled her round. The guests were unprepared for such a spectacle. They were stunned into silent immobility, unable to signal their outrage with anything more than a disapproving glare. For a few seconds, the sheer audacity of the young couple made them invulnerable. Edward held her body close to his, as they danced together, encased in a bubble of pure joy. He felt a lightness in his heart that he hadn't felt for years.
"You are so beautiful", he told her.
He knew it couldn't last, that, at some point, they would be ushered out by someone from hotel security, and he didn't want anything to sully the memory of this moment. So, as quickly as he'd brought her there, he led their escape. They zigzagged between the tables and stiffly formal guests, back toward the kitchen and through to the hotel. Slowing their pace the moment they reached the public area, they appeared, to the casual observer, just another couple of faceless guests. They strolled, nonchalantly into the lift, and stood, politely, side by side. The moment the doors had fully closed, they giggled into each other like a couple of naughty children.
He reached for the lift buttons.
"Where to?" he said.
"I told you, I'm not staying here."
He waggled his eyebrows playfully, "I know, but I am."
She shook her head in mock admonishment.
"It's very tempting", she said. "But no, I ought to get home."
He nodded, smiling reassuringly. "OK", he said.
She was right, of course. He could wait, she was worth more than that, and he wanted to get to know her. But his whole body ached with a need for her. He had never known a feeling like it. Sex, for him, had never been a big deal before. It fulfilled a need, like scratching an itch but meant nothing. But with her, if she would allow him, he felt sure it would be different. He held out his hand and pushed the button to open the lift door, then he led her to the front entrance. At the doorway, he gently faced her to him. He removed his coat. Reaching around her, he draped it over her shoulders.
"Take this, it's cold", he instructed.
Tenderly, he stroked a stray curl from her forehead and cupped her cheek. She reached up to place her hand over his.
"I must see you again", he practically pleaded.
He needn't have worried.
"Of course", she reassured him. "I'll be back in the morning to return the coat".
She reached up and kissed him lightly on the cheek, turned and walked away. He didn't know how, but he was sure she would keep her word. Already, he couldn't wait to see her again. "In the morning", she had said. "The morning", the start of a brand new day.
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