Page 61 of Submissive Lies

“I will be in your room in one hour. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” My voice was a whisper that floated under the noises of work still going on in the hall.

His hand came up, gripping my chin as he raised my face up to his. I gave a soft gasp. It was a bold move. The booth was empty, but the hall was not, and someone could easily have walked back into the space unexpectedly. Caught him holding me there like that. That would definitely raise eyebrows, no matter whether a co-worker of his or mine. Gossip would fly. Despite that, the thrill that ran through me as I stared wide-eyed at him was undeniable.

“Good girl.” His voice was thick, low, husky. His thumb dug into my chin, a sharp flash of pain that made my body strain even further. He held me ensnared, the entirety of me trapped between thumb and forefinger before he finally relented, releasing me with an ever-so-slight shake.

“Now go.”

I swallowed hard, heart thumping in deep fight-or-flight. I stepped around him, doing as he commanded. I pulled myself out of his presence, breaking through the bubble of hunger he’d held me rapt in. A part of me wanted to go back, to feel that envelope of need for just a moment longer. The risk he’d taken touching me the way he had made me heady with anticipation. Instead, I walked out of the booth without looking back, my head swimming. As I strode through the hall, I trembled as thoughts tumbled one over the other. I was going to be spending another night with Steve. I was going to submit to him again. Let him take me as his own, and do as he wished. I had an hour before Steve arrived at my hotel room door, and suddenly I was convinced of a million things I needed to do.

I crossed out into the lobby, not even looking around me, completely caught up in my fantasies. As I stepped into the hotel atrium, a panicked thought pushed me out of my reverie for a moment. What if a co-worker was here and stopped me now? The last thing I wanted was to be drug to the bar for drinks or another attempt to coerce me into going out to dinner with them. The lobby was crowded with both exhibitors and attendees, and though I couldn’t see anyone I recognized, I took no chance. Keeping to the edge of the room, I skirted the crowd to stay out of sight. As I stood waiting for an elevator to come, I chided myself. I was acting like a kid trying to sneak home late at night. It was ridiculous. I was a grown woman; I wasn’t obligated to have drinks or go to dinner with coworkers if I didn’t want to. Yet for some reason I was skulking through the hotel as if I was trying to slink past the guards in some sort of prison break movie. You’ve got yourself worked up, Jen. Let’s just ratchet it back a little, okay.

Getting off the elevator on my floor, I made my way down the hall to my room. I let myself in and took stock. The housekeepers had come by and tidied everything up. That was good. Bed made, fresh towels, every bit of visible evidence of what had taken place the night before gone. I glanced at my watch; I had about three-quarters of hour before Steve arrived. I’d been mulling over a plethora of things on my way here. How should I greet him? What should I be wearing? Should I be wearing anything? Now that I was here in the room, I needed a game plan. I walked to my suitcase. I already knew what was inside and none of it was sexy, much less kinky, or approaching fetish-wear. Appearing at the door naked would definitely set the tone, but there was risk involved in doing that. What if someone other than Steve showed up? Scrambling to find something to cover myself in would be awkward. I blew out my cheeks, dismissing it out of hand. No, I had to be wearing something. Question was, what?

I pushed through my things. Decent underwear. Not super sexy, but not granny-wear by any stretch. I had a set of pajamas, but they were rather plain looking. I pulled out the top. I could wear this, and maybe just underwear below that. I yanked the top and a pair of the undies out, holding them up to me as I looked in the mirror. Hmm. It was kinda flirty sexy, but not quite the look I wanted for tonight. It was an option, but not ideal. Standing there, mouth a grim line, I realized Steve probably wouldn’t give a damn what I was wearing because he likely wouldn’t leave me in clothing for very long anyways. I wanted to make an impression, though. Set the stage, even if it was for no other reason than to add fuel to the fire, so to speak. I stared at the panties and PJ top, chewing on my bottom lip. Yeah, those weren’t exactly the gasoline I was hoping for. I tossed them back onto my suitcase with a groan of resignation. If I couldn’t find anything better, those would have to do, but I wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

I looked around in the closet. My gym clothes lay on the shelf where I’d thrown them this morning. Hmm. They were sporty looking. And tight fitting. That was a plus. I pursed my lips, forehead furrowed. There was one big drawback, though. They smelled. Two mornings of use without washing had left nothing Downey fresh about them. I caught a slight whiff of funk from them. Nope. I wasn’t about to pile on enough deodorant and perfume to mask sweaty gym room body odor.

Fuck. I closed the door to the closet, blowing out a frustrated sigh. I wandered into the bathroom, still thinking. Peeling out of my blouse, I slipped my pants off, unhooked my bra and folded everything into a neat pile on the counter. Still racking my brain to come up with something as time ticked away, I brushed my teeth, refreshed my deodorant, applied some perfume, and mussed my hair. When I was done I stared at myself in the mirror, and while I looked fine, I was still no closer to knowing what I was going to wear when I greeted Steve than I had when I’d walked in. Growling in exasperation, I snatched up my clothing, turning to walk out to the bedroom.

That’s when I saw them.

Bathrobes.

Hanging on the back of the bathroom door were two hotel bathrobes. Fluffy white freshly laundered cotton. A wicked grin tugged my cheeks high and wide. I plopped the clothing back down on the counter, and then slipped out of my underwear. Naked now, I padded to the door, pulling down one of the bathrobes. I shrugged it on, pulled the sash closed but not tight. I twisted to the left and right as I looked at myself in the mirror.

Well, son of a bitch. Perfect!

The robe came down to just above my knees. I adjusted the sash, and let the front slip open slightly. My mouth curled, eyes bright with mischief. Oh, yes. This would work. This would work perfect. Turning back to the counter, I rummaged through my bag. There it was. I had thrown in a few lipsticks for show days, and I thumbed through them until I found what I was looking for. The red one. I applied it carefully, lips pulled into an ‘O’ as I drew the rich red color over them. When I was done I leaned back, satisfied. This would do quite nicely. The robe left little to the imagination as to whether I was wearing anything underneath, especially with the sash as loose as I had it. There was enough cleavage showing to remind Steve for the thirty seconds before he tore it off me just what lay beneath. I loved the way the color of the red lipstick stood out in vivid contrast to the dazzling white of the robe. I stood looking at myself, smug. The robe felt warm and comfortable against my skin. I pushed the gap open a little further, letting one side catch on my nipple so the tiniest trace of areola showed. Snatching up my phone, I glanced at the time. Not bad. Twenty minutes to spare.

Gathering up my clothes, I moved back into the room and dumped them in the closet. I did a quick pass through the bathroom to tidy up. I checked my phone again. 7:35. Steve could be here at any moment. I moved to the mirror on the closet door and gave myself one more look-over. Being a person not above a certain amount of vanity, I preened at what I saw. The robe was simple, but sexy, and the lipstick was the ideal accent. I’d wanted to add fuel to Steve’s fire. This, I felt confident, was going to be gasoline I’d been hoping for.

The next fifteen minutes were excruciating. It was kid-at-Christmas kind of painful, the waiting murder on nerves already strained. I fidgeted, walking from one end of the room to the other, calf muscles tight. The clock on the end table was death by slow ticks from little blue glowing numbers that never seemed to change. Twice I heard footsteps in the hallway, and I leapt up, my heart hammering in my chest. Each time they walked by, fading as they passed. I tried to force myself not to look at the clock, but three minutes would go by that felt like twenty, and I would glance over. The clock became a silent guardian, taunting me.

A third set of footsteps approached. As they grew closer, I squirmed in my chair until I couldn’t stand it. I came up to my feet, standing and staring at the door.

The footsteps stopped. Then there was a single, forceful knock.

I shivered.

Show time.

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