EXTRACT FOR
A Very Bad Man
(Author Unknown)

    There was a man sitting at the head of the long black table. He stood as the Black guy showed me in and I put on my own professional smile.

    "Mister Forrest," I said, extending my hand as I strode forward. "I'm Samantha Taylor."

    He was a surprisingly young man of perhaps thirty, clad in an elegant black suit. Attractive, too, and blonde. Even odder, he had long straight blonde hair which hung past his shoulders. That was so not the acceptable thing among old money. Maybe he was some kind of artist, I thought.

    His hand, as it gripped mine, was warm and firm, and his eyes... were... gray.

    I stood there. We stood there, our hands together, my eyes in his, for what felt like an enormous length of time. It couldn't have been as long as I thought, though, because I know I didn't breathe, and if it had been that long I'd have folded up dead.

    His eyes were like huge dark tranquil pools of soft gray, and I fell into them, feeling as I did, more relaxed, more comfortable, more calm and mellow than I could ever remember. I should have been shocked, but that wasn't possible. I was too relaxed. It's a wonder I didn't fall asleep, except it wasn't that kind of calm. It wasn't a bored or tired calm. It was just a wonderful sense of being totally at peace.

    I had no cares or concerns. None. I had no worries, no anger, no anxiety or impatience. I just stood there holding his hand, and could have done so for the remainder of eternity for all I cared.

    Patience is not a characteristic I have in abundance. When you work twelve hour days you don't have time for delays. You're moving fast at everything you do, needing to get it done and get on to the next thing. Anything which gets in your way needs to be stepped on or shoved aside.

    But I just stood there feeling a kind of warmth, an almost physical warmth spreading up my arm and into my body. I thought that was strange, but again, so what? I was totally at peace.

    I found myself examining his hair. It was thicker than mine, and had more of a reddish tinge. It was also more ... unruly than mine, or maybe he just hadn't bothered to brush or comb it recently. It reminded me of a lion's mane. And it looked very good against his broad black-clad shoulders.

    I examined those shoulders calmly. I felt an urge to examine them with my fingers, but I wasn't feeling up to movement just then. They were very clean, without a trace of hair or anything else on them. My eyes turned to his lips as that warmth spread down through my body.

    He released my hand and sat down. For a long period I just stood there with my hand still extended, then slowly lowered it.

    "Good evening, Miss Taylor," he said. "I apologize for drawing you out on a night like this. The weather truly is quite foul."

    He had an English accent, an upper class English accent with the lengthened vowels and clipped words.

    "Yes," I said.

    A part of me felt as though I should say more but I didn't really care.

    God, he was beautiful. He had the most fascinating lips... when I could pull my gaze away from those gray pools of his eyes.

    "The issue which requires your attention is one involving the condominium association here," he said. "It's slightly awkward in that the management company which runs the building on contract from the condominium board is actually owned by me, though neither they, nor the condo board are aware of that fact. Which puts me in possession of what might be termed inside knowledge."

    I didn't say anything. Why would I need to say anything? He would get to things in due time. In the meanwhile I would just look at him. He was good to look at, after all. 

    "The agreement is up for renewal this year. In the absence of some finding of malfeasance in performance, Chancellery Management has the right to match any alternative bids. The condominium board, under the influence of certain individuals, is seeking a means of escaping this clause."

    He had such amazing eyes, and long, lovely lashes.

    He smiled and raised his eyebrows as he looked down at me, and I understood this was a means of inquiring some sort of opinion from me.

    "I'll need to see the original agreement," I said, in a surprisingly soft voice. Does Chancellery Management not have lawyers?"

    I was looking up at him, and wondered vaguely if he'd grown, but then I realized I had sank down to my knees to be more comfortable. That surprised me a bit, but didn't bother me. Why stand up if you didn't need to stand up?

    "I maintain very much an arm's length relationship with them," he said. "Through a series of numbered companies which collectively own more than half the company. As such I cannot actually ask them for advice. Also, I believe from other sources that they might not necessarily be interested in maintaining their position here. There are other, more profitable ventures they are looking at."

    "I can't do anything about that," I said, still speaking very softly, as if in a tomb.

    "I can wield some influence in that direction," he said. "But I would like to know how much, and for that I would like some legal advice."

    His trousers were made of some sort of very soft, very fine material. It wasn't silk. I knew the touch of silk, and this was something else. I pondered that in a casual way, my hand sliding gently up and down across his leg.

    I bent and rubbed my cheek along his leg, sighing at the tactile pleasure of the material against my skin. It must have some silk content, I decided, but mixed with some very long fibered wool like cashmere.

    His fingers slid through my hair gently, combing softly and repeatedly through it, as if petting me.

    I felt a surge of heat as my breasts pushed against the edge of the chair, squeezed between the polished wood and my own ribs, the nipples already hard, and now beginning to tingle as I felt a thrumming sense of excitement and anticipation down low.

    "I prefer to make things happen anonymously," he said, his fingers still sliding slowly through my hair. "I do not like my name spoken about."

    "I have to tell them at work," I said.

    His fingers closed on my hair as he half turned towards me, and I sighed as the pressure drew me up and in closer. My breasts pillowed out against the seat of the chair now as my cheek rubbed against his groin.

    "I don't have to tell them much at work," I said in a half whisper.

    "Excellent," he said, his hand sliding down and opening his zipper.

    I moaned as he drew himself out, feeling a rush of heat spread through my body at the sight of him. I felt my pulse racing as he pulled me in closer by the hair, and my tongue darted out, licking at the underside of his shaft.

    "You're a very pretty girl, Miss Ericsson," he said.

    That wasn't my name, but it felt like my name. I didn't care what my name was anyway. I moaned as I licked softly up and down his shaft, loving the feel of his skin against my tongue, breathing becoming more ragged as my heart beat faster.

    He loosened his trousers more, drawing my mouth down onto his balls. I licked them reverently, kissed them, then tried to rub my cheeks against them. But his hold on my hair had tightened, and he guided my mouth forward. I sucked them slowly through my lips, massaging them with my tongue as I sucked gently, excitedly.