Baumgartner generations: Janie

When I looked down and saw his hand pressed against the crotch of his trousers, his erection obvious even through the material, I lost it, my hips rising, my toes curling, coming so hard in his mouth I could barely breathe. The pleasure didn’t just come in waves-it was like one long, continuous tidal wave, a fucking tsunami, drowning me in ecstasy from head to toe.

I reached for him, still panting for breath, and he came to me, kissing me softly again, this time with the taste of my sweet juices on his tongue. I slowly sucked them

off, kissing and nibbling at his lips, all the while my hips undulating, grinding my crotch against the bulge of his cock pressed between my thighs.

“God, girl,” he murmured as I wrapped my arms around his neck. “You’re so fucking hot. I might just have to get one out of the way first, too.”

“I’m happy to oblige.” I reached down and caressed his cock through the material.

He groaned, letting me for a moment, rocking against the heat and press of my palm, before taking a deep breath and moving back.

“Diabolical,” he breathed, shaking his head and looking at me, still all mussed and practically unclothed, dress pulled both up and down.

“Wanna take me to bed, Mr. Wickham?” I slid my foot along the length of his thigh.

“More than I’ve ever wanted anything.” He swallowed as my toes reached his crotch.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Something that sounded like a doorbell startled me and I looked at him, wide-eyed.

“That, actually.” He stood, walking toward the door, while I pulled my dress back up-and down-but I didn’t have time to put on my panties before he swung the door open, so I just kicked them under the sofa as someone pushing a trolley cart entered the room.

“Thanks,” Josh said.

“Would you like me to open the champagne?” The man with the cart wasn’t dressed like a waiter, whoever he was. He was wearing a dress shirt and tie, not a monkey suit. He smiled over at me as I hung back, watching.

Josh gave him a nod, gesturing me over, but I went slowly, unsure. The waiter popped the cork on the champagne, letting the bubbles spill into the ice bucket, before pouring two glasses.

“Thanks, Eric.” Josh watched him hand me a champagne flute. “What have you got for us tonight?”

I looked between the two of them-they were clearly on a first-name basis. Did they know each other? I wondered how often Catherine and Josh had stayed at the Plaza-just for the hell of it.

“Eric is the head chef at the Oak Room,” Josh explained to me. “The Presidential Suite comes with its own personal chef, and he likes to oversee things himself.” I looked at Eric-he was a good-looking guy, a little older than Josh, I’d have guessed, with kind eyes and a big smile.

“You get the best up here.” Eric winked as he began to lift the silver coverings on things. “Assorted crudites, fruits, cheeses, including brie, and there’s also caviar and pate. I do highly recommend the chicken-liver crostini. Also the lobster rolls with lemon vinaigrette and garlic butter.” He pulled another silver dome off and set it aside. “I’ve made you a special shaved fennel, radish and grapefruit salad. There are, of course, various petite fours.” Another silver lid set got aside. “Including the always romantic chocolate-dipped strawberries and cherries.” He winked again and leaned toward me, smiling, to say, “But if you like cookies, try the blackberry-walnuts. They’re amazing.”

“Thanks.” Josh gave him another nod.

Eric stepped back. “Just call me if you need me.”

With that, he was gone as quickly as he came, and I sat there, staring at Josh, my mouth gaping. “This is too rich for my blood.”

“I thought you’d like a little snack after dinner.”

We’d barely made it through our meal at the Oak Room downstairs before coming up here.

“No, seriously Josh.” I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my upper arms with my palms. “This is… like… really rich. Like, Donald Trump rich.”

“If you knew how much money Catherine had you’d keel over right here.” He laughed, popping a fat, red grape into his mouth and chewing. “Might as well enjoy it now. The pre-nup I signed will keep me happy, but not this happy.”

“But you make money as an agent,” I said, unable to resist Eric’s recommendation and nibbling at a blackberry-walnut cookie. “Oh my god, these are fantastic!”

“I make enough to support you in the manner in which you will become accustomed,” he agreed, drinking his champagne and watching me eat my delectable dessert.

I looked over at him, shaking my head. “You make my head spin.”

“In a good way, I hope.”

“In every way.” I took a drink of champagne-if my head was going to spin, I should at least have a reason, I decided. He poured me another glass, and I drank that,

too, getting more adventurous and trying the fennel, radish and grapefruit salad, which was also just to-die-for.