She struggled along for nearly an hour, trying to get some indication of her status before finally giving up. Realizing she was getting nowhere, she was quick to resort to the only means she knew she could rely on for information and persuasion. Her body.
Pallbrook was hardly aware of the subtle change in her. Her transition from journalist to woman was never blatant. The only indication any man ever had of her difference in attitude was the gradual increase in his own pulse and temperature as his passion grew. Pallbrook was no exception.
"What first attracted me to you… excuse me… I mean your writing," he said, confused by the power of her vibrations, "was your seemingly uncanny ability to uncover very private information. What's your secret?"
"Well, I don't know for sure. I'll have to think." She went through the motions of mentally searching, her finger randomly twirling the strap of her dress. It had all the appearance of an idle gesture, but sewed to cover and uncover her tit, the nipple peeking out to wink at his stolen glances.
"No. I guess I don't really have one."
"There must be something," he said, his hands fidgeting nervously on the table.
"Well… yes. I suppose you could say it's my willingness."
His eyes seemed to brighten at the word. "What do you mean… willingness?"
"Willingness… uh… givingness," she said brightly as the thumb and forefinger of her left hand began stroking up and down on the barrel of the salt shaker. "You see, most reporters only want to be given things, they never want to give anything in return. Most people resent it."
"But you don't?"
"No. When I interview someone, I'm always willing to return the kindness."
His nervousness was very evident now, his body almost shaking. "And how do you do that?"
"To be blunt – any way they want."
At this moment she reached out and folded her hand around his. Only a second passed before it happened, leaving Melissa dumfounded in its wake.
"God Damn it!" he yelled pausing a moment to allow the other diners to stop staring before continuing in a forced whisper. "Look. I think there are a few things you should know, young lady. I'm not some horny old man out to be seduced by every young job-hunter that comes along. First of all, I'm a happily married man, and even if I wasn't, I long ago made a vow never to cheat on my wife, and I intend to keep it."
"But, sir, I…"
"Secondly, and most importantly, I've gotten where I am in this world today by hard work, and by never owing anything, to anybody, for any reason. In other words, if you will excuse the expression, I never dip my pen in company ink. Do I make myself clear?"
Melissa's head shook, more in obedience than in understanding.
"Good. Now, since our business is concluded, I shall escort you home."
The rest was silence – cold, brutal silence. Even when he placed his coat over her shivering shoulders, he refused to speak. The ride home was interminable. It was with some relief that she finally arrived at her hotel and went up to her room.
But the relief was short-lived as her own mind began torturing her with questions. How could she have been so wrong? How did she mistake his anger for passion? What the hell was she going to do now?
She sat before the mirror, her eyes searching for some answer in the image before her. She stared silently, watching the tears begin to well up. Suddenly her phone buzzed. She cleared her throat, choking down the rise of emotion before answering.
"Hello."
"Hello, Miss Dansin. This is Mr. Pallbrook. I… uh… I believe you still have my coat."
"I'm sorry, I forgot. Yes, I have it."
"May I come up for it?"
"Yes, of course."
She hung up the phone and used the next few moments to put the room, and herself, in order. Her mind struggled feverishly trying to put together some form of apology, but there just did not seem to be any time before the knock came.
She grabbed the coat and opened the door, resigned to the impossibility of apology. To her surprise he ignored her gesture, and merely stood there, the small case of a portable bar under his arm.
"Look. I'm afraid I got a little out of control," he said, shifting nervously. "I was wondering if you'd allow me to apologize, and perhaps offer you a drink."
He almost laughed out loud in gratitude. "Sure. Please come in."
He entered the room, setting the bar on the night stand as Melissa closed the door, and settled into the room's only chair. He mixed them quickly, and efficiently, bringing Melissa hem before retreating to a safely distant position on the edge of her bed.
His duties finished, he sat pensively. The awkwardness of his silence filled the room. Melissa actually felt sorry for him as he struggled for some way to begin a conversation. She decided to help.
"Mr. Pallbrook, why are you here?"
"Uh… I… uh…" His mumbling faded out as his eyes stared meekly at his drink.
Melissa had a feeling. Having been burned once already, she hesitated before speaking. But only a second. When Melissa was sure she was right, she jumped in, and took the consequences.
"Mr. Pallbrook… did you come here to make love to me?"
He stared at her a moment before speaking. "Well let's put it this way. I'm here because I'm not sure… at all sure… that I don't want to."
Without a word Melissa set her drink on the floor and stood. Slowly, carefully, trying for the greatest impact she could attain, she undressed.
She reached under her skirt, removed her panties, and tossed them into the corner. She stood there making sure she had his complete attention before she removed the straps of her dress from her shoulders.
The dress fell smoothly to the floor, dropping like a curtain to expose the smooth perfection of her naked body to his searching eyes. He stared spellbound as she breathed in deeply, sending the massive globes of her tits heaving upward, the nipples hardened to their full length and standing like tiny oases in a desert of flesh.
"My God, you're beautiful," he whimpered. "I'll bet you're a fantastic fuck."
She crossed to stand directly in front of him, allowing the soft odor of her warm cunt to fill his nostrils. "You're welcome to find out."
"I can't. I made myself…"
"A promise, I know," she interjected, her hands now running through her hair. "But there are other things than fucking you know. Trust me. If anyone ever asks you what we did tonight, you'll be able to say, with a clear conscience, that all you did was talk, drink, and eat."
As he thought, his eyes stared, fascinated at the wealth of her tempting cunt. The mat of her pussy hair spread wide before him, parted in the center by the pulpy pink lips of her slit.
"Yes… of course," he said, his two thumbs burrowing into her willing gash, pulling it open to watch as her building juices dribbled down out of her cunt-hole. "Yes. That's all. All I did was eat."
"That's right, lover. Eat!"
Without hesitation he buried his face between her thighs until his nose pressed firmly against her tiny clit. His hands swung around, gasping at the firm pillows of her ass-cheeks as he pulled her towards him.
She moaned, grabbing at her own tits as he started a long, tingling, lapping motion with the full width of his tongue. It started at the entrance of her twat, and ran forward, up between her cunt-lips to her clitoris.
"Is it good, lover?" she moaned. "Does my cunt taste good to you?"
"Yes," he answered, his tongue rising up to scoop the steaming cunt-sauce into his stroking mouth. "It's wonderful. God, it tastes wonderful!"
Her hands pressed and pulled her tits in matched motion with his tongue. As his agile licker plunged into the heated opening of her twat, she would crush her boobs, the ample flesh bulging outward. Then as it slid up the open groove of her crack, she would pull, stretching the pliant mounds to their limit, and pinching the nipples at the exact moment he would strike her quivering love-bud.