He grasped me firmly but gently just above my elbow and guided me into a room, his room. Then he quietly shut the door and we were alone.
He approached me soundlessly, from behind, and spoke in a low, reassuring voice close to my ear.
Without warning, he reached down and I felt his strong, calloused hands start at my ankles, gently probing, and moving upward along my calves slowly but steadily. My breath caught in my throat. I knew I should be afraid, but somehow I didn’t care. His touch was so experienced, so sure.
When his hands moved up onto my thighs, I gave a slight shudder, and partly closed my eyes. My pulse was pounding. I felt his knowing fingers caress my abdomen, my ribcage. And then, as he cupped my firm, full breasts in his hands, I inhaled sharply.
Probing, searching, knowing what he wanted, he brought his hands to my shoulders, slid them down my tingling spine and into my panties.
Although I knew nothing about this man, I felt oddly trusting and expectant. This is a man, I thought. A man used to taking charge.
A man not used to taking no for an answer. A man who would tell me what he wanted. A man who would look into my soul and say …
“Okay, ma’am,” he said. “All done.”
My eyes snapped open and he was standing in front of me, smiling, holding out my purse.
“You can board your flight now.”