Although there was only one of me, I ordered tea for two.
The atmosphere of this five-star hotel, with its Art Deco gold and marble flourishes, was making me feel extravagant.
I put my finger to the old-fashioned “Buzz for Service” button. A novel feature in these online, uploaded times. One-touch service, before a mouse-click ever existed.
Moments later, the phone rings. Reclining on the panoply of pillows, I pick up the receiver.
“Tea for two, please. English Breakfast. And the High Tea cake platter.”
If they kept insisting on calling me Madame, I was going to behave like one.
I stretch, enjoying the whisper of my new black silk slip against my skin, the cloud of white hotel robe open over it. Plenty of time before my two o’clock appointment with a publisher. Admiring my freshly pedicured toes, I saunter to the mirror to apply matching lipstick in ruby red.
There’s a brisk knock at the door.
“Hello, Room Service.”
“Come in,” I assent around my lipstick, casting a sideways glance. The door opens, revealing firstly the trolley with silver teapot and a three-tiered cake tray, then a tall young man, his tumble of curly brown hair fighting the neatness of his uniform.
“Tea for Two, Madame,” he announces confidently, looking about for the other occupant.
“Set it by the bed, please.” In the mirror, I admire his broad shoulders as he manouveres the trolley. I feel his eyes on my body, as I finish with my lipstick, then walk towards him, smiling.
“There’s just me. I love tea. But whatever am I going to do with all that cake?”
“Shall I pour, Madame?”
“Yes.” I watch his long, tanned fingers handle the teapot, seating myself on the bed.
“One cup or two?” His brown eyes twinkle, sending sparks across my skin. His gaze caresses my cleavage.
“Two.” Not missing a beat, he pours. But his hands seem a little unsteady.
“And the other?”
“Depends.” I lean forward, fingers toying with the teacup
“On what, Madame?”
“On how you take it.”
Somewhere between the teapot and the cake tower, our lips collide.
“It’s my pleasure to join you, Madame,” he murmurs, tongue full of promise, one hand, warm, at my neck. “But I must insist on giving you the full High Tea Service.”
He offers me my tea. I sip, wondering what next.
“Éclair?” He takes up the silver tongs. “Or a petit-four, perhaps?” He’s nothing if not professional.
“Éclair.” I’m definitely feeling decadent.
Placing it on my plate, he slowly runs his finger down the cream-filled centre. I’m imagining it elsewhere. He dabs cream on my lower lip, making me open my mouth to suck more from his finger.
He sheds the robe from my shoulders, eases my slip up, and kneels before me.
“Red velvet cupcake is my favourite delicacy, Madame.”
I let him eat all the cake he wants.
Tea for two. Two for tea.
Me on you, you on me.
* * *
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