He was, once again, nervous. This surprised him, somewhat, as he thought that he—and she—had gotten over the initial butterflies-in-the-stomach after their first meeting. But that was lunch, and this was... well, different. Not that it mattered anyway; she was still new to him. This was all new. Even seeing a new email pop into his box—seeing her name on a message—made his heart skip a beat with anticipation of what teasing the message would hold.
And now, as he paced the room, he wondered what the morning would bring. They'd hinted at this moment for weeks, in their "sex messages", as their emails had come to be called. No "text messages" for them, and it was a good thing that Gmail didn't charge by the temperature of emails, because these had become hot by anybody's standards. He'd taken the morning off work, scheduling a half-day vacation to 'take care of personal business', and she'd arranged all of her appointments for the afternoon. Anticipating that this morning's activities might leave them hungering for more, he'd arranged a week's rental of a suite—in cash of course—at of those "residence inns" that caters to road-weary business travelers. The practical side of him reasoned that a week for $180 was better than one night (or, a few hours) at $120; the hopeful side of him yearned for more after today—an hour or two, stolen here and there, with her naked beside him, as the week went on. Surely today would not be enough to satisfy either of them, he thought. His nervousness surfaced again, pushing aside this mental rambling, and he wondered—for what must have been the hundredth time since they agreed to this sexy rendevouz five days previously—if she'd actually show up. His nervous mental questioning was silenced when he heard her lightly wrap her nuckles on the door, as they'd planned: four short knocks, a deafening pause, followed by two more light taps... it was her. She did come. "And," he suddenly thought, in a moment of sexual anticipation, "she'll come again, she will." As he approached the door to open it, the nervousness resurfaced, just as quickly as it had left him when she had first knocked.Still, there was no turning back now. Nor did he want to turn back. She was everything he wanted—a beautiful, confident, sexual creature, and she'd given him a confidence, now, by her acceptance of his advances, slowly at first, and now here, confirmed by her standing at that door.
He reached out and twisted the knob, opening the door to see her, in all her beauty, standing before him in the hall. Her sexy blonde hair, with it's subtle brown highlights, cascaded over her brow and framed her captivating blue eyes—where they contacts, he wondered? He'd have to ask her sometime, but not now—those eyes, which now stared back at him and pinned his heart to the floor. He felt his face and chest suddenly flush with warmth, knowing—but not knowing—what would come next.
There was no need to invite her in; that invitation had already been extended, and accepted. And her eyes, now, told him that she was ready. He was ready too. This would be their day. "Does she ache for me as much as I do for her?", he wondered. His mind, over the past few weeks, had kept returning involuntarily, but willingly, to her self-proclaimed "uncontrolled thought" of him, the fantasy of him that she'd had during their lunch--she seeing him under her, as she powerfully took him, riding him hard--these were the things she'd imagined. He wishfully saw himself now as she had seen him, where she had saw him, how she had seen him. He liked what he saw.Her "Hi!" slipped past her luscious lips, in a coy and playful way, and spun him around as she slipped past him and entered the room, walking straight to the bed and dropping the bag she was carrying there. He stood there, door open, watching her in wonder and awe, half unbelieving that she was really there, wondering when he would wake up. But he was awake. And she was here.
He stood there with the door wide open, almost trance-like, captivated by her silohouette as light through the shade-drawn patio window highlighted her in deep shadow, her beautiful curves accentuated by the streaming light. "She could stand on a stage in a smoky room and sing sultry jazz," he thought. "And I'd stay there all night and listen." Her reminder to close the door brought him back to reality, and he complied.
He had spent many a crazy trip around his brain, wondering when and how their first kiss would occur. And it already had, several times, between that first lunch and now, as they'd met several times for lunch, lunches that were never eaten, as their appetite wasn't around food, but each other. Still, this moment was different... this kiss would be different. With the door now closed and locked, they stood before each other, unmoving for a moment, and then, as if drawn by irresistable magnets, they drew instantly across the gap that separated them, and, mimicing the door, closed and locked with each other, latching eyes, arms and lips. Their eyes yielded to the weight of their passion, choosing to close and experience—without the aid of sight—the long-desired touch of each other. Neither knew how much time passed locked in this embrace, but eventually they surfaced, not wanting to break the moment but in desperate need of air to fill their emptied lungs. She could see the hunger in his eyes, just as he could see it in hers. "Let's get clean, before we get dirty," he said, and taking her by the hand he led her towards the bathroom. As they stepped into the room, the cold tile floor warmed somewhat by the heat lamp, she could smell the subtle scent of luxurious body soap... a gentle smell, one that could be washed off, for neither of them could afford to leave this location with smells or marks that they didn't enter with. He reached inside the shower door to turn on the hot water, which sent wafts of steamy vapor spilling over the top of the glass shower door, cascading toward the floor and pooling around their feet. She kicked off her shoes, and he his. He peeled his socks off his feet using his toes, she more gracefully bending over to roll off her socks. When she stood, he was facing her, and his hand reached out to trace the gentle curve from those blonde bangs, around her ear, down her cheek to her neck, and from there to the first button on her blouse. She gasped in slight anticipation, feeling the warmth and manly roughness of his fingers brushing her cleavage. She'd imagined his hands here before, but now, experiencing it, it weakened her knees in a way she had not foreseen, and she nearly stumbled at the surprise of it. His other arm reached out quickly, steadying her, and with an unconcious tilt of his head and hers, approval was granted, and he began methodically, but slowly and seductively, unbuttoning her blouse, allowing his fingers the pleasure of feeling the warmth of her breasts and bosom as he did so.