A wild winter night in the city
It was late. They had spent all evening together dancing round what they both knew was an inevitability. As they looked at each other over the remains of their shared desert, she playfully ran her tongue over her lips, seeking out the residual sweetness he could see still clinging to them. He watched as she slowly traced her tongue back and forth thinking of what plans he had for that later.
She was talking to him! He had drifted off again, lost somewhere in the rich chocolatiness of her eyes. What did she say? Something about not being able to wait another minute, that she needed him inside her. Little minx. He quickly asked for the bill, and they rushed out the restaurant straight into a storm. The heavens opened as a foul tempest blew in sideways, rain soaking them through and the cream silk of her blouse clinging to her perfectly formed breasts. Her nipples straining at the fabric seemingly desperate to escape, brazenly crying out for attention. He pulled her to him, crushing her breasts against his chest, feeling her heart flutter against his, as their lips met, mouths parted and her tongue sought out his in a wanton, urgent embrace.
He had wanted to take her home but decided that he couldn't wait that long. He pulled her into the lobby of the nearest hotel, huge columns lining the lobby like some aggressive, phallic premonition. As he grabbed the keys to the suite and they headed across the lobby to the lift, he could feel his palms moisten and noticed a flush of pink around her throat. As they reached the lift, he pushed her against the wall and ran his hand up the inside of her thigh. As they kissed, he reached the heat of her sex, pulsing through the silk of her underwear, already soaked and molded to her soft, quivering lips. All too soon the bell indicated they had reached their floor. Another couple stood waiting for the lift, gave them a knowing glance as they both adjusted themselves, whilst walking past giggling.
As they passed the doors to six other suites, the anticipation was almost too much. He fumbled impatiently with the key, until finally the lock yielded, and the door swung open to reveal a plush and decadent interior.
He went to grab her, and she stopped him. "One minute", she said and quietly slipped off to the bathroom. He sat in a red velvet wingback chair, the sound of his watch teasing him with every tick and every tock. He walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink, the heady aroma of 18 year old Macallan hitting him as the ice clinked softly off the side of the heavy, cut crystal glass.
The bathroom door opened, she dimmed the lights and he could see the outline of her curves silhouetted against the art deco bathroom beyond. She glided slowly across the plush carpet, in nothing but her silk underwear and her 6-inch stilettos. As she stood in from of him, he grasped her buttocks with both hands and pulled her towards him. Very slowly he used his tongue to start tracing little circles around her navel, gradually guided lower by her eager hands running through his hair. He hooked his hands inside the back of her waistband and gently tugged, allowing her silk knickers to fall to the floor. He reached up and unhooked the clasp of her bra, allowing this to fall in a heap next to them.