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If it wasn't for the snow I'd be home now, Shannon thought, safe in my own bed, curled up next to Jon instead of lying in a strange bed in a strange room with a stranger's head resting on my stomach. What was his name? Bill? Mark?
Shannon looked down at the back of his head, watching it rise and lower with each breath she took, struggling to place his name. The room swam in and out focus and her thoughts moved sluggishly through an alcohol induced haze. She silently cursed the blizzard that cancelled all flights out of Denver. Fortunately, she'd been able to snag a room before the hotels filled up.
The overly cheerful desk clerk had given her a coupon for a free drink at the hotel bar, all the while apologizing for the inconvenience caused by the weather. Shannon had called home frustrated by circumstances beyond her control but Jon soothed her, telling her everything was fine, Molly was fine, she should relax and go enjoy her free drink. That drink, of course, turned into a second and a third and, like that, she was deep in conversation with a fellow stranded traveler who couldn't get home to Chicago. She couldn't recall how many drinks she had with him, but she did remember he had kind eyes, a warm smile, a magical voice that instantly put her at ease, and, as she learned soon after, a magical tongue to match.
Oh, God! His tongue! He didn't just lick with it - he massaged, he teased, he explored, he devoured. When she came she'd - what? Passed out? Blacked out? Fallen asleep? None of these felt right but she couldn't quite grasp the proper phrase. Wet heat pooled in her loins as she recalled their encounter and she desired nothing more than to run her fingers through his hair, to rouse him, to encourage him, to let him guide her into uncharted wilderness.
But she stayed her hand, thinking of Jon and Molly and the mess she'd made. Guilt and shame descended swiftly and weighed heavily on her soul. How could she do this? How could she hurt Jon like this? He was a good husband and father. They had a good marriage, a great marriage when compared to other couples, and Shannon wanted no one else. A lone, silent sob racked her body. Nothing made sense at the moment.
She had always been the faithful type, not just in her marriage but also in prior relationships. Sure, there had been a few times when she may have been tempted but not once had she strayed from the path. All it took was for her to think of her husband and her little girl and any hint of infidelity would vanish, like a puff of smoke on a windy day. It had worked every time, until tonight. This stranger had some sort of power over her, a kind of spell that made it difficult if not impossible for her to resist. She had to stop before it went any farther.
Shannon surveyed her predicament and determined: one, she was completely naked; two, the man was stripped down to his briefs which most likely meant they hadn't actually fucked; and three, this wasn't her room so she may have a chance of sneaking out. Minutes passed as she planned how to extract her body from beneath his head without waking him. But just as she was about to make her first attempt, his hand caressed her inner thigh.
She froze, hoping he was still asleep, but that hope was dashed when his lips brushed against her stomach, his tongue tickling her skin. Her mind screamed for her to push him aside, to grab her clothes and flee, to escape before any more damage was done. A simple two-letter word formed in her throat but caught there, unable to rise to her lips. The warmth of his kisses and the touch of his hand had re-stoked the fire burning deep within. She'd been reaching out, fully intending to push him away but instead her hand betrayed her, burying her fingers in his hair and urging him lower.
Fingers glided over her sex, dancing lightly and enticing her outer lips to swell and unfold like a flower greeting the morning sun. The pool of wet heat spilled over the brim and Shannon imagined she heard a slight
snick
as her pussy parted for his fingers. He dipped into her, spreading her nectar all over her sex, painting her with her own juices, while his magical mouth continued its journey south. Her husband and daughter were a dim memory until she saw the gold band on her finger.