Quaint

Quaint ... a rather innocuous word for the inn as he approached it. Desire waited inside one of the "quaint" rooms as he pulled into a parking place. He sat a moment, collecting his thoughts, trying to force the adrenalin rush from turning him into a schoolboy. Just wouldn't do to scamper out of the car and across the parking lot like a youngster on the first day of school. He smiled as he got out of the car. How did one look innocent when the reason for being there was anything but? He expected the two mini selves to pop up on opposite shoulders at any time ... one carping about the gamble, and what he was possibly throwing away; the other prodding with a pitchfork and yelling "batter up!"

He'd been in similar feeling situations before ... post-brief/pre-flight. That slight high right before climbing into the bird carrying live ordinance was like this. The need to jump in, crank, go down range, and let it go. He smiled. Just like then, caution and reason kicked in. One Big difference ... his focus wasn't on an enemy, nor even a target, but a woman. One Big similarity ... methodical planning, careful preparation, deliberate execution, and blatant audacity meant you got to do it again.

Check in had breezed by. With key in hand, he strolled back to the car. The short drive to a parking spot right in front of the room had passed quickly, and getting the bag in the room no problem. He checked the lot once more and smiled at the parking spot available next to his car. A shower seemed the right thing to do next. The phone ringing as he stepped out prompted a smile. Her voice on the other end turned it into a wicked grin. A quick exchange of information and dead air left him alone with his thoughts once more. A glance in the mirror made him smile. Older, wiser, but definitely not over the hill. He finished drying off, dressed and waited for her arrival.

A knock on the door broke him out of silent thought. The glide across the room took moments and forever. She stood at the doorway, smiling, dark glasses covering her sparkling eyes. No words exchanged ... a hand extended, hers slipped easily into his, a step or two dancing backwards together into the room ... and the door shut. He released her hand, raising both to her sunglasses, smiling as her head pulled away slightly, then carefully removed them and set them down on the table near the door.

The first real kiss is always a delicate thing, like first impressions, always hard to set aside. He started the gentle exploration, matching movement to movement. One could compare it to starting a fire. If done wrong, well, you could always start over, but if coaxed properly, you got a bonfire.

The bonfire started.

He stepped backward slowly to the bed, bending his knees as they made contact, never breaking the kiss. She fell forward on top of him, the smile and laughter translating into the kiss. Infectious, the smile and laughter passed to him until they were laughing together, holding each other on the bed. He eased out of her arms, rearranging himself on the bed, back to the faux headboard. She smiled again, then bounded playfully across the bed to straddle his lap. They looked at each other, holding each other, and noticed the bonfire wasn't out. The second kiss wasn't remotely delicate.

His hands travelled up and down her back beneath the blouse, occasionally raking her skin. Each time the nails furrowed, she would sigh and arch forward drawing her pelvis against him. He reacted by arching upward. The soft moan into his mouth prompted a pause from him. As she leaned back in question, his left hand moved to her face to caress her cheek with the back of his fingers, eyes locked to hers searching. As she returned his gaze, he finally spoke, asking her to remove the ring from his hand. With little fanfare, she did as he asked, depositing the golden circle upon the nightstand.

Before she resumed her position, his fingers had already found buttons and begun removing the wrapping paper. Odd thing about a woman's blouse, he thought to himself, as they released one by one. He had always wondered if the design was a sexist thing, the exact opposite of a man's shirt, to make it easier for a man to disrobe a woman? No matter really, as each released. If they didn't release willingly, they were going to ricochet off the walls when he pulled the shirt apart impatient to get to his prize.

Task complete, sans ricocheting fasteners, he paused glancing down. His hands eased inside the blouse, then slowly parted the curtains. Her full breasts lay there partially hidden, her breathing shallow. In high school, he had become quite adept at the single handed release of a bra ... squeeze, gather, twist and release. Rather than attempt a skill not tried in a while, he opted for something different, slipping the curtains off her shoulders and hooking his thumbs under the straps over her shoulders at the same time. His eyes returned to hers and noticed the very small smile at the corners of her lips. He held her eyes as he slowly pulled his hands apart and down ... the straps slipping over her shoulders. As her eyebrows raised in question, his right hand snaked upward into her hair and his left downward to the small of her back. Simultaneously pulling her body forward to him while pulling her head back exposed her throat and thrust her breasts upward. He could tell her body had just pumped adrenalin into her blood stream as she flushed from her breasts up over her throat and presumably to her cheeks although he couldn't see them.

She neither fought nor ran.

(To be continued)