Five A.M.

Lia wakes against the still dark morning and heavy hotel drape shadows and wraps herself in the sheet, tighter against him. Aidan sleeps; she can tell by his deep, even breath punctuated with light fluttery snores. Still, though, as she circles herself in white Egyptian cotton and his skin, settles her head into the hollow beneath his right arm, he mumbles "Baby," and trails his left hand over her hair.

This is love, Lia sighs to herself, still sleepyish, even if it shouldn't be, even if it wasn't what we agreed on. It's love anyway. Normally this revelation, since she has it every time they're together, would cause her to jump up, run to the bathroom and hide until she felt more in control or convinced herself of her own insanity. Somehow, though, it seems too much trouble to unravel her arms and legs and sheet, and what if Aidan wakes up? She's awakened him twice already this night, and he has a major meeting in a few hours. Better to breathe and doze and stretch and meow, and besides, his nipple is about an inch from her tongue.

Lia wonders idly if her husband will remember to get up to take the children to school, and decides it's all right if he doesn't. She wonders idly if Aidan's wife will remember to walk his beloved wolfhound, and decides that the dog might be more insistent about peeing than her children might be about their education. And anyway, it's been three months since she got to wake up beside Aidan, and that time, her husband was in bed with them, so it wasn't quite the same. And the time before that he didn't get to stay over, so it's really been a year since she had Aidan all to herself for a night. Lia smiles and sighs and trails her fingernails lightly over his chest, kissing his rib lightly. Aidan stirs and his arms move tighter around her, his hands large and sensual and comforting.

Dozy sighs and not quite a sunrise later, Lia wakes again next to air and skin and part of a pillow to find that she has rolled over and that Aidan, who never moves, is in exactly the same spot as before, except that his hand is now resting on her hip instead of her hair. Fully half of the king sized bed is unused unless you count that they fucked on that side before they went for dinner last night, before they fucked again on the mirrored vanity across from the mirrored closet doors, before they fucked again on the bed, before they curled against each other and smiled like contented kittens, before dinner and drinks and flirtation and a bad, forgetful young waiter who made Lia very happy she was with a man old enough to have a clue about anything, before they came back and fucked some more and fell asleep. Lia's brain tiptoes through recent memory and she giggles a little at mental ukuleles and Aidan, being Aidan, wakes up.

"Hi, baby," he says groggily, grinning, reaching one hand for his glasses on the nightstand and the other for her. She rolls into him, onto him, lazily dragging the tip of her tongue across his lips. He's awake enough to catch it, and they settle into a few minutes of tongue tag and lip nuzzling and Lia always finds herself wanting to lick just along his beardline at his neck, because he smells so himself, so sweet, just there. She sneaks a look at the alarm clock on a tongue upstroke to find that it's just after five in the morning, so there's time, and she leans over and over and slides down and sinks him into her mouth just so, inhaling the scent that is her favorite aphrodisiac. If anyone ever bottled Aidan's scent I'd pay whatever, she thinks, wondering momentarily if that makes her a pheromone addict. He's not hard yet, but it doesn't take more than a minute for him to get that way and Lia makes happy girlish whimpery sounds in her throat when he moans.

Pulling him out of her mouth she slides over him like a snake and brushes her nipples up his chest and he kisses her cheeks and her lips and she flicks his nose with her tongue. Reaching between them, she finds him hot and hard and ready and quite nicely willing to fuck her again. Lia sheaths herself around him, sitting up enough to feel him against her cervix and then leans into him enough to brace herself, hands on his chest, and she moves, and he groans and smiles.

Orgasms don't come quickly on round five (is it five, or six?), if they come at all, and she isn't really trying to make him come anyway, because she wants him again before he has to go, before she has to drop him off downtown and drive like a maniac home. Lia wants Aidan's cock inside her just because, because she wants to remember him later when she misses him so much that her chest hurts. She wants to keep him with her, and this seems the best way, the closest way. Shaking off the flash of bittersweet, she concentrates on his cock, the feel of his body between her thighs, under her hands. He pulls her closer to him and arches, grasping her nipple between his lips, pulling her body inside his, as he is inside her, and then Lia can't remember to think at all.

Time and lovers move more slowly, Lia leaning all the way in to chase kisses across his neck and shoulders and face, then sitting up to let him stroke her hips, her waist, her tits. Aidan's hips carry her like waves of surf onto autumn beaches, rolling and riding and sliding and crashing into tan sand or pale skin, and their rhythm is varied but constant, gentler and harder and gentler again, and she feels the languid crest of a half-sleepy, dreamy climax washing through her in slow motion, rippling lightly through her cunt and over him so quietly he doesn't seem to know it's there, but he pulls her to him and kisses her softly, like velvet and satin, and rolls her over to her hands and knees so he can take her from behind.

Sheets under fingernails and his hands tight on her hips, one reaches up the back of her neck, grasping her shoulder, holding her hair because it pulls just mmmm, like that, and back over her back to her hips again, he rocks back and forth as she tightens around him on the outstrokes, how does he know how to hit that perfect angle every time? She whimpers and moans, rocking in opposite motion against him, their fucking faster and harder and hotter and wetter and bigger and tighter and she gets dizzy and he calls her "baby" again, louder, "Oh, god, babyyy.." and groans as he spurts hot jets inside her, as she tightens around him, filled and warm and shivery and perfectly, completely happy.

"Hi," Lia says, breathless.