She stared from her window into the darkness, every detail of him seared indelibly into her brain; the slim tautness of his body as he strained to remove her car from its boggy captivity, the small smear of mud on his cheek as he wiped away his shoulder length hair from his eyes. She remembered his powerful shoulders has he pushed her car back onto the road, the rain having formed his shirt to a see-through second skin and the beam from his face as he turned, mud spattered, and bowed gracefully, then followed her to the Inn.
Looking down from her second floor window, she could see the light from his window playing onto the grass directly below hers; her heart beating faster knowing his clothing was drying in front of fire in his room. In unaccustomed brazenness, she loosened the top of her thin satin dressing gown, leaving the room and proceeded to the floor below her, to his door.
She padded quietly through the seemingly deserted house, every step towards his door making her heart quicken. Every step towards him filled with expectation and fear. She raised her hand to knock on his door, a nervous smile on her face, her mind racing, thinking of what to say. Her raised hand hovered with uncertainty and then fell to her side as she clutched the revealing gown at her chest and closed it as the fear and uncertainty welled up into her mind. She turned away to make silent retreat to her thoughts, safe in her room on the floor above.
As she started to turn, the door in front of her opened. He stood there in the doorway, his large frame almost filling the doorway, silhouetted by the light within. His towel, too small by half, barely made it around his loins, its split revealing the strong thighs that had powered her vehicle to this guest house. His wet hair hung in twisted curls on his broad shoulders and caused small droplets of water to race each other downward, joining with others as they went. His wetness and the coolness of the hallway caused waves of goose-bumps to wash over him. She could see his nipples firm in the semidarkness and hers reacted similarly to the sight.
She stammered and sputtered, caught in a moment of panic. The desire for the floor to open up and swallow her was strong. No words came. The sight of his body in the semidarkness, the nearness of him, and his unexpected appearance at the door had her mind awash. A soft smile swept across his face; its warmth and gentleness calming her, and with an easy grace he took a step backwards, bowing once again, bidding her welcome.
The bow caused the split in his towel to ride higher, revealing the soft upper reaches of his thigh, the smile causing a small dimple to appear at the corner of his mouth, his large dark eyes melting the panic and uncertainty, melting her resolve to run. She stepped forward, her heart loud in her ears, his freshly washed scent in her nostrils, her breath short, and tingling feelings within her body running riot with her thoughts.
The room was lit by a shard of light that pierced the floor from the bedroom, a thin line of light along the cream carpet. A red glow emanated along with the heat from the small flames of the open fire, causing large shadows to quiver on the walls, adding further to the surreal nature of the moment. She was drawn to the window; perhaps realising it was the only other way out of the room.
He gazed at her as she stood at the window. The moonlight sliced through the cracks in the storm, revealing the lithe form through the now opaque material. Standing close behind her, he reached up and touched her shoulder, and looked to the window, but not to the darkness beyond, but to her reflection, to the rising and falling of her chest, to the long form being so truly reflected, to the robe partially open, to the soft white skin there revealed.
She felt the touch of his hand on her shoulder. It was like a small shock that traveled down her spine to her inner thighs, triggering an excitement in her breast, her stomach and causing her hands to drop to her sides. This allowed the front of the gown to fall open an inch. One of her hands moved back, and found the hard dampness of his thigh, the muscle taut with anticipation. The realisation that his towel was missing caught her off guard, and a tiny noise escaped her throat. She then felt his lips on the nape of her neck and the tiny noise from her throat became a moan as she tilted her head to the side and squeezed the strong thigh, more to keep herself upright than from passion.
But passion it was, as one of his hands gentle stroked the small of her back, trailing upwards to her shoulders, yet the sensation traveled downwards elsewhere. The softness of his touch was feather-like, yet all of her senses were keenly aware of its presence, and of him. She leaned back into him allowing herself to feel him against her. She felt the dampness of his chest soak into her robe, and soak through her very skin, but it couldn't put out the fire that had been kindled in her, that was now starting to burn brighter and rage, like the thoughts through her mind.
She was so keenly aware of his lips on her neck, his hand on her back, and the hand on her shoulder that was now slowly moving downward to her breast. His touch made her thoughts impossible, replaced with swirling emotion, waves of passion, lust and confusion all rolled together by this ocean of feelings. She could feel his chest on her back, and oddly the touch of his foot on hers, and yet, her heart was pounding at the feel of his obvious pleasure and excitement that was pressing itself against her.
She too looked into the reflection of the window. She watched as if detached, yet inextricably linked to the sensations, as he kissed her neck. His large powerful hands went to the collar of her robe, opened it, and slid it from her shoulder, where, like slow motion, its satin folds engulfed each other as it tumbled to the floor at her feet. Her heaving breasts, now open to the air and his vision, retracted their tips in pleasure and expectation. They were not to wait too long. His strong hand gently cupped her left breast. She saw the long fingers cup it, and in such tenderness, take its weight and caress it, sending messages to her inner thighs, and small tiny electric shocks to her nipples.
Almost without knowing it, her hand on his thigh had started a journey of its own, a journey of discovery. The taut thigh muscles gave way to a soft inner thigh, small curls of hair played at the back of her hand as it changed position again. Her other hand was now behind her too, both intent on caressing and clawing, finding purchase, finding steadiness to hold her from the growing pleasure she felt in her own thighs. The jewel of her discovery was then in her hands, its size and texture brought a small gasp to her throat, accompanied by an answering sound from his.
No words were spoken, only the language of touch, of response, of fire. She turned to face him, at the request of his hands. He gazed down upon her, through her. Instinctively she drew in her midriff, then felt embarrassment at the act, as she saw in his eyes the joy and desire of what he saw in front of him. For the first time, she too saw the result of that desire at his loins. He walked toward the leather couch facing the fire, towing her by the hand, her feet barely touching the ground as she floated on the air of pleasure and expectation. Their shadows, not wanting to be left behind, floated along the walls, their shapes ever changing at the whim of the flames.
The leather of the couch was cool on her hot skin as she sat. It was a huge couch, the back of her knees touched its base, yet leaning back, she found herself partially reclined; her Beau on his knees before her. Oddly, she self consciously noticed the two lines across her stomach that the angle of her body had caused, and placed a cushion behind her to remove them, and thus bringing her aching breasts closer to the lips that were intent on enveloping them.
The first touch of his lips and tongue to her breast caused her breath to intake, the touch with his hand to the other nipple added to the sensation, but the unseen attack of his other hand exploring between her thighs, caused her back to arch uncontrollably. The desire had built so strong, so fast, so uncharacteristically bold; she had to have him.
Brief fleeting thoughts and doubts broke through the layers of pleasure and lust. Thoughts about her uncharacteristic wantonness, her behaviour, her forwardness, unable to clearly understand why this was so different to the way she would normally be. But the thoughts were soon washed away, as was the care for any future thought, as his tongue slowly made it way down across her stomach to small tufts of hair that hid the entrance to her soul.
The tendrils of his wet hair snaked along her body leaving ripples of cold awareness in the sea of her sensations. These ripples changed to waves, then to pounding seas, as he paid attention to his duties. She opened her eyes and looked down to the impossible scene before her. She saw this stranger's strong broad shoulders, their olive skin, darker than the whiteness of the inner thighs they separated. She saw his wet tangled hair across her stomach, she saw his eyes through it, looking up to her, with a smile of enjoyment that he was gaining and giving great pleasure in a way she had never experienced before; and felt the great waves of pleasure radiating outward from its source, finding every possible nerve ending and jangling it to its maximum.
Her breath was short, her senses wracked, her awareness acute, and her climax imminent. She moved to pull him to her, but he had already seen the signs, and moved in one glorious motion forward, his lips trailing across her stomach and via her breasts to her lips. She tasted the saltiness of his lips, smelled the muskiness of their joint pleasure as his hardness found its waiting sheath. He paused at its entrance, just momentarily, taunting and teasing, but spurred by her legs around him, he had no choice but to enter her to the hilt, she would have no less.
The unfinished circle was now complete. The feeling of possession and fulfillment was added to the physical pleasures of his presence within her, its completeness embodying a sense of rightness. The angle of her body allowed her to look up at him as he straightened and started to move, to slide, to thrust. She saw the wide expanse of his chest, his nipples as erect under her fingers as hers were. The feelings within her were as turbulent as a raging river, great waves splashing upwards as he moved within her. He was able to lock his eyes to hers as she moved up and down, back and forward meeting and departing from his approach, in unison. Their fingers of one hand also locked together like their bodies; the other of his hands skillfully adding to the pleasure at her loins, hers gripping and clenching the arm of the couch tightly lest this ride throw her from her place. She raced along this river of desire and sensation, its final cascade of a great waterfall ever closer and closer.
Her body arched with pleasure and the impending cascade over the falls, but his movement stopped, like throwing her a lifeline, it held her near the precipice, close, yet safe on the river. She was torn, torn between staying here on the edge, tantalising, tasting, teasing, or letting go, drawn so intensely, so immediately towards the finish, the glorious end as she went. The decision was made for her as he drove her towards the edge for the last time. The realisation that there was nothing more to stop her thrilled her to her core, closely followed by a rising burning sensation from her inner thighs to her lungs as the inevitable climax and crescendo that approached.
The steep edge of the waterfall was breached, both of them crashing over the edge, the sensation of falling, wrapped in each other's embrace made her feel such a great safety, yet such abandonment, as the waves of pleasure rolled over and over them. Every muscle arched and tightened with each encompassing spasm of pleasure, again and again. Joined as one, they collapsed in breathlessness, as the last waves of pleasure drifted away like a small boat on a lake in a light breeze.
She closed her eyes, and smelled the musk scent of their conquest, the cleanness of wet freshly washed hair, and listened to his labored breathing synchronising with hers as it regained more evenness.
She lay wrapped in his arms for a time, as time knew no measure in their warm sleepy embrace. Perhaps she slept. For the briefest of moments she was startled awake, unsure of her surroundings, to find him at her side on the couch, his breath even with sleep, his chest rising and falling, their history warm and moist between her thighs which pulsed with sensation of one conquered. She slipped her arm from beneath him, trailed it over his nipple in passing, only to have it firm again. Her gown was at the window, it was only a dozen steps to the door, and she was gone.
As she drove away from the Inn, the heater of her car fought with the coolness of the early morning, the mist on the window matching the mists and fogs of her brain as she thought of what had just happened. She would hold this thought in her most secret part of her mind for times when there was a need to remember the stranger at the Inn, for times when her husband was taking conquests of his own. It was only then that she realised... she hadn't found out his name.