Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Title: Late Valentine




Summary: A late Valentine can be the best. 


Keywords:erotic,consexual,oral,hot,sex





   I'm standing with my hands thrust deep in the pile of cashmere jumpers,
enjoying the feel and texture of them, but not really concentrating very
successfully on the objective of choosing and buying one, when I become
aware of someone standing next to me.

   'Sorry, am I in your way?'

   I step back slightly, wondering how peculiar I was looking just then; a
grown man clutching handfuls of overpriced women's knitwear.

   'Not at all.  I just wanted to reach for this colour here, if you don't
mind.  They are such pretty colours, aren't they?'

   I swing my head to take in the source of this voice.  A warm voice, with
a touch of humour, and a lot of American to it.  I suck my breath in.  From
this angle, it's just the top of her head, a slim arm reaching out for the
green jumpers in front of me and, as I tip my head a little more, a
slim-waisted coat smoothed across her hips, that I can see. 

   She holds it up -- the green jumper -- in front of her face, in the way
women do, giving it the full critical appraisal.  She's got that amazing
dark red hair that looks like it belongs in a Titian painting, it's such an
outrageously deep colour.  I'm transfixed by it, and need to make a
conscious effort not to shove my restless hands into it.

   'I think the green is the best colour here,' I agree with her, finally
pulling myself together enough to say something.

   'Oh, really, you do, do you?' 

   Again, that undercurrent of humour in her voice.  But more arresting is
the view she presents me with now she's turned her face to look at me.  Big
brown eyes behind tortoiseshell frame glasses, a faint spray of freckles
just visible over her nose, and a mouth pulled into an amused smile,
dimpling her cheeks slightly.

   I smile back, fighting the urge to stare at her lips.

   'I do,' I breathe out.  'My sister said she wanted blue, but I think the
green would look better.'

   'Oh?'

   'Mmmm.'

   'Would she wear green, or does she prefer blue?'

   'Well -- she wears a lot of blue.  Maybe that's why I'm tempted to go
for the green.'

   'To change it up a bit?'

   'Something like that.'

   She's still got that amused look on her face, and my head fills with all
of the things I'd like to do with her, perhaps beginning with a drink, but
I confess I'm already preoccupied with the idea of enjoying that smile in
her eyes in much more intimate settings than a boutique in London's West
End.  I'm wondering how much of this is showing on my face.

   'Is she my sort of colouring?  Blonde?  Brunette?'

   And she holds the jumper in front of her now, tucking it under her chin
a little to bring it close to her skin and hair.

   'Uh -- she's blonde.  She's my stepsister really,' I ramble on. 
'Different father, so she's blonde.  And tiny, a bit like you actually. 
Whereas I am neither of those things.'

   'I can see that!' Her eyes are definitely laughing now.  'But, I think
this colour would look good on a blonde woman.  Which of these styles are
you going for?'

   'Ah -- well -- that's where I was losing the will to live just then. 
Round neck, v-neck or this one with buttons?  Too many choices for my poor
thick head.'

   This makes her laugh out loud, and the sound of it sends an unreasonable
amount of warmth flowing through my veins.

   'Well if she is my size or thereabouts, would it help if I tried the
different styles on?  Then you'll be able to see what they look like?  And
I'm thinking of buying one for myself anyways.'

   I grin, feeling like I've won the lottery.  A few more minutes of
looking at this woman is going to be something to treasure.  And maybe I'll
summon the nerve to ask her to have that drink with me. 

   'That'd be great, if you don't mind?'

   'Hey, I offered.'

   She picks up several of the jumpers, checking the sizes and walks over
towards the fitting rooms.  It's one of those high-end shops where they
have big, upholstered leather armchairs for the non-shoppers to sit in. 
She points wordlessly to one of them, indicating that's where I should sit,
and negotiates her way into one of the cubicles with a shop assistant who
swings the heavy curtains closed to protect everyone's modesty.  I sit
down, check the time, and wonder how long I can spin this out for.  It's
not like I've had much experience lately, and whatever I might once have
had feels very out of date and rusty. 

   +++++++

   Standing in the fitting room I stare in the mirror, not knowing whether
I should be amused or alarmed at myself.  What am I doing, offering to
model a bunch of sweaters for a complete stranger?  I feel dangerously
giddy from the events of the day, and want to prolong the feeling but
probably need to control it, too.  I swallow, and shrug my shoulders.  What
harm can it possibly do?  And it's definitely an improvement on the evening
in prospect -- dinner alone, maybe a bath in my lovely but lonely hotel
room, half an hour reading in bed before dozing off, and four hours' sleep,
waking up with the book on my face.  A typical Valentine's Day for me,
these past few years.  Not that I've ever been a fan of the way it's become
such a thing -- cards, balloons, teddy bears, themed lingerie, overpriced
roses, cocktails and dinners -- no thank you.  Ten minutes of helping him
choose a nice sweater for his sister is just a diverting activity -- almost
a good deed?

   It's not until I take my coat off I realise my mistake.  I'm wearing a
dress, and trying a sweater on over the top of it isn't going to do it
justice.  I pull back the curtain, and the attentive shop assistant is
already approaching.

   'Yes?'

   'Umm, I've realised I need to try this on with a skirt or some pants or
something,' I explain to her, gesturing at my dress, and of course, she
understands immediately.

   'Of course.  What size are you?'

   'She's a six.' His voice reaches us from the armchair.

   I raise my eyebrows at him.  I guess he really does know what size his
sister is, and I guess she and I really are the same build.  The shop
assistant moves off in search of something to pair with the sweater and I
find him looking at me, somewhat intently it has to be said.  I'm beginning
to admit to myself that I'm not being entirely selfless in my offer to help
him with his shopping.  He's tall, dark, and handsome; what can I say?  And
I'm a sucker for men with clear eyes and an inability to hide what they're
thinking.

   'Thanks for doing this.  I really appreciate it.'

   He leans forward now, his elbows on his knees, a well-worn leather
shoulder bag sitting on the floor between his feet.

   'I don't even know your name.'

   'Elizabeth,' I reply.

   'Classy name,' he smiles.  'I'm Rob.'

   'Nice to meet you, Rob,' I smile back.

   The shop assistant is back with an armful of clothes for me to choose
from.  Such a big armful that I laugh, she smiles, and Rob's jiggling his
leg, but from the look on his face, I don't think it's with impatience.  I
dive back behind the curtain and pick through the clothes.  I choose one of
the skirts, slip out of my dress, pull the skirt up and the sweater on.

   He's still leaning over his knees, but frowning, tapping at his phone
with elegant long fingers, and doesn't notice me.  I don't mind being able
to look at him for a few unnoticed seconds.  I like his dark hair, short
around his neck and going grey at the temples, I really like his long legs
and how the jacket of his classic English-cut suit sits on his shoulders.
It's not until the shop assistant catches my eye and shakes her head at
him, amused at his obliviousness to me standing in front of him, that he
jerks upright.

   'Sorry, Elizabeth.  Wasn't paying due attention.'

   The look on his face is rather wonderful.  I give him a quick twirl.

   'What do you think?'

   He blinks, slowly.  Very nice blue eyes.

   'Umm.  Beautiful.'

   It comes out as something between a growl and a whisper.  I'm instantly
distracted by the desire to give him more reasons to sound like that again,
maybe somewhere less public than this shop.

   'Oh!' is all I manage to actually say.

   The light in his eyes, the way he's sitting back in the chair now, as if
to get a better look at me -- it's much more of a reaction than I'd
anticipated.  I feel myself beginning to blush.

   +++++++

   The shop assistant is having fun with us now, bringing more clothes for
Elizabeth to try on, seemingly enjoying the little show we're having here.
After all, it's a dull Wednesday afternoon in the middle of February, the
shop is in no way busy, and we're the only ones in the fitting room.  And
Elizabeth has a fantastic body.  The shop assistant is happy to dress it.
I'm beginning to find it more than difficult to imagine doing the opposite.
Not helped when the curtain doesn't close quite as tightly as before, and I
glimpse Elizabeth's bare back as she curves and glides herself out of
another skirt.  I avert my eyes and shuffle around in the chair, willing my
cock not to betray me.

   After twenty minutes of this entertainment, I've made a decision about
which jumper to buy my sister (the green -- blue be damned -- and the
v-neck) and am holding it in my hand, trying not to bury my nose to inhale
Elizabeth's scent on it.  Elizabeth seems to be deciding to buy the same,
and the shop assistant (Sahra -- we're all on first name terms now) has
gone to fetch one from the shop for her.

   'Anything else you think I absolutely must buy?'

   She's asking me in a light-hearted, throwaway, tone of voice, but my
answer is more than serious.

   'That skirt,' I say.

   She looks confused.

   'Which one?'

   'The first one,' I reply, wondering how she could even be asking that
question. 

   It was as if it'd been tailored to fit her, and believe me, I know good
tailoring when I see it.

   'Oh!'

   And I'm gratified to see the pink blush creeping up over her throat
again.

   'Really, you should buy it.  It's like it was made for you.'

   Her cheeks are dimpling as her smile widens.

   'Hmmm.  Ok.  That sounds like a serious recommendation.'

   'Oh, it's serious alright.'

   We both stare at each other then -- one, two, three beats -- a few
layers of good manners and social refinement falling away as we do so.  I'm
about to go for it, to suggest a drink, a walk, more shopping, whatever
it's going to take to get her to spend a few more minutes with me, when
Sahra returns holding another green jumper.  Elizabeth steps behind the
curtain to change back into her own dress.

   'Is she going to buy that skirt as well, then?' Sahra's asking me, all
smiles.  'It looked perfect on her, like I knew it would.'

   'Oh, I know!  I hope so.'

   'She's lucky to have you.  My husband would never sit here so patiently,
and he definitely wouldn't be half as attentive, neither!'

   I smile at her, but don't disabuse her of her mistake.

   Once Elizabeth emerges from the fitting room for the final time, we
thank Sahra for her help and patience.  I'm gratified she's buying both the
jumper and the skirt.  As we walk out onto the street I take a deep breath;
cigarette smoke and roasted chestnuts.

   'How about a drink?  As a thank you for helping me make up my mind
between blue and green?'

   'Sure.'

   I'd feared a straight 'no', and can't stop myself from grinning like the
Cheshire Cat himself.

   'Great.  I know just the place.'

   It's one of those pubs that used to be on every corner and down every
alley of Soho, but which are an endangered species these days.  Small,
leaded windows, dark wood bar, floor and furniture to match, etched mirrors
behind the optics, a lingering smell of tobacco, not a tourist in sight. 
She looks surprised, but not horrified, so I chalk it up as a success.  She
orders a gin and tonic which is also a relief, since I'd fleetingly
wondered if she was one of those Americans who doesn't really drink.

   'Cheers,' I raise my pint of beer and we clink glasses.

   'Absolutely,' she says, and smiles at me.  As if I wasn't already in
enough trouble.

   'So, are you visiting London or --?'

   Visiting, it turns out, for work.  She talks about what she does. 
Something legal, and a lot of it goes over my head, but the part when she
says she's just this morning been made an offer of a job here in London
steals my attention.  Yes, she's considering it because, no, she doesn't
have a partner, husband, boyfriend or girlfriend back in the States.  Not
anymore.  And maybe it's time for an adventure.  She may not be in the
first flush of youth, but she is free and single; laughing as she tells me
this.  It's a quiet laugh, but no less beguiling for it, especially as she
tips her head back a little each time she does it, baring more of her
pretty neck.  The beer's going to my head as I'd forgotten to eat any lunch
earlier, and I'm finding it harder and harder to do anything except stare
at her.  Pretty soon she'll start to think I'm an axe murderer.  My phone
vibrates in my jacket pocket.  I squint at the screen and roll my eyes at
the message.

   'It's work.  I've got to go back to the office to make another phone
call later.  But, still time for another drink?'

   'Sure.'

   'I'd have liked to make a night of it.  Dinner, that sort of thing,
Elizabeth, but --,' I shrug apologetically.

   She raises her eyebrows at me.  'We might've been lucky to get into a
restaurant tonight.'

   I frown.

   'It's Valentine's Day.' And, seeing my reaction, 'Well I guess that's
passed you by!'

   'Guilty,' I agree.

   She buys, this time.  It gives me a minute to regroup.  I had completely
forgotten what day it was.  I clear my throat, trying not to think about it
too deeply, but not really succeeding; a vivid image of her, Ginny, in that
fantastically-cut cream silk dress, red berries in her hair and red
lipstick painted on her lips, her bright eyes so full of light and love.  I
shut my eyes to it.

   Then she's back at our table, sitting perhaps a little closer to me than
before.

   How much longer is she here for, I manage to ask?  One more night after
tonight.  Great answer. 

   How about dinner tomorrow?  That's a yes. 

   Does she visit London often for work?  About once a month. 

   I sit back in the chair, and consider taking up religion, I'm feeling so
blessed. 

   She interrupts my bliss to ask me what I do (property -- much too boring
to describe here) and about my sister and parents and eventually it occurs
to me she's asking after my marital/relationship status, and I almost choke
laughing at myself for being so dense.

   'Are you ok?' she's asking as I cough into my pint.

   'Fine, fine.  Just a timely reminder of how out of practice I am at
this.'

   'Are you?  Out of practice, I mean?'

   I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, eyes on her fingers as she
taps at an ice cube in her glass.

   'Terribly.  I think the last time I had a drink with a woman I don't
work with, am related to, or is married to one of my friends, must be more
than ten years ago.'

   'Ten years?  That seems an awful long time.  What a waste.'

   That last sentence nearly makes me choke again, but I recover.

   'Hm.  You sound like my mother now.'

   'Aha.  She wishes you'd get hitched and produce heirs, does she?'

   'Something like that,' I admit.  'I've been a big disappointment in that
regard.'

   'For the want of trying, or some other reason?' 

   I enjoy the way her voice carries so much humour in it. 

   'Perhaps you are too much of a perfectionist?' 

   Her brown eyes study me as she throws out more reasons for my sad single
status. 

   'You work twenty-four/seven?  You have fetishes that can only be
satisfied in the dungeons of Soho?  You find transcendental meditation more
satisfying?  You've been blighted by a long, unhappily unrequited love?'

   We've been laughing up until that last explanation.

   'Ah.  That last one, then?'

   I incline my head.  I'm British.  We don't really talk about that sort
of thing.  Not often, anyway.  See again the red berries threaded through
Ginny's dark shiny hair that day -- eight years ago today, precisely.

   I jump as her warm hand slides over mine.

   'My big American wiseass mouth,' she says, softly.

   'Hm.' 

   I turn my hand over to hold hers, cursing work, running my thumb across
her palm and up to her wrist.

   'I hate having to say this, Elizabeth, but I really do have to get back
to the office to make that call.' 

   I press my thumb hard against the pulse in her wrist. 

   'Much as I'd rather stay here with you.' I sigh.

   'I guess we'll just have to take a time out,' she raises one lovely
eyebrow.

   'But dinner tomorrow?  A late Valentine?' I aim for wry humour.

   'Definitely.' She beams at me.  'Can you make 7pm?  That'll give me time
to take a swim after work.'

   I suck in my breath, assaulted by images of what she looks like in the
water, and she gives me one of those laughs.  It's so quiet -- a fast
intake of breath, a glottal stop, almost.  Can she see what I'm thinking so
clearly?  As if she's testing it out, she leans over and brushes her lips
against mine, the briefest, warmest of touches that's almost over before
I've realised what she's doing, and with alarm, I grab her shoulder.

   'No.  More,' I whisper and swing my mouth back to hers, pressing us
together, tasting the lime and tonic on her lips. 

   She pushes her tongue into my mouth, opens her eyes, making it one of
the most intense things I've felt in a very long time.  I reach up into her
hair, glorying in how thick and soft it feels through my fingers, gratified
she lets me do it, staring into her eyes and trying not to blink

   +++++++

   To say I'm nervous would be the understatement of the year.  Pacing
around the hotel lobby I'm asking myself why I didn't at least get his
phone number and instead, have to torture myself with the fear he won't
turn up at all tonight.  It's already five after seven and I can't take
much more waiting.  I stare at everyone coming in from the street.  It's a
small, secluded, low-key kind of hotel, that looks like a townhouse from
the outside, where each room has its own unique character, and the staff
are genuine.  A petite blonde in a beautiful blue silk dress is discreetly
talking with another woman behind the desk, sharing a joke, checking
something on the screen.  She looks as though she's in charge; picks up a
small bag from the floor and swings her way out of the lobby, bidding all
the staff goodnight as she does so.

   Memories of that kiss have been claiming my attention all day at work
until Megan had called me out on it, asking if everything was ok, and then,
seeing the blush on my neck, had pressed to know more.  I guess she was
hyper-vigilant as she'd been teasing me yesterday about spending
Valentine's Day alone.  But what could I say?  I don't even know his last
name, for God's sakes.

   'Elizabeth!'

   He's striding across the parquet floor, looking flustered and worried.

   'I'm so sorry to be late.  I couldn't get away from work and like a fool
I didn't even take your phone number last night.  I was about to phone the
desk here, but I thought it'd be better if I just hurried up.'

   He leans down and brushes my cheek with his lips, takes hold of my arm
as if he's never letting go, and finally smiles.

   'You're here now.'

   'Hm.'

   This time, his lips brush across my mouth at the same time as his eyes
seem to trap mine in their gaze, and I fight to stay standing.  Not so
reserved tonight, I'm beginning to see; there's fire in his eyes for sure.

   'I missed you,' he whispers in my ear and we both smile at this, at the
preposterousness of it all.

   'Now, I've got two ideas about dinner.  One is a modern Asian fusion
sort of place, much admired and sought-after cuisine.  We have a table
booked.  The other is a family-run Chinese around the back of Chinatown
where we might have to queue up but the food is well worth it.  Which one
takes your fancy?'

   I tilt my head.  He's interesting, this Rob.  Dresses in suits that are
definitely handmade from beautiful cloth and contrasting coloured silk
lining the jackets, polished brogues, an understated but very expensive
watch around his wrist.  But his choice of pub last night was a
down-to-earth bar full of stall holders from the vegetable market down the
street.  Which I liked.  In fact, I'd been relieved he hadn't taken me to
one of those overpriced, overdesigned and underwhelming cocktail bars.

   'Chinese,' I say, and am rewarded with a squeeze of his hand around my
arm.

   As we walk through Soho, I remind myself of the things I promised I was
going to ask him tonight, questions that will make him less of a complete
stranger.  I almost giggle at the thought I should have made a list of them
on my phone.

   'What?' he squeezes me again, evidently aware of the electrical currents
running through my body.

   'Oh, nothing.  Not really.  I guess I'm just a little -- ah -- what to
say?  Overcome?  Excited?  I don't do this often either, Rob -- meet up
with strange men I don't know for dinner.'

   'I'm not that strange,' he says drily, and stops in front of a tiny
restaurant, the kind with whole Peking ducks hanging in the window. 

   There's a small line out the door and onto the street.  We join the end
of it.  He fiddles with his phone, cancelling the reservation for the other
restaurant, I guess.  It's mild despite being February, and I look around
me, enjoying the throngs of people milling around, thinking about what it'd
be like to live here in this big city full of the contradictions between
old and new.  He takes a hold of my hand and I'm overtaken by a rush of
elation at the idea of it -- of letting him undress me later, of leaving
the States behind me for a while, of going in to work on the tube every
morning.

   'What are you thinking?'

   He's looking down at me.  I open my mouth to try to explain, but before
I manage a word, Rob's being clapped on the arm by a smartly dressed
Chinese man.

   'Mr Montague, very good to see you.  Why you waiting out here?  Come, we
have the best table for you inside.'

   Well, that's one question I won't have to ask him, I think, as we get
pulled past the line of people and inside the restaurant.

   'Why you not here yesterday with this beautiful lady, Mr Montague?' the
man teases him as he shows us to the table, pulling out a chair for me. 

   'We had very good Valentine's Day special.'

   Rob holds up his palms in surrender. 

   'Terrible planning on my part, Bao.  But what dishes can you tempt us
with this evening?'

   'I have just the thing to do Cupid's work for you,' he's grinning,
flicking the napkins out for us and generally fussing to perfect the look
of the table before leaving us.

   'I gather you come here a lot?' I ask Rob, peering out of the window
overlooking the street below.

   'Yes, it's me and my sister's favourite place.'

   'What's she called?'

   'You'll laugh, but she's called Elizabeth.  Goes by Lizzie though.'

   'Is she married, or otherwise providing any heirs for your poor mother?'

   He shakes his head.

   'Nope.  We're both walking disasters as far as that's concerned.'

   'Shame on you both.  What's her excuse?'

   'She prefers girls.'

   I cover my mouth, but his eyes are smiling, relaxed, so I let it go, me
and my big wiseass mouth. 

   Except -- 'So, now, about this unrequited love of yours.  What made her
so dumb she didn't want you?'

   He looks a little shocked I've brought it up again, but I reach for his
hand over the table to soften the blow.  And because I want to touch him.
As I think I've already admitted, I'm not completely selfless.

   'Ah -- well, she wasn't dumb so much as in love and married.  And to one
of my oldest friends from school.'

   'That would explain it, I guess.  Are you still in her thrall?'

   He looks away, then back, then away again.

   'No.  She died five years ago.'

   'Shit.  Sorry -- I really shouldn't --,'

   'It's fine, Elizabeth.'

   'But --,'

   Bowls of food arrive at our table, so we both sit back a little until
the waiter has moved away.

   'Look, she -- Ginny -- was deliriously happily married to John and, not
that I'm slow to accept reality, but it only took me another three years to
come to terms with it after their wedding.  They got married on Valentine's
Day, actually.  Maybe that's why I usually manage to ignore it.' He glances
up at me.  'Anyway, she was always most understanding about it.'

   'She knew?'

   'Oh yes.  She knew alright.' 

   I watch him as he goes to another place and for some reason, images of
their breath blowing steam together in the freezing winter air, her soft
thigh pressing up against his cock, his tongue tipping her nipple fill my
mind.  I breathe in, surprised at how clear it seems.  Not totally
unrequited love, maybe.

   'But in the end, it was John she wanted.'

   'What happened?'

   'They had two beautiful children -- I'm godfather to the eldest -- and
then she found a lump on her breast.'

   'Oh.  So cruel.'

   'Yes.' 

   He returns to the present.  Helps himself to some more rice.

   We take a circuitous route back to my hotel.  He'd offered to take me to
his house, and although I'm curious to see it, I decided that my room was
probably closer.  Gave us both less time to back out?  I'd seen something
flick through his eyes, but didn't know if he was disappointed or relieved
I'd chosen the hotel.  And now that we're lazily weaving our way south,
back through the streets of Soho I'm wondering if he's having second
thoughts, or is just nervous.  We both know what we want to do, or at least
I think we do, but even now, liberated modern woman of the twenty-first
century I like to think I am, I'm still hesitating over making the first
real move.  Perhaps I'm the most nervous of the two of us.  I feel the
pressure of his hand over mine change.  When I look up, I see we're turning
into the street where my hotel is.

   'Elizabeth, I want you to know I'm not taking anything for granted.'

   'That's ok, I --,'

   'It's not that I'm not bursting with ideas about what I'd like to get up
to with you tonight, but I want you to be in control of what happens --
nothing that you don't want.'

   And with that, he picks me up off my feet and holds me to his chest, my
feet dangling.  Kisses me full on the mouth for long enough for me to feel
like I've been set on fire, and then sets me back down on the sidewalk.  I
stare at the side of his face until he glances at me out the corner of his
eye and grins, urging me to walk with him the final steps to my hotel.

   I fumble with the key card, inserting it the wrong way at the first
attempt, succeeding on the second, pushing the door open and stepping into
the room.  I cast a look at the armchair, recalling how good he'd looked
yesterday in a similar chair in the fitting rooms, feet apart, leaning back
to look at me.  It seems he has other ideas, drawing me with him to the
bed, and I'm beginning to wonder if he meant what he said about me being in
control, until he turns to sit down on the mattress, pulling me close to
him, but then sitting there quietly, waiting for me. 

   Standing like this in front of him, I can just about rest my chin on the
top of his head.  But, of course, I have high heels on, so it's an illusory
height.  I draw a deep breath to take in his smell and pull my fingers
across the short hair at the nape of his neck.  It's satisfyingly textured,
like the moquette used for hard-wearing seat covers.  His breathing is warm
against my blouse.  I peel off my coat, and lie it on the bed next to him,
moving closer to him as he threads his arms around my waist.  We stay like
this for a few minutes, getting used to the proximity, his head resting on
my breasts, his hands moving around my back and down my ass. 

   'Did I say how much I like this skirt?' he's murmuring.

   I smile.  Of course I'd worn it today.

   'I think so.'

   I ease him away, slip my hands underneath his jacket and begin to slide
it from his shoulders.  He releases my ass long enough to help me slide it
all the way off, and I drape it on the bed beside him, me tapping the label
sewn into it.

   'This is a very nice suit you're wearing, Mr Montague,' I say, tracing
his name where it's written on the square of fabric.

   'I like beauty,' he murmurs, his eyes suddenly appearing far darker than
before.

   I move my attention to his tie.  It's a beauty, for sure.  Dark ruby
red, a heavy woven silk with fine gold threads.  I tug the knot loose,
pausing when he runs a finger over my hands; leaning over to kiss it
lightly, taking it into my mouth, rewarded by his sharp intake of breath.
He pushes another finger between my lips as I pluck the knot open and snake
the tie around and out from under his shirt collar, rolling my tongue over
his fingernails, his knuckles, letting the rest of his hand cup the side of
my face.  It's as though I can feel the tension draining from his body as
he sits there, letting me pull on his fingers with my mouth, and undo the
buttons at his throat and down his chest.  Still nibbling at his
fingertips, I push his shirt open, rolling the soft cotton in my hands, and
I think I'm humming aloud with the anticipation of it. 

   Of all of it. 

   It's incredibly sexy the way he's sitting there letting me take my time,
waiting for me, but feeling it with me. 

   I dare to look again into those naked eyes.  They're almost all pupil
now.  I release his fingers in favour of his lips, darting my tongue into
him, retreating and advancing, retreating and advancing, until his hands
surge into my hair and hold my head more firmly as he fills my mouth with
his tongue.  I pull away, gasping, to catch my breath, but bend over his
mouth for more, hoping that's what my eyes are saying to him.  He kisses me
again with the same energy and lust. 

   It's sure in his eyes, clear as day.  Have I ever felt this wanted?  I'm
almost laughing with it, this feeling of pure elation, and I see it in him
too now, both of us laughing, both of us elated, both greedy for more of
it, for each other.  My arms and legs are trembling with it.

   'Are you alright, Elizabeth?'

   'Yes.  No.  Both of those things, Rob.'

   'Hmm.' He drops his lips to my neck, pulling my hair out of the way,
sucking and nipping at my skin, which only makes me tremble more.

   I resume undressing him, pushing the shirt off his shoulders, watching
it whisper and fold off of his body, momentarily confused when he pushes
his wrists upwards, until I understand what he needs, and fumble at the
cufflinks until they are undone and I can pull his arms free of the
sleeves. Lifting it away, I peer at the label and see that this too has
been handmade for him.  Dropping it on the bed I run my hands over his
shoulders and down his back.  His skin is smooth, and very warm.  I imagine
him covered in sweat and can't help myself from laughing at how turned on I
am.

   'What?' He pulls his head up to look into my face.

   'It's just the anticipation, Rob.  It's kind of killing me, but I want
it to go on forever.'

   'Mmmhmm,' he's almost growling, and kisses the side of my face.  'You
can do anything you want with me, Elizabeth.  What do you like?'

   A powerful ripple of lust climbs from the base of my spine, and I exhale
loudly as it reaches my throat.  The look in his eyes is overpowering me. I
slip the buttons on my own blouse, pull it out of my waistband and down my
arms, watching his expression as he takes in the white camisole that's
underneath, the white bra that's beneath that.  Touching the camisole
lightly, he looks up.

   'Keep this on, will you?'

   I smile.

   'You'd like that?'

   He just nods and presses his face into it.  I reach around to undo my
bra, pulling the straps down my arms, bending them, pulling the straps
free; push his head away to tug the bra off me from the front.

   'How do women do that?'

   I drag the camisole up over a breast and lift myself to his mouth.  He
groans against my skin and I wonder if I'm going to come right there.  He
uses his hands to lift the camisole higher above both breasts, his thumbs
pressing against my armpits, his tongue delving underneath each breast,
pushing at the undersides, dancing across my skin, pressing against each
nipple.  It's almost too good, and I drop my head down to look at him, the
intensity of his focus, the glimpses of his eyelashes as he moves his face
against my skin.

   'You're beautiful,' I whisper.

   He pauses.  I hold my breath.  And moan as he takes my nipple in his
lips, pressing them together over it, releasing then pressing them again,
trapping me in a hot vice.

   'Oh God, Rob, what are you doing?'

   He pauses again, but I push myself against his mouth, wanting more.  He
repeats the sweet torture, this time his lips a little more tense, and I
realise he's smiling.  I'm laughing with it too, my breathing catching in
my throat.  He switches to the other breast.  I arch my back, trying to get
closer to him, but with the way he's sitting on the bed, his crotch is too
far back.  It's frustrating the hell out of me.  I lean in; he loosens his
grip under my arms and I reach for his belt.  With a firmer bite of my
nipple that elicits another loud gasp from me, he releases me, and sits
back a little to give me space.  I unbuckle him, his stomach twitching and
tensing as my hands brush against his skin while I undo his pants, my own
heart thudding uncomfortably.  His thighs are fidgeting again and then I
realise it's because he's levering his shoes off by pulling his heels up
against the bottom edge of the bed base.

   'That's a neat manoeuvre,' I say, resting my hands on his knees, partly
to try to calm myself. 

   'It's one of the finer motor skills boarding school teaches you.  How to
undress silently and with the least amount of movement, so as not to get
caught after lights out.'

   'Boarding school?'

   'Hmm.'

   'What other skills did you learn there?'

   His eyes flash at me.

   'Um, let me see.' 

   He runs his hands up my back again, clearly enjoying the feel of the
camisole, but also imparting a much-needed sense of calm to me. 

   'I'd say most of us learned how to wank and come without making any
noise.'

   That makes me snort with surprise, not at what he's said, but that he's
said it at all.

   'What?  You didn't think I'd tell you that?'

   His face is lit up with one of his big grins and he hugs me closer.

   'It's that you look so proper in your classily tailored suit, it's all
the more surprising to hear you say something like that, is all.'

   He looks down between us, at his bare chest and open pants.

   'I'm sure how properly dressed I am, actually,' raising his eyebrows at
me.

   I giggle now, reverting to a sound I thought I'd left behind aged
sixteen.

   He rubs my back again.

   'Ok?'

   I nod.  He knew how nervous I'd suddenly felt just then.  I bend to kiss
his forehead and -- as he closes his eyes -- his eyelids and cheekbones,
the corners of his mouth, just his whole delicious face.  After some time
enjoying this, I move my mouth to his ear.

   'I think you should take your pants off, don't you?'

   I tug at them, he lifts his hips, I slide his pants down, shaking them
out straight and lying them on the bed.  His underwear comes off too.  He
doesn't seem to have been wearing any socks.

   'Have I said you're beautiful?' I ask him, brushing my hand over his
cock, watch him close his eyes, feeling him twitch and bump against my
hands. 

   I tease him a little, brushing my fingertips over and around him,
drawing them down his inner thighs and then back again, his eyelashes
flickering, his hips lifting up every so often. 

   He tastes good, but jumps at my first touch, apparently unaware I'd
knelt down inbetween his legs, and growls quietly under his breath.  I hold
him firmly in one hand, press my mouth to his head again, dragging my lips
around him, then opening them to take him into my mouth, rolling my tongue
around him, listening to his breathing. 

   'I'm not going to last very long if you keep doing that,' he warns me.

   I hum, pulling him deeper into my mouth, wanting him, stroking his belly
with one hand and feeling him tensing up beneath my touch, sliding my other
hand up and around his base.  The sound of his panting fills my ears and I
make love to him with my mouth and tongue.  His hands are tight in my hair.

   'Elizabeth --,' his voice urgent now.

   I hum again, stay with him as his hips rise, take it as he comes in my
mouth. 

   He wasn't joking; he comes quietly, a series of low, deep, breathy
sighs. 

   I'm still swallowing as he lifts me up, his hands on my ribcage, pulling
at me to stand up, hugging me close to his heaving chest.  He holds me
tightly, his arms pressed around my waist, keeping me close, calming
himself.  I kiss the top of his head, feel his breathing slowing down.  He
twists his head and urges me down to his mouth, shoving his tongue inside,
filling me, his eyes filling mine, his hands hot and busy over my ass. 
Eventually, he releases my mouth and taps at my waist.

   'I think you should take this off, before we get it messy,' he says into
my ear, slipping a couple of fingers inside the waistband.  'What do you
say?'

   I kiss the side of his head, then step back to undress.  He watches.  I
lift first one leg, then the other, out of the skirt.  He takes it from me
as I make to lie it on the bed, folding it carefully in his hands before
putting it down on top of the rest of our clothes, then turns back to look
at me pushing my stockings down my legs, stepping out of my shoes.  He
holds my arm to keep me balanced as I release my feet from the nylon,
wriggling my toes, enjoying the feel of the thick rug at the side of the
bed.

   'Mmm.  No better sight than a woman undressing,' he's murmuring.

   'This?' touching my camisole.

   'No, that stays,' he smiles at me.

   'I think I'll move these clothes off the bed.' 

   I hesitate, then plunge on. 

   'Can you -- would you -- stay the night Rob, only I'd hate to wake up
alone in the morning?'

   He grabs at my wrists, presses his thumbs into my palms and when I dare
to look at his face, see that he seems a little shocked.

   'But Elizabeth, who could ever do that to you?'

   Relief washes through me, and I tremble with it.

   'I -- my last relationship -- uh, well, he couldn't ever bring himself
to stay the night with me, and I ended up feeling lonelier than when I'd
been single.' 

   I flex my toes through the woollen rug for the distraction.

   'I'm going to find it difficult to leave you at all,' he says, massaging
my hands and wrists in his.

   'Oh.' 

   I lean up against his torso, dropping my head to rest on his shoulder.

   He kisses my ear, lets go of my hands and we move together; he picks up
our clothes and takes them over to the armchair, draping them over the back
of it, carefully but not fussily; I shake and lift the bedcovers, pulling
them back. 

   Just as I'm about to climb in, his arm slides around my waist from
behind and he presses me back against his growing erection, his other arm
sweeping my hair to one side as he drags his open mouth back and forth
across my neck, his stubble rasping against my skin.  This is very nice,
and I drop my head to give him more to play with.  Heat races over my body
as I feel his hand stroking its way over a breast, pausing just long enough
to tilt his palm beneath it, cradling it, then feathering over my ribs,
which is ticklish and makes me suck my breath in.  I feel him smile against
my neck and think his stomach muscles might be moving as if he's laughing.

   'This is funny, is it?' I ask.

   'I can't believe my luck, that's all,' he's muttering, then catches me
by surprise as he flattens his hand across my belly, pushing me more firmly
backwards to him, lifting and rubbing my ass up against himself.

   I sigh.

   'You like that?'

   'Uh, yes.  You've, um, recovered pretty quickly?'

   'I think I said it was my dating skills that were rusty, Elizabeth, not
this.'

   He makes me giggle again, the way he's pressing and wriggling his cock
against me.  But as his hand dives down inside the front of my knickers,
his clever fingers halt the giggling altogether.

   +++++++

   She feels wonderful.  Soft and warm and very wet indeed.  There's so
much I want to do with this woman I'm finding it difficult to focus.  The
feel of her breasts, their warmth and heaviness through the fabric of her
camisole; the constellations of freckles that tempt me to touch and lick
her skin all over; the matching dimples at the top of her hips.  So much to
explore.  Except that now she's writhing and gasping like that, I'm tuning
in to the way her hips are beginning to swing and rotate against me. 

   But the position is uncomfortable for both of us to stand this way for
long, me trying to keep her lifted up on her tiptoes with my back bent, so
reluctantly and slowly, I bring my hand out of her knickers, trailing a
glistening line of her juice on my fingers as I pull them up her belly. 
Loosening my hold of her, she lowers herself down onto flat feet, shivering
and fighting to regulate her breathing.

   Dropping my head to bite at her neck a bit more, I remind myself I
wanted to make sure she was in control of what happens here, so I wait for
her to make the next move, dropping my arm away from her ribcage.  After a
couple of seconds, she takes my hand, pulling me onto the bed behind her,
turning her head just enough to know that I'm following her, a small smile
on her lips.  I have the presence of mind to catch at the top of her
knickers before she settles into a kneeling position, plucking at the soft
lace to tug it down the curve of her hips.  She lifts her bottom up and
lets me pull them lower, all the way down her lovely thighs, lifting a knee
at a time from the bed, until I scoop them off completely.  It's difficult
for me to put them down, they feel so silky, but the sight of Elizabeth's
round bottom wins the battle, and I climb onto the bed, kneeling behind
her. She's already shuffling her hips backwards towards me, finding me,
until she's sitting against my thighs.

   It never fails to amaze me how erotic the feel of a woman's skin is, how
the simplicity of touch can be so electric, so fulfilling.  Her skin is
pale, the colour of ivory, and, as I lift the camisole up on one side, I
can see more clearly a beautiful constellation of darker freckles covering
her right hip bone.  I run my hand over them, then just my fingertips. 
They are darker and just ever so slightly raised.

   'You've found my birthmark, Rob,' she shivers under my touch.

   Her thighs are already parted.  I slide my hand in to find her, no
longer sure if it's just her who's shivering, as I dip my fingers into
where she's warm and wet.

   'You feel so beautiful, Elizabeth,' I say.

   I wrap some of her fantastic hair into my fist.  She starts to make
noises similar to those of her laugh -- breathy intakes of air that seem to
stop and catch in her throat -- as she drops her head and leans forwards a
little bit, pushing herself down onto my fingers as I thread them through
her lips and around her clit.  She drops her head, exposing more of her
neck for me to nip and lick.  The spot just below her right earlobe seems
particularly good for her.  She twitches each time I touch it with my
mouth. The muscles in her belly and thighs are tensing and contracting so I
decide to up the ante.  Reluctantly releasing my hold of her hair, I run
that hand inbetween our bodies, briefly giving myself a stroke on the way,
then curl my hand underneath her bottom.  It seems to take her by surprise
that I've trapped her between my hands, one from the front, one from
behind, as her hips lift and buck forwards then back.  Her head drops lower
and I think she might have emitted a small burst of laughter.  This
combination of desire and laughter is intoxicating both of us.

   'I can't get enough of how you feel,' I say as I slide and press my
fingers through her juices and then push a finger into her.

   'God, Rob, that feels so, so good.'

   She doesn't seem to know which direction to move her hips but whichever
way, she's picking up the tempo, so I withdraw my finger, feeling how
strongly her muscles hold onto me, and slowly ease two fingers into her,
listening to her breathing, feeling her body's response as she leans
further forward to give me better access to push deeper inside.  She's
still tight, but definitely getting wetter. 

   I lean into her ear.  'Do you like this, Elizabeth?'

   'Fuck.  Yes.'

   Her body temperature is soaring.  I slow down until I'm circling around
her clit at an almost lazy pace with one hand, but maintain the rhythm she
seems to want from my stiff fingers of the other hand, twisting them inside
her and marvelling at the strength of her grip on them, imagining what it
would feel like to have them pulling and squeezing on my cock.  That
thought almost tips me over the edge, and I make a conscious effort to
concentrate on what I can hear and feel of Elizabeth's pleasure to hold
myself at bay.  She's making slightly louder noises from the back of her
throat and I can move my fingers more freely inside her now.  She's
widening out for me.

   'Show me, Elizabeth.  Show me.'

   'Oh God.'

   A low whine escapes from her.  Feeling her whole body begin to stiffen,
I withdraw my fingers altogether.  She falls further forwards, confused.  I
press my palm flat against her clit and rock against it gently from the
front; drag the fingers of my other hand along the crease between her
buttocks, teasing, and finally thrust back inside her, feeling her whole
body judder with surprise and then pleasure as she grips my fingers,
contracting over them again and again.  I watch how the shape of her spine
changes as she fights through her orgasm, bowing and curving as her head,
shoulders and hips jerk and shudder.

   And then she goes completely still.  Even as I withdraw my hands from
her, she hardly moves.  I sit more upright, realising I'm breathing nearly
as heavily as she is, but wondering what this stillness means.  She draws a
deep breath; I watch as she fills her lungs, her ribcage expanding beneath
the shimmering silk of her camisole. 

   Suddenly she's twisted around and has pulled my mouth to hers, her hands
hard on my face, holding me fiercely, kissing me just as fiercely.  It
takes my breath away.  And a bit of my heart too.

   After some time, she releases me.  Now I can see what I thought I had
been able to feel against my face -- her tears.  I don't like to see that,
so I raise my thumbs to wipe them away.

   'Hey, Elizabeth --,'

   'Rob, that was -- unspeakably good.  You've no idea how good.  My God,
I've rarely been able to come like that.  And never as quickly.'

   I'm lost for words and decide the best thing to do is kiss her again. 
Words like that can go to a man's head too easily, no pun intended.  But
she draws away.

   'Open your eyes, Rob,' she's saying to me, a fingertip pressing on my
lips.

   I open them.

   'That's better.  I want to be able to see what you're thinking.'

   I blink, wondering how much she can see.

   'What would you like, Rob?  You've let me be in charge and I think I've
gotten the better end of the deal so far.'

   'Not at all,' I shake my head. 

   She's facing me now, so I reach out to press the palm of my hand against
her breast, enjoying the contrast in temperature and texture between her
hot hard nipple and the cooler silk of the camisole.  It's irresistible. 
Her eyelids dip a little and she arches up to my hand.  I want to push her
down onto the bed and press myself into her, to watch her eyes and feel her
body as she accommodates me inside her.  My cock twitches impatiently at
the thought, breaking into my reverie, and I recall Elizabeth's question. 

   Placing a hand on her back, I urge her closer and to kneel up.  I can't
resist running my mouth and tongue over her right breast and my saliva
soaks through the silky fabric as I suck at her soft flesh.  She sighs,
runs her hands through my hair, around the nape of my neck, and I pull her
tighter to me, wanting to possess her completely, using my hand to push her
breast upwards from underneath, to press more of her into my mouth, I'm so
greedy for her.  Lost in her, just the feel of her; the feel of her ribs
expanding into my hands as she breathes, the heaviness of her breast
against my mouth. 

   The blast of a police siren in the street below makes both of us jump
and jolt against each other, and, startled, we laugh, trying to catch our
breath, the blue light flashing and rotating over the walls and ceiling,
all around us, until the car moves on.  Elizabeth sits back down on her
heels, her face in front of me.

   'So, Mr Montague, what's your pleasure?' she whispers, lightly kissing
me, and smiling, 'I'm in your hands,' as her hands wrap around my cock.

   I close my eyes to concentrate on her touch, but she draws back from my
mouth.

   'Open your eyes, though.'

   I obey her command, said softly, but no less compelling for it.  And
watch her kneel up again, her eyes on me as she continues to stroke me,
shuffling even closer, pushing me downwards, fitting me inbetween her
thighs.  I can't help but groan at the feel of her.  So very hot and
slippery.

   'Ah, so you do make some noise, then?'

   'Mmm,' is all I can manage to say.

   'Is this what you'd like?' she murmurs, gliding herself over me.

   I nod.  I'm unable to find any words, the feel of her is too consuming.

   'You're clean?'

   I nod again, and lick at her neck and collarbone, eventually whispering,
'Yes.  Healthy as can be.'

   I think I can hear a smile in her voice as she says, 'Very good.  I'm on
birth control, Rob, so --,' and she dips her hips, applying more pressure
on my cock. 

   My pelvis kicks up, almost unbalancing us, making us laugh again.  I
want this feeling to last forever but my cock has other ideas, clearly.  My
knees are complaining at all this kneeling so I shift both of us around
until I'm sitting with my back up against the padded headboard and pillows,
then reach for her to kneel over me.  I still want her to be in control, at
least for this; she's small and I don't want to crush her.  Not until I
know if that's what she might like me to do, anyway.  Looking at the
expression on her face, it seems it's a good decision.  Her eyelashes are
lowered as she takes hold of me gently and firmly, the feel of her hands
heavenly as she holds me against her, sliding along me, making sure we're
both wet as can be.  I catch my breath, thinking there's little else that
can possibly feel as fantastic as this.

   +++++++

   I've never experienced a man like this; so quiet, yet so expressive --
even when his eyes are closed.  Although I prefer them open, and surprise
myself when I say this aloud to him.  The way he's ceded control to me has
made me feel bolder, more confident. 

   And bringing me to that sort of orgasm -- I'm in shock.  How did he do
that?  It usually takes a lot more time, and greater familiarity with
someone for me to ever feel like that.  I'm in a crazy mixed-up state; a
stew of anxiety, impatience and desire.  Anxiety about getting even more
intimate with this man, because who knows what, if anything, can come of
it? I'm really not a one night stand sort of woman at all, and the thought
of not seeing Rob again makes my stomach plummet to my toes.  Yet I can
hardly think at all beyond the aching void inside me.  Despite his elegant
hands having made me come so hard, they've left me feeling agonisingly
empty.

   Taking his cock in my hands I'm reminded how big he is, and hope he can
give me time to get used to him.  Once I've had that thought so clearly,
it's all I can think about.  Pushing and sliding him along myself heightens
the feeling of emptiness.  I'm craving him now. 

   Apprehensive as he starts to shift us, wondering what position he wants,
what he likes, then relieved as he props himself up against the headboard,
those long legs of his in front of him; coaxing me to kneel over him by
pulling at the back of my thighs with his hands.  And his eyes are still
open.  Rotating myself over him to lubricate him as much as I can, I bend
just enough to kiss his mouth.  His response is passionate, consuming,
open-mouthed, fucking me with his tongue.  Pure euphoria rides over me,
down my spine, through my limbs until my fingers and toes curl.  I raise my
hips a little until I can pull him upright under me, looking into his eyes
-- still open for me -- pausing at the feel of him at my entrance.  The
promise of it nearly overwhelms me right there.  I take a deep breath and
drift downwards onto him, but of course he's too big to merely drift.  His
eyes widen as I push down with more intent, then rise up to release the
pressure, rotate around him again, pushing down to take more of him.  He
releases another quiet groan.

   'Too tight?' I ask, anxiously.

   He shakes his head.

   'Too good,' he says, eventually.

   I smile, encouraged, and push down more, concentrating on the sensations
of tightness and heat and stretching, tilting my hips back a little to feel
some pressure against my clit.  A short laugh escapes me.  One of his hands
brushes my chin and up to my cheek. 

   'Alright?'

   I nod.

   'Sorry.  I just need to take my time,' I explain.

   'Don't apologise, Elizabeth.'

   He presses a fingertip to my clit, gently, but my hips buck, causing him
to thrust upwards into me, and we nearly bump heads.  Laughing but hissing
too, I try to adjust myself and relax.  He helps by using both hands to rub
generous circles around my hips and back and down to my ass.  This feels
really good; seems to do the trick as I feel myself relaxing and widening
out around him.

   'Mmm.  Better.  That feels so nice, Rob.'

   I look back up into his eyes.  He's keeping them open for me. 

   I kiss him, I can't not.  He hums into my mouth.

   'Elizabeth.'

   I press my hips downwards some more and in a glorious rush, I've taken
all of him inside me; it's as though he's pushed all the air from my body
and I fight for breath for a couple of seconds, shocked and delighted at
how much he fills me, exalted I've been able to fit him in me at all.  I
drop my head, heat racing through me, as we both sit still, staying in this
moment with each other.  I'm just about used to the feel of him when he
raises my chin in his hand and holds his palm against the side of my face.

   'Do you have things you need to be home for this weekend Elizabeth, or
could you stay here for a few days more?'

   I tip my head, off-balance, totally unprepared for this.

   'It's Friday tomorrow, so -- could you delay going back to Chicago until
Sunday?'

   His eyes won't release mine as he waits for me to say something.  Lunch
with one of my oldest friends on Sunday, laundry, buying a birthday card
for my niece, whether my plane ticket is remotely flexible or not -- these
things dart across my mind while at the same time I'm wondering what he's
really asking me.

   'If money was no object.  Elizabeth?'

   He runs his hands down the sides of my legs, caressing my skin.

   'It's hardly fair to ask me something like that, Rob, given the position
I'm in,' I manage to say.

   He grins, suddenly.

   'But -- is it possible you could stay until Sunday?'

   I shiver at the mad impossibility of it.

   But nod.

   His hips shift beneath me, blowing any rational thought out of my mind.

   'God, Rob, do that again.'

   'What, this?'

   He shifts again, and it's as good as I thought the first time.  I
tighten over him a little as he does it again, then again.  His eyes drift
closed as he settles into a gentle, almost playful rhythm, his head back on
the headboard, his hands resting on my ass.  The sensations are delicious.
I tremble and pull on his cock with my insides. 

   It takes a while to understand it's me making the gasping noises.  He's
holding me more firmly now, his thrusts less gentle.  I tip forwards.  His
eyes fly open, his lips parted; I think it's one the most beautiful sights
I've ever seen.  There's greed and lust in those eyes, but they are kind
too; a softness in them. 

   Somehow, he's moving us down the bed, pulling me with him, his arms
clamping me to his chest then one arm moving to my ass to keep me tight to
him, rolling us over until I'm underneath him, my back pressed into the
cool linen of the bedsheets.

   'Is this alright?'

   He raises his chest, resting his weight on his arms either side of me.

   'I don't want to crush you,' he's smiling, kissing me with short, sweet
nips and licks.

   I arch my back, enjoying the different feel of him in this position.  No
longer an intrusion, but part of me.

   'Try me.' I can barely whisper.

   He tries out a deeper thrust and, again, I have that feeling he's
pushing all the air from me.  It almost forces a giggle out of me, it's so
good.  He does it again.

   'Keep doing that, Rob, it's amazing.  You make me feel amazing.'

   He grunts -- the loudest noise I've heard from him since we got in the
room -- thrusts into me again, reaching into me more deeply, then again,
until we're sliding and grinding into each other, his arms and abs rippling
and flexing over me.  He pauses, our breathing sounding so loud now.  I
bump my hips to his in frustration, but he smiles.

   'I know it's ridiculous, but I almost don't want to come, this feels so
good just doing this.'

   'Oh.'

   My eyes are in danger of filling up for the second time tonight.  He
presses his mouth to mine, his arms seeming to tremble on either side of
me. 

   I pull my legs higher over his butt as he moves his hips again.

   'I know what you mean, Rob, but, I want you to.'

   He raises his chest up, shoves a hand underneath me to lift my hips
higher, and the different angle and his harder thrusting is too much to
bear.  Our breathing has become totally ragged, both of us driven on by the
friction of his cock moving inside me as he pulls out, almost completely
free of me, before plunging back in, smooth and hot.  It roars in my ears
and convulses through my body, taking complete possession of me, straining
against him, squirming, pinned down by his weight, my arms flung wide.

   'Fuck.  Fuck.  Oh.  Fuck.'

   Surprised at the sound of my own voice.  Surprised at hearing myself at
all, and I wonder how long I've been unaware.  Opening my eyes, I see him
watching me with great intensity, his eyes wide and dark, and I frown, tiny
claws of embarrassment scratching at me.

   'I'm going to make you do that again, Elizabeth.'

   The look on his face suggests he's not joking.  He pulls himself back to
sit on his heels, dragging me with him.  As he makes his first thrusts into
me from this new position, I'm still fighting for breath.

   'I'm not sure I can, Rob,' I protest.

   But he's not having that.

   'Yes, you can.  You will.'

   That alone, the confident, almost arrogant look he gives me is almost
enough to make it happen, but I fight it.  I want it, but fight it at the
same time.  I want to feel him, to see him, losing his control, make
himself as vulnerable to me as I've already been with him.  He closes his
eyes over me, each thrust feeling deeper than the last, each one pushing me
harder into the mattress.  It's rising in me again, unbelievably, but I
keep my eyes fixed on him, on his face.  Feeling him as he gets closer to
his release.  And then, there, his breathing almost stops, his back and
thighs go rigid, his face almost completely still.  I wait with him; it
must only be a second or two but feels more than that, until he grunts,
still quietly, and thrusts; one; two; three; more -- flooding me.  I cramp
around him again, my body wanting to have him even more deeply.

   I pull him down to me as he relaxes and slides both of us until I'm flat
on the bed again, his skin slick with sweat, his muscles shaking.  I'm
still rotating my hips around him, gasping through the last contractions,
when he turns my head to his and presses his mouth over mine, his eyes
bright beneath his eyelashes.  We kiss.  And then we're half laughing, half
kissing, sharing our exhilaration with each other.  I open my body out to
feel as much of his against mine as possible, the adhesion of his skin on
mine, the movement of his muscles as he catches his breath.

   Gradually, I become more aware of noises from elsewhere.  High heels
tapping along the sidewalk below; two people talking as they walk by my
room along the corridor outside, the sound of glass bottles cascading into
a recycling bin somewhere at the back of the hotel.  Rob shifts his weight
over so he's almost lying on his side, pulling my hips with him, slipping
out of me, leaving a hot sticky trail on my thigh.  One of his hands is
lazily stroking my birthmark.  I guess he likes it. 

   'Are you alright, Elizabeth?'

   Another giggle bubbles up past my throat. 

   'My God, Rob, I hardly know what to say.'

   'Say you'll stay for the weekend.'

   His eyes look serious.  His face looks serious too.

   'Are you serious about that?'

   'Never more so.' 

   He props his head up on one arm.  'Lucia, my brilliant PA, can make it
happen.  You can stay on here at the hotel for the additional nights.  Or,
if you feel you want to, you can stay at my house.  I promise you I'm not
an axe murderer.  I can probably provide credible written references on
that point, if you'd like.'

   A small smile plays over his mouth.

   'You are serious, aren't you?'

   'Yes.'

   'You make it sound so simple.'

   'It is.  So long as it's not mucking up anything important for you at
home, it's just a matter of making the right arrangements.'

   'And paying for them.'

   'That too.  But it would be a pleasure for me to do that.  If you'd let
me.'

   I stare at him.

   'Listen, you can ask me anything about myself.  Anything at all.  But
first, I need to use the bathroom, and I'm also pretty hungry.  Are you?'

   I laugh at him now.

   'Sure.'

   He pees and washes his hands in the bathroom, then sits down on the edge
of the bed.

   'What are you hungry for?'

   I shrug.

   'Anything that's like toast and real butter.'

   He grins, picks up the phone on the bedside table.

   'Hi, yes, this is Rob Montague,' he's saying.  'Yes, hello Monique, very
nice to hear you too.  Listen, I'm staying in room --,' he turns to me with
a raised eyebrow.

   'Twelve,' I whisper.

   '-- twelve, and we'd really love some hot toast and butter.  Do you
think Macek can rustle that up for us?  Um, yes, hot chocolate would also
be nice, what a good idea.  Yes, great.  That'd be great.  And Monique, put
this on my tab, will you?  -- No, I haven't seen her tonight, I didn't know
she was here actually.  OK.  Thank you.  Yes, you too.'

   He stands up again, goes back to the bathroom, returning with the two
bathrobes that were hanging on the back of the door, dropping one on the
bed for me.

   'I could look at you naked for the rest of my life, Elizabeth, but you
may want this for when Room Service arrives,' and he bends down to kiss me.

   We are still kissing when there's a light knock on the door.  He throws
the robe over his shoulders, closing and tying it before opening the door.
I pull the sheets over me.

   'Mr Montague!'

   'Stefan, how are you?'

   I guess he knows this guy too.  I watch as he chats with him about this
and that while Stefan sets down a tray laden with toast, a pot and two
cups, a pretty posy of blue and white flowers and two heart-shaped
chocolates laid out on the linen.  Rob touches him lightly on the shoulder
as he leaves the room, still murmuring something to him, Stefan listening
and nodding, closing the door after him.

   'Toast, Elizabeth!' 

   I unwrap myself from the sheets and slip into the robe which is, of
course, far too big for me.  I roll up the sleeves and sit at the tiny
table opposite Rob.  The toast is hot and delicious and the salty butter is
dripping from it onto my chin. 

   'Ok, Rob Montague, I think you need to explain yourself, don't you?  How
is it you know all the people who work here?'

   'Ah, yes.  Well, as it happens, my sister owns this hotel.'

   I raise my eyebrows and gesture for him to tell me more, recalling then
the petite blonde in reception earlier this evening.  That was his sister?

   'Hmmm.' He chews on another mouthful of toast.  'Between us, we own
quite a lot of property in this part of London.'

   'I see.  But do you stay here often?'

   'Ah, no.  I usually use it for meeting clients, or as a place for them
to stay.'

   'Hmm.  How funny.  And strange.  I've stayed here many times when
working in London.  I prefer it to the big hotel chains that work usually
books, so I switched to staying here when I walked by it one time.'

   We both take a moment to think about that.

   'You were here all along, almost within reach,' he murmurs, taking my
hand and holding onto it.

   'So it seems.'

   'But we might never have met if it weren't my sister's birthday next
week and if my meeting hadn't finished early yesterday and -- well, all
sorts of permutations.'

   'I have a sort of confession to make, Rob.'

   'Oh?'

   'I kind of followed you into that shop yesterday.'

   He raises his eyebrows at me, more in curiosity than surprise.

   'Did you?'

   'Yes.  You almost walked right into me on the street, you were typing
something into your phone.  You had such an intense look of concentration
on your face that even when you apologised, I knew you hadn't really seen
me.'

   I carry on, liking the look he's giving me now.

   'And I wondered what it would take to have you give me that same intense
look.  So I turned right around and followed you into that shop.  I'd been
in earlier and loved the sweaters, and seeing you looking at them like that
--,' I shrug.

   'I'm a lucky man, then.'

   'I think I'm the lucky one.'

   'What else do you want to know about me?  Before you make up your mind
about the weekend?'

   'You'd pay for me to fly out on Sunday?'

   'Yes.'

   'That amount of money ......?'

   '....  Isn't important.'

   'You and your sister -- you own a lot of property then?'

   'Yes.' 

   He's tapping one of the chocolates on the tray with a fingertip, lazily
tracing its shape.

   There's another light knock at the door.  Rob seems to have been
expecting it.  I sit at the table, thinking about his handmade clothes, the
way that the owner of the Chinese restaurant knew him, wondering if it was
his sister I saw earlier.  When he returns, he's holding a brand-new
toothbrush, which he sets down on the table.

   He leans forward and takes both my hands in his, holding them together,
as if in prayer, almost.

   'Look, Elizabeth, I know this is probably a most improbable offer.  But
it's a genuine one.  I can pay for your flight home on Sunday, and for
staying here -- anything.  I won't expect a repeat of tonight, as this has
been somewhat sudden.' 

   He gives me a smile and presses my hands together more tightly. 

   'But I want to spend as much time with you as possible before you go
back to the States, in case you disappear, never to be seen again.'

   'Ok.  It's completely crazy, but, ok, I'm going to take you up on it,
Rob.  I'll fly home Sunday.  And spend the weekend with you.  And --,' I
cast my eyes over to the bed, 'I'd quite like a repeat of that, if that'd
be ok with you?'

   I wish I had the words to describe the expression in his eyes.

   I go on, 'And I want to stay in your house.  Your sister's hotel is very
nice, but I want to poke around in your sock drawer to get to the heart of
your darkest secrets, or wherever it is you hide them.  If you're a bona
fide axe murderer, then I say let's get that out in the open as soon as
possible.'

   'I knew you were a sensible woman.'

   I laugh, my heartrate accelerating in my chest as the implications of
the last two days start to turn over in my mind.

   'Now, would you like some of this very rich hot chocolate?  You might
need the sugar for sustenance, as we only got a little way down the list of
things I wanted to do with you earlier.' 

   He tips his chin over to the bed.

   'Greedy,' I tease him.

   'Mmmm.  And over the moon I've now got the whole weekend to persuade you
to take up that job offer here.'

   'Aha.  That's the other confession I need to make, Rob.'

   He pauses, holding the chocolate pot poised over my cup, ready to pour.

   'I accepted the offer this morning.'

   He returns the pot to the table, slowly and silently.  And in one sure,
sudden movement he's scooped me out of my chair and onto his lap, as if I
weigh nothing at all.

   'Now I know what a lucky man I am.'

   He kisses me, tasting of toast and butter.  Which I imagine I must taste
of too.  Neither of us mind.  His hands are back in my hair, pulling and
teasing it through his fingers, scratching at my scalp.  Easing away from
his face, I focus on his eyes.

   'What is it, Elizabeth?'

   It's eerie how he picks up on when my thoughts shift.

   'I'm just thinking you're a man who seems very secure in knowing what he
likes.' I raise my eyebrow at him, starting to feel the heat rising to my
face. 

   'Hair, for one thing.  Underwear -- no -- clothes, you really like
clothes.  Tailoring.  The fabrics and textures.  Don't you?  And this --,'
I gesture at us and vaguely over to the bed again. 

   'You don't seem out of practice with this.  At all.  The opposite, if
anything.'

   'What are you asking me?'

   'I guess I'm saying -- no -- asking what the difference is for you,
between dating women and sex.  You said you're out of practice with the
former, but not the latter, right?'

   He smiles a little. 

   'You certainly have a lawyer's mind, Elizabeth.'

   I wait for more, watching him think about what he's going to tell me
next.

   'There is a woman.  We've had an arrangement for several years now,' he
says, gauging my reactions, his hands still in my hair, resting on my
shoulders.  'I pay her.'

   'She's a --,'

   '-- an escort.  Yes.  A very discreet one.  It's not her only job.  In
fact, she moved to Paris for her other job a year ago.' 

   He pauses, then continues, 'What are you thinking?'

   'I guess I'm a little shocked,' I admit.  'But again -- more that you've
told me, not that you've -- what's the right way to say it?'

   'Paid for sex?'

   A small smile plays over his lips, but his eyes are still serious.

   'Mmm.  That.'

   'Celibacy isn't for me.'

   'And masturbation just reminds you of boarding school?'

   He laughs, 'Absolutely!  Nothing sexy about it -- it's just functional.'

   I shift in his lap.

   'What's she called?'

   He looks surprised.

   'Catherine,' he replies. 

   'If this -- if we --,' I chew my lip, annoyed I can't find a way to
phrase what I want to say.

   'Catherine and I have a professional relationship and she's always known
it will end if I were to find someone to love.'

   'Would you miss her?'

   He tips his head to one side. 

   'Yes.  I like her.  But it was a relationship that wasn't designed to
get out of the bedroom, whereas I'd rather like one that was a relationship
everywhere.  Going out to the theatre, squabbling over Christmas, having
lunch with my sister, taking my goddaughter to Legoland, holidays in the
sun -- that sort of thing.  And in the bedroom.  A relationship like that
wouldn't give me reason to miss her.'

   'You talk about her in the past tense.'

   'Yes.  Since she's been in Paris, we haven't seen each other very
often.'

   'I see.'

   I hesitate to ask more.  You get to a certain age, it doesn't do much
good to expect to know everything about another's past life.

   But -- 'Did you see her often?'

   'Every couple of weeks,' he shrugs, 'sometimes more, sometimes less. 
Depended on how busy I was with work.  That sort of thing.  Does it bother
you?'

   He fixes me with his eyes.

   'I don't think so.'

   'We were very discreet, and very safe with each other.'

   He reaches around me to pour hot chocolate into our cups, and holds one
up to me.

   'And what about you, Elizabeth?  What history am I taking on with you?'

   I sip from the cup.  It's devastatingly rich.

   'Just, you know, a handful of unsatisfactory relationships with vanilla,
uptight corporate lawyer types.  Men who wore off-the-peg suits and
delivered off-the-peg sex.  None of them anything to write home about.  I
was beginning to think the single life was the better option.'

   'Harsh.'

   'I think I'm only just starting to realise how off-the-peg the sex has
been up until now.'

   I feel rather than hear him laugh, his stomach and chest moving, but
then he's kissing me again, his eyes crinkling up.  I push him away.

   'What?  What's so funny?'

   'You can't say that sort of thing to me, Elizabeth.  You've no idea how
conceited it makes me feel, and I don't deserve it.'

   'So you're kissing me to shut me up?'

   'Mmhmm.  Are you objecting?'

   I feel driven to tease him more, his own candour freeing me from my
usual restraint.

   'Not really.  But tell me what else you want to do with me, Rob.'

   He breaks into a big smile, and moves his hands back to my shoulders,
slipping them underneath the bathrobe, my skin warming under his confident
touch.  He takes his time replying, apparently more interested in stroking
me.  I'm not complaining, there's something so purposeful about how he
touches me, his eyes lowered in concentration.  I exhale, a little
self-conscious at how loud it sounds.

   'I'd like you to do all those things with me, Elizabeth,' he says
finally.

   'Theatres, Legoland, lunch with your sister; all of that, you mean?'

   He smiles, his eyes flicking up to mine. 

   'You won't have much choice in the latter, I can assure you, after this.
I'm expecting her text in about seven hours' time, perhaps less, depending
on when she checks in with Monique at the desk.  Don't worry, no-one's
going to be divulging your personal details, because that's breaking the
law.  But I'm in for a hefty and personal interrogation in the morning
about precisely who you are.' 

   He halts his hands, briefly and narrows his eyes. 

   'Hm.  Do you think they noticed us earlier, when we were in the lobby
downstairs?'

   'Kissing each other like teens?'

   'Mmm.  Then.' 

   His hands resume their work, moving off my shoulders and down my arms.

   'I've no idea, honestly, but it sounds like we should take this issue
head on and arrange to meet up with her as soon as -- and set her mind at
rest?'

   'Would you do that?'

   'Sure.'

   He strokes my cheek before returning his hand to my shoulder.  My skin
feels alive, almost burning, from his relentless hands.

   'You're brave.  Lizzie's a force of nature.' 

   He leans over and plants his lips on the flesh he's exposed at the top
of my shoulder. 

   'And a black belt in interrogation techniques.'

   'Sounds fun.  I'm pretty good at forensic examination myself.'

   His lips smile against my skin.

   'Of course you are.' 

   He sighs.  Sits back in the chair, adjusting his position.

   'Am I getting too heavy?' I ask.

   'Not at all.  Stay right where you are.'

   'You look like you're thinking about something else, Rob.'

   'There's an event on Saturday night I really should go to, and I want
you to come.  It's black tie, so we'll need to find you a dress to wear,
but that won't be a problem.  Will you come?'

   'What is it?'

   'It's a dinner -- a fundraiser for a charity we support.'

   'Who's we?'

   'Lizzie, John and me.  It's a charity that supports bereaved children.
John and his little girls have had a great deal of help from them since
Ginny died.'

   'Ok.  Yes,' I'm surprised, pleased, that he wants me to go to something
so important to him, to meet some of his closest friends.  'If you're
sure?'

   'Well, I don't want to go without you.' 

   His arm is lying across my lap, and he takes my hand in his.  'I should
have thought to mention it earlier, but my mind is -- distracted.'

   'Distracted?  How?'

   'By you.' 

   He seems to lift and gather me up closer to him. 

   'You are very distracting.  So many possibilities.' 

   When was the last time he blinked?  His eyes seem enormous again.

   'You're looking at me like you want to consume me, Rob.'

   He grunts. 

   'Mmm.  What I want to do is make love to you.' 

   He reaches to kiss me. 

   'A lot.  Frequently.' 

   Another kiss. 

   'All the time.  Every chance I get.' 

   Another kiss.

   Heat races up and around my body.  He draws me closer, pushes his hand
into my robe.

   'And fuck you.  That too, Elizabeth, as and when the mood takes us,' as
he slides inbetween my thighs, smoothing his palm along my flesh.

   'But not sex, off-the-peg, or not.  Never just sex.  You're too good for
just that.'

   His fingers are grazing against me and I open my legs out a little,
wondering where the idea that the British are reserved comes from.

   'How do you feel about that, Elizabeth?' 

   'I'd like that too.  Very much,' I whisper, trembling at his touch, his
relentless stroking and smoothing and caressing. 

   It's as if his hand is drawing all my blood vessels and nerve endings
together and dragging them up and down my thighs.

   'Rob what are you doing to me?'

   He pauses, looks up into my face.

   'Hmm?'

   'Your hands.  I don't know what you're doing with them, but I've never
felt anything like it.'

   'Really?  But your skin has the most beautiful texture.  Like
sand-washed silk.'

   I raise an eyebrow at him, thinking this must be an exaggeration.  His
hand squeezes my thigh, making me snatch at the air in surprise.

   'It's a process that abrades the surface of the silk, then softens it,
and gives it this deeper texture.  Almost like suede.  Your skin is like
that.  All over.  I can't get enough of it.'

   He looks a little self-conscious then, and it makes me smile inside.

   'You really do know a lot about textiles.  How is that?'

   'My grandfather was a tailor.'

   'Here?'

   'Yes.  Berwick Street,' he nods, resuming his work on my skin.

   'He did well enough to buy the building his workshop was in, and that's
how we got started in property.'

   His fingers have found me.  Again, I'm shocked at how he makes me feel
and I'm opening myself out to him, pushing myself onto his hand.  The robe
drops from my shoulders, suddenly, making me shiver as it progresses down
my arms and comes to rest at the crook of my elbows.  He shifts his
position beneath me, moving his hips forward on the seat, pushing his own
robe apart. 

   'Here?' I ask.

   'Mmm,' he smiles, 'Let's see if there's room.'

   'Will the chair hold out?'

   We're both smiling, almost giggling, as I shuffle myself until I'm
facing him, and we quickly realise it's going to be too awkward.

   'If I was a catwalk model with long enough legs to reach the floor, this
might work.'

   He kisses me.

   'But you wouldn't be here with me if you were, Elizabeth,' and he lifts
me up, carries me to the bed, and sets me down, shucking his robe off in
one fluid movement.

   'Very smooth,' I tease him.

   He acknowledges it with a small curl to his lips, but is urging me to
move up the bed, then pulling me to him, his hands holding my face to his.
We kiss, his eyes drilling into me so that I have to lean away from him for
a moment or two to catch my breath.

   'Too much?' he asks, his voice gentle.

   'Yes,' I breathe, 'Too much,' and I run a hand down his side, tipping
back to face him.

   'But I want it, Rob.'

   Again, that look in his eyes.  It sets fire to me, but it's nothing to
what he does next.  I'm hardly aware of where his hands are until one of
them pushes my thighs open, tipping me back a little, then slips inbetween,
pressing up against me, dipping into me, briefly, then retreating.

   'What --?'

   Before I can form the question, I'm watching him draw his hand to his
mouth and licking his sticky fingers, his eyes still steady on mine.  My
breath catches in my throat.

   'We taste good together,' he's saying but I'm pulling his hips toward
me, feathering my hands along the length of his cock, enjoying the way his
eyes flash at my touch. 

   I shuffle myself closer and downwards, pressing closer, lifting my top
leg over him.  He's starting to smile now, getting the idea about what I
want from him, pushing his thigh inbetween mine.  We both shiver as his
cock slides along me, where I'm still wet.

   'Hmm, that feels so nice,' I murmur, feeling the heat building up inside
me.

   I tilt my hips and use my fingers to help guide him towards me, to where
I want him inside me.  I sense a change in Rob's breathing and look up into
his face.  His eyes look quizzical.

   'Are you --?'

   'Just go slowly,' I reassure him.

   He does exactly that.  Enters me so slowly I think I might die of the
anticipation, of the sensation of his smooth cock moving in, just a little
way, then out, then coming out of me altogether to rub up against my clit,
and then back down and nudging his way inside again.

   'Oh my God, Rob, now you're definitely killing me,' I half-complain,
half-laugh, thinking I'm not far off coming just from the way he's bossing
his way around my pussy.

   His hand grabs my ass much more forcefully, pulling my hips onto him,
his cock sinking further into me, forcing a guttural noise from my throat
as I'm reminded of how he feels.

   'I'm trying not to go too hard, Elizabeth.'

   He's breathing pretty heavily himself, and he pulls me further over so
I'm on top of him.

   'Better if you're on top, so I don't hurt you,' he pants, his eyes
looking as glazed as I imagine mine do. 

   I press my lips to his shoulder while we both concentrate on how we fit
together, on how he's widening me out again, his hips rotating beneath me,
his hands holding my ass, patiently driving his cock into me until we're
down to the root.  We both sigh and hold still together.  One of his hands
is reaching for my face, raising my head up from his chest, pushing my hair
away from my face.

   'You are lovely,' he whispers, and I see how he's coated in sheen of
sweat on his face, neck and chest.

   I reach for him, to touch my mouth to his.  His kiss is so tender it
almost stops my heart.

   'What is this?' I wonder aloud.

   'The best feeling of my life,' he replies, grazing my lips with his. 

   I return the kiss, losing myself in his naked blue eyes.  We stare at
each other as he massages his hands down my back and starts flexing his
hips.

   'Rob,' but that's all I'm capable of uttering.

   He rolls us again, so we're both on our sides, and lets his hips do the
moving for both of us, making his cock grind against me, into me, then back
out and grazing up against my pubic bone.  I'm already feeling it, how it's
coiling up in my belly, using all my muscles to meet his hips.  I get
transfixed at how his chest is moving in front of me; arch my back to push
myself closer to him, to feel him against as much of my body as possible. 

   'Elizabeth.'

   'Rob.'

   He's breathing more heavily.  The feeling of his cock is overwhelming
all of my other senses.

   'You're not going to hurt me now, Rob.'

   He pauses, but that's not what I want.

   'I've gotten used to you now,' I explain, and tip my hips to his to make
my point.

   A growl escapes his lips and he's moving us again, pressing me onto my
back, drawing his knees up and around me, pushing my thighs wider.  I've
never been with a man who's done that.  It feels incredible, the angle of
him inside me.  I can't hold out any longer.  I'm tightening and vibrating
over him already.

   'Rob, can you feel it?' I pant, wrapping my arms around his back.

   He growls again, louder this time, and I love the sound of it.  Love the
sounds he's making.  And that he's driving into me more quickly and more
deeply, working us both up into a serious sweat.  His mouth on mine, his
breath harsh against my face, working his hips hard into me.

   'Oh God.  Oh my fucking God.'

   I'm losing it, bucking my hips high into him, contracting harder than I
can ever remember, feeling like he's pulling me inside out, almost sobbing
it's so good.  His chest vibrates over me, his heart banging hard, his back
tensing up, growling.

   'Let me have it,' I blurt out, writhing under him, trapped to him by his
hands holding tight to my shoulders.

   Every one of his thrusts is forcing a sound from my throat I hardly
recognise as mine.  I'm getting out of breath, his energy outlasting my
own, the feeling of him inside me getting more and more intense.  He
shifts, pulling me even harder to him, his head pressed into the side of my
neck where I can feel more than hear his breathing -- low, rasping grunts
vibrating into my flesh.  Just as I fling my arms sideways, taken over by
another onset of pulsing contractions I sense him peaking as he holds
himself hard and deep inside me and his loudest growl so far crashes into
my neck, followed by a few more.  How many I can't be sure, I'm so lost in
my own pleasure, but I can feel him, can feel how much he's let go, how
little of himself he's held back.  And before he's finished, he's tugging
at me until I'm back on top, lying on him, muttering something that sounds
like, '-- not squash you Lisbeth --,' but his breathing is so ragged it's
difficult to know exactly what he's saying. 

   I feel his muscles begin to relax but he's trembling so violently I lie
still, listening to his heart hammering away under me, thinking it's a
sound I could grow addicted to.

   I move my hips and shiver as hot liquid starts to rush down.  He
obviously feels it too as we're both groping around for one of the
bathrobes that must be somewhere on the bed to catch it before it reaches
the sheets, neither of us seeming to want to get up.  I win, snagging the
robe with my right hand and dragging it toward us.  We both catch our
breath when I raise up and away from him a little, then stuff the robe
inbetween us, unable to move much more than that.  I drop back down, lying
on top of him, still listening to his breathing as it regulates. 

   I don't know how long we lie like this.  My mind is empty. 

   At some point, Rob drapes the sheet over both of us, the soft linen
whispering over my skin, tickling the back of my legs, making me twitch. 
He rubs both my arms then, and that's when I realise he's returned to
himself; has come back down to earth.  I'm not sure I'm ready to make any
sense, but I want to look at him anyway, so I raise my head up and see he's
already watching me.  I tremble.  His eyes are so open, and so full.  I
reach up to touch his mouth, afraid to speak, watch his eyelashes flicker
when he feels me on his lips.  He licks and kisses my fingers, pulls them
inside his mouth, all the while his eyes never leaving mine.  I've never
felt so intimate, so exposed, so naked with a man. 

   Words are going to be inadequate, I think to myself; too blunt an
instrument for expressing anything like how I'm feeling; how he's made me
feel.  I exhale.

   'I'm paying for my half of the flight, Rob,' I finally say.

   His eyes widen out and seem to get brighter, even fuller.

   'And all the other flights back here, up until I move here more
permanently.'

   Just getting the words out has drained me.

   He hugs me hard with his whole body, kisses my forehead and presses his
head tightly to mine.


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