First Things First (In Room 422)
It was what she knew I wanted, where I wanted to begin. She stretched out prone on the hotel bed in a pink thong, offering me her ass.
We had taken our time getting there, progressively eager but unhurried. In two months or so there may have been 1,100 text messages between us including the phrase I want.
Which led to dozens of public kisses on that sunny afternoon in a grassy downtown with visible roots predating the Revolution. Kisses on an old stone wall behind City Hall in front of a wide waterfall, spilling into a duck pond feeding a stream. On the sidewalk on the sudden, walking from here to there. In what could have been a small coat room, cut into a long narrow hall running from a dining room to a restaurant patio.
Kisses on a weather-beaten bench on the village green in the sun, where we decided it was time to get a room. Where she decided, and we walked back to our cars quiet for the first time that day.
I folded my black jeans and set them neatly on an upholstered chair by the window. She might have laughed and dropped her black leggings on the nightstand.
I might have told her once or twice too often in text that I wanted her ass. She never asked me to stop.
So I was eager but still unhurried. I wanted to get to know her with my hands.
I kneaded what I needed. Tugged at her. Squeezed her with a feeling. Pried her apart and closed her in a circular motion, rhythmic, stretching her so her asshole distended on two sides of one thin strip of cloth.
I drank warmth through cupped palms, loving the resilience of her there; the give in her ass and in her, and the firmer the grip the better sometimes. The more possessive the grasp the stronger the statement.
She arched her back as we went. Two fingers slid between her thighs, pressing in and pulling up, taking her temperature. Reaching for a sigh and breathing deeply, seeking a scent. While I drank my fill through two thirsty hands, cupping and squeezing, loving and pulling and tugging.
Until it came time for something else I wanted. Until I moved the thong a few inches right of center and lowered my face to where the strip of pink cloth had been.