Our room is on the top floor and as we climb the winding steps I watch your legs and the sway of your skirt following the swing of your hips from side to side. Your free hand trails lightly on the rail. Your nails gleam red against the dark and polished wood. You pause at the door and, as I step up, you lean back slightly so your back rests against my chest and I smell your perfume and feel the soft brush of your hair against my cheek.
You open the door and pause, hand on your heart, eyes shining, before stepping aside to let me carry in our bags. It is beautiful. Tall windows look out on every side and the room is bright even though outside it is a grey and windy winter’s day. Light gleams on the polished wood of the paneling and dresser and the carved bedposts. It sparkles on the full chandelier raised above the bed and reflects from the tall mirrored door of the armoire. You cross the room to stand at the windows, arms outspread dark against the glare of sun. You pause there as though saying goodbye to all we have left behind, one last look down the road that brought us here. You draw the sheer red curtains around you as though wrapping yourself in the moment, then let them settle so the room is bathed in a warmer light, rich and lush, making the room at once more familiar and sensuously mysterious. You turn to me then and smile and turn on tiptoes to take in the room.
I set the bags down and watch you explore: bending to smell the flowers in the cut-glass vase, riffling through the scatter of menus by the phone, running a finger along the wine glasses set out on a tray and the bottle beside them. You smile and the tip of your tongue peeks out between the red of your lips. I follow you across the room to where, in an alcove off the bedroom a deep granite bathtub rests on polished brass claw feet. I lean against the open door frame, delighting in your excitement and wonder as you explore. You sit on the edge of the tub, cross your legs and open the bottles of bath salts and bath oil. I close my eyes and breathe in roses and lavender and the fresh tang of lemons and feel your arms come around me and your cheek against mine.
We settle into our room that way, separating to unpack, set out toiletries, open drawers just to see, but always coming back to touch, to feel one another close, and each time our breath, our heartbeats find one another and settle in a common rhythm. There is no rush, no hurry, only this tuning of mind and body.
When everything is in its place we settle on the couch. You half turn towards me, your arm along the back, resting your cheek in your hand, and we talk. With each word the time apart and the distances between our lives recedes. Each word brings us more fully into this moment, more fully with one another. More fully present here and now. I feel the warmth of your hip against my leg. The invisible pressure of your gaze meeting mine. The rustle of your skirt when you shift. Your perfume when you lean towards me and touch my arm. Your breasts rising as you breathe and the flush between them when you laugh. Slowly, your head moves from resting in your hand to resting against my chest, my arm around you until you murmur and swing your legs around and lean fully back into me and close your eyes and smile. Our talk becomes softer now; stories of fun and sorrow, small tales of surprise and wonders; and all the while my fingers wander. At first, lightly tracing the elegant arch of your neck, easing small tensions in your shoulders. But there is no way to stop their curiosity, they long to cup the sweetness of your breasts, and follow the temptation of waist to the fullness of your hips.
You are telling me a story and at some point I lose the thread. I have been busy with buttons and the red silk of your blouse is open down to where it meets your skirt and as you shift it slips off your shoulders. You smile and make no move to hold it closed. Instead, you lean back to catch my eye, “Are you listening?”
“Well,” I confess, “I know it is about a trip and a friend and this situation at work, but…” I shrug. To make my point I let my fingers find their way along your neck and shoulders, finding small areas of tension and releasing them, working the muscles, stretching here, pressing in there, until you have lost the plot as well and the story becomes a murmur, then a sigh, and soft words, yes, and oh, and yes again, and more, and that’s so nice. The straps of your black lace bra slide from your shoulders as well and, as my hands work along the length of your backbone, my fingers find the clasp and release it, freeing your breasts. I ease myself out from behind you, putting a pillow in my place to catch your head so I can kneel beside you, cupping first one breast then the other, catching each nipple with my lips then gently letting my teeth slide along their hardening tips before brushing them softly with my lips again.
You stretch out further, one leg raised along the back of the sofa and one beside me on the floor; while my lips are busy with your breasts, my hands slide along the silken smoothness of your leg beside me, along your ankle, calf, then below your skirt and along your thigh. I can feel you rise up, seeking to press against my hand, and I let just the tips of my fingers brush the lace along the edges of your panties and then across the eager lips of your pussy, just the lightest touch and then back along your thighs, then back again this time letting my palm press against you for a moment. I lean back and smile, taking in your flushed disarray, your eyes slightly closed and heavy with desire, your cheeks and neck flushed. I trace your half-open lips and you catch my finger with your teeth and hold me there as our eyes reach out to one another, looking deep and drawing in every detail.
I stand and take your hand, so you rise as well, and for a moment I take you in my arms and kiss you deeply, my tongue telling you all the secrets we will uncover together, all the desires and need I have held within me for so long, and your tongue answers.
I finish the work with your blouse and bra, you reach behind to undo your skirt, then catch the waist of my jeans and without letting go of me with your eyes, you unfasten button and zipper and smile at my gasp as your hand brushes the hardness of my cock, your touch as deliberately soft and teasing as mine had been a moment before.
We let each other go for a moment to finish the work of undressing. My fingers suddenly feel clumsy and slow. I can’t take my eyes off you, the sway of your breasts as you shimmy and step out of your skirt, the strong curve of your back as you bend to slide your panties past your thighs, and the oh so becoming, shy smile as you straighten and stand before me with those wisps of silk and lace hooked in one finger. I am afraid my smile is neither so shy nor so tender, more a smile of deep anticipation. My breath is tight in my throat and the beat of my heart is suddenly so much stronger in my chest so that it feels as if I can hear the rush of my blood coursing through me. My cock is stiff and the tip glistens. Your run a finger from my cheek down along my chest, over my belly and then lightly along the shaft of my cock and it almost leaps upward at your touch. Now it is your turn to smile.
Without needing to say a word we walk toward the tub. I adjust the hot and cold; you open the bath oils and smell each of them before deciding which to add. I watch you breathe in the scent, eyes closed, watch you step carefully to the edge of the tub and tip the bottle just so, to add first this one then another. The steam is fragrant and the windows have steamed so the light coming in is softened and intimate. You pour a long splash from a larger bottle and a deep carpet of bubbles foams up across the surface of the water.
You ease into the steamy water rich with the scent of lavender and roses shot through with the bright notes of lemon. The bubbles rise up to cover your breasts and you lean back and sigh. I slip into the tub opposite you, our legs reaching around one another. Without opening your eyes, you sit forward and I lean to meet you. Our kiss is long and searching, my hands under the water slide along your thighs up to your waist and back down again. When we lean back I find first one foot and then the other and work the ankles, the instep, along the top of the foot and around the heel, stretch each toe. I feel your hands restless along my legs. Time moves very slowly in these moments of steam and warm and fragrance. Suddenly though I want you close to me. As I lean toward you it is as if you have the same desire, and our mouths meet again.
“And this,” I whisper, “is only the beginning.”