The Rendezvous - Part 1 of 3.

The air is thick, humming with anticipation. I feel it on my skin. Under it. Tingling my fingertips.

I know without knowing that you’re feeling the same. Our rendezvous is finally here. From the gentle testing of waters weeks ago, we’ve been drawing each other closer, deeper. A playful inquiry that quickly blossomed. Tentative nerves that melted in the warmth of a connection that took seed and bloomed more vibrantly with each exchange, as if wrapping us in its knowing embrace, tendrils reaching from the darkness, forming branches thick and strong as they extended and slid in and around each carnal thought. Holding tight. Squeezing my chest.

I’m waiting in front of the hotel as the car pulls up. As the back door opens, a foot softly swings out, carefully searching for the curb. I close the distance in four strides, opening the door and offering my hand in a single, fluid motion.

I knew exactly what I was going to say to you. Each word painstakingly debated, reviewed and confirmed, rehearsed a thousand times in quiet stillness until they fused to each other and found completion, but as your smile emerges from behind the door, rising out, shining brighter than the blue summer morning, there are no words, no thought. Just primal urgency. Need. Our hungry mouths rush to find each other and our bodies lock in an electrifying burst that lights like a starburst behind my eyelids and tickles the back of my neck. Tongues dance eagerly, hands exploring, the bare skin of your back feeling soft and warm against the rough pads of my palms and fingers. I feel the tension, the nervousness, the lingering flicker of doubt that has been trapped in your body sigh in resignation, and retreat. Your whole being calms and melts.

I force myself to pull back gently, your mouth still eagerly chasing mine. “We should probably let the driver go.” I smile playfully. “What do you say?”

A flush spreads across your cheeks and you grin sheepishly as I close the door and guide you across the lobby. It’s empty of guests. The hurried clickety clack of heels echoing loudly in the hushed silence betrays the facade of our outwardly calm, relaxed appearance as we make our way purposefully to the elevators.

The door swings open and I hold it wide, mesmerised by the view of you as you squeeze by and into the room. The pretty spaghetti-strap sundress in lively, floral print –so simple yet timelessly elegant –sways seductively as you move, gently holding your shape as if in declaration of ownership, accentuating all the glorious rise and fall of your feminine outline.

The faintest tremble still in your step. The scent of your hair, thick and sweet. High voltage sizzles the air.

I feel myself stir.

I move silently up behind you before you can turn, snaking my arms around you, pulling you firmly against my hardening. I lean down, brushing your hair away, my mouth finding the heat of the nape of your neck, slow, lingering kisses as I hold you steady, your body yielding with a gentle sigh as you tilt your head, offering your throat to me. I draw you deeply into my lungs, savouring the heady combination of perfume scent mixed with your own, tracing you from your ear to shoulder with my mouth, one hand holding you in place –strong and reassuring –the other surveying every inch of you in a rhythmic flow, pausing only to cup your breasts in my palm as I hold you tight.

Your mouth strains to find mine and I allow it, relaxing my hold just enough so that you’re able to turn into me, my hands slipping to your waist, yours instinctively moving up, curling over my biceps. The kiss is long and deep, undulating in a flow from playful to passionate to cheeky, tender to urgent. Again, and again. And again.

I firm my hands on your waist and gently pull back, lips tingling. I’ve not had a chance yet to see you, to really see you, and I’m determined to drink you in, my thirst so great there’s a part of me that wants to open my lungs wide and drown in you. I step back, holding your fingertips in mine, wanting to see all of you in frame, but unable to break the spell of contact with your skin.

“My god, you’re beautiful,” I breathe, my eyes tracing you slowly from head to toe and back again, stopping to lock gaze with yours, a slight flush of embarrassment crossing your face. “And now you’re all mine,” I grin cheekily, wiggling your hands playfully in mine.

A smile that would melt stone flashes across your face and you step forward and begin to lower, but my grip on you tenses and gently lifts you back to your feet. Surprise and confusion curl your brow. I had told you that I was going to indulge you and spoil you rotten, and that is exactly what I’m going to do.

“Nuh ah,” I shake my head slowly in mock disapproval, ‘ladies first.’

I kiss you again, pausing only to lift the dress over your head, your arms raised in surrender. My hands find the intricate, soft lace of your lingerie and I pause again, taking a half step back to admire you once more, feeling dreamlike as I take in each curve and marvel at your whole, as if my brain is committing you to memory on a thousand canvases all at the same time.

I am so hard, it hurts.

I gently undo your clasp and let the bra slip away, gently pushing you back on the bed. You drift back and float on the cloud of bed covers, hair spread across the pillows as if unfurled by a breeze, arms peacefully extended wide. I quickly discard my shirt and lower to kiss you again. My lips arc across your jawline and down the curve of your throat, gently working your earlobes, then your neck. I then glide my way to the other side, all while one hand caresses you from knee to thigh to hip to waist and back again, keeping time to a slow, sensual, unheard beat that my thigh now joins, sliding up between your legs and gyrating against your mound. Now you’re moaning, and I can sense your damp heat through my pants. I kiss you once more before pulling away and snaking my way down, tracing my tongue over your right breast, careful not to touch your nipple yet as I circle round and around your areola with just the tip of my tongue, faster and faster, like water escaping a drain hole. A gasp escapes your lips when I finally flick your nipple with my tongue, hard and red, like a perfect, sweet little raspberry. I pause for just a second to glance up, catching the spellbound look on your face before I start flicking your nipple rapidly with my tongue, waiting for you to settle and calm again before eliciting another gasp when I suddenly stop to bite gently and suck you like a teat. I move back and forth between your breasts like this, my back arched and my thigh still rubbing against you, until I sense the fever in your need.

My mouth moves again, kissing and licking an invisible path down to your belly button, over and across your stomach, a slight reflexive shiver and giggle escaping you as I move up, then down, the soft curve of your midaxillary line. One side, then the other. Then I move lower, tracing my tongue directly from your belly button to your mound. I feel you tremulate as I kiss my way down over your mound to your inner thigh, then to your outer lips, delighting in the sound of your sharp gasps every time my mouth triggers a sparkle of pleasure. I’m careful not to touch you yet as a I build the tension, compounding the tease by occasionally blowing a gentle blast of hot breath right on your clit.

You’re a raging inferno when I finally flick your clit with the faintest tip of my tongue, firing your whole body into spasm. A pattern sets in. Kisses around your now seething pussy, a tongue flick on your clit, lingering just a little longer each time, until my tongue transitions again, with a slow tempo of strokes from your perineum up to your clit. Up and down. Up and down. I look up and lock eyes with you, the quickened, heavy rise and fall of your chest lying as the magnificent landscape between us, as your moans become louder. Longer. My mouth, nose, cheeks, chin – all a glazed mess. Tangy apple pie bubbling on every taste bud.

I begin to slowly both hasten, and shorten, the strokes of my tongue, so that soon the tip is flying like a hummingbird against your swollen ruby. Your eyes have closed and your breathing shallowed as I slowly position two fingers at your entrance. You’re so wet my fingers easily slip forward. I curl them into a hook, slowly massaging the curve of your anterior wall in slow strokes, a faint squishy pop each time I retract, a guttural groan on each gentle roll forward.

I debate whether to draw things out further, to tease you and edge you some more, but your desperation, your utter, frantic need for release, hangs heavy in the air, and in that moment, I want nothing more in all the world than to set you free.