Checking In

“I want to look at you and wink from across the room,” he said to her, “and catch you quickly lick your lower lip, followed by a brief smirk before you turn back to the check in desk, your worn tapestry luggage at your side.”
She smiled her almost smirk at his words.

“You do it in a way that causes your ass to wiggle at me,” he continued, “just a hint of what’s to come later. The desk manager offers you the key, and me the paired one and we walk towards the elevator—you two and a half steps ahead. The way you walk, it’s sex-chocolate-coffee-strawberries-scotch-wood smoke-sea salt personified, in front of me.”

She caught her breath at that. 

“Sinuously, where only I can see—there’s nobody else around this late at night, each step showing a different angle of your leg, your hip rising slightly, your butt dimpling just the slightest. I want to walk more slowly, keeping you in view. Eyes riveted on your back… your legs… your ass.”
She frowned, considered whether or not her rear had dimples. And pondered whether or not that was a good thing. 

“The elevator door chimes open and you turn to me, beckoning in with a flip of your hair and a glimpse of light in your eye. A hope? A command? No, that light is a promise.”
She is beginning to see the light. 

3 thoughts on “Checking In

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