• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 1347 0

the bathroom, he turned the water on to hot and pulled off the rest of his clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor. Turning back to her, he put both arms around her and drew her close, so that their bodies were touching all the way down. She watched herself again, in the mirror, watched the angle of her long neck as he gently kissed and nuzzled at it, until the steam covered it, and them. In the shower, he reached for the soap. She took it from him without speaking and lathered it between her hands, then ran them under his arms, across his shoulders, and down his stomach. He was in good shape, and she could feel the hard muscles running under the surface. His belly had a pelt of dark hair, and she ran her fingers through it possessively. He gasped when she took hold of him. The water was running on both their faces as they kissed. He pushed her hand off him then, and for a moment she was worried, but he held her close, his hands resting in the small of her back.

“I just want to hold you, Jen. Just let me hold you for a moment.” She let him. It felt good.

Then, at last, they both wanted more. Wrapping themselves in towels, their hair dripping, they went back to the bed and lay down together. Either the ambient noise in the chalet had stopped, or they just weren’t listening anymore. They didn’t make a sound, either. The sex was slow, and almost silent. When the headboard started banging against the wall, Stephen grabbed a pillow and shoved it roughly down between the wood and the plaster, silencing it, without ever breaking his rhythm. It had been a while, and they had both been turned on by the shower; it didn’t take long. Stephen came with his face pushed into the pillow next to hers, his fingernails digging into her buttocks.

Doors opened and closed as they lay recovering their breath. People yelled good-bye, shouted the name of a bar to anyone listening, and then it was quiet again. The room was dark, lit only by the bathroom, and Stephen went to sleep beside her, one hand still on her belly. She looked at his familiar face, then gently slid out from under his heavy arm and went to the bathroom. Her carefully applied mascara had run, and she wiped it away with a cotton ball and some remover. Her chest was flushed with sex, and she wrapped the dressing gown tightly around her before tiptoeing into the hall, ready with a quick excuse. She didn’t bump into anyone; it seemed like they were the last people left in the chalet. In the kitchen she found a half-drunk bottle of Cava, two Duralit water glasses, and a tube of Pringles. She gathered her booty and went back to their room. Stephen had shifted slightly. He woke up when he heard her close the door, and he rubbed his damp hair sheepishly.

She smiled and poured two glasses. The very reason for the seduction—the need for serious conversation—had passed for the moment; she felt suffused with the same calm she had been seeking for Stephen. She kissed him, briefly, on the lips, then they clinked glasses and drank.

Jennifer put her glass down and jumped onto the bed beside him.

“Are you hungry?” Stephen asked.

“Not really. Had an enormous piece of fruitcake before, with my tea. You?”

“Nope.”

“What do you want to do, then?” She grinned.

“What are you smiling for?”

“Do you know what I want to do?”

“No. Tell me.”

“I want to stay here, in this room, all night.”

“And do what, play Scrabble?”

“Play…but not Scrabble…” She leaned across him and grabbed her Cava. Filling her mouth, she kissed him again, opening her lips so that some of the fizz tingled against his. Stephen groaned.

“What’s brought this on?”

“Do I need a reason?” Please, she thought. Please don’t analyze this. Please.

“Nope. Never. Just asking.”

“So can we?”

“Can we what?”

“Stay here and play…”

“Too bloody right we can.”

Stephen rolled on top of her and laughed.

“In fact, you ask any of the other blokes here what they’d think of that suggestion, and they’d all chew your arm off.”

“I hope you’re not steering the conversation around to swinging?!”

“Not with you, you vain mare. With their own