Room Service

I haven’t bothered unpacking anything for the week, too anxious for your arrival.  I check my hair in the mirror, strike a pose and laugh at myself.  Need music to calm down a bit.  The clock radio will have to do.

…knock, knock, knock…

I check the peephole to see room service with an armful of flowers.  I open the door and the woman sets them in front of the mirror.  She hands me the card.

These won’t smell as sweet as you…

I bury my nose in the blood-red roses.  Intoxicating, but not as much as your cologne.  I take the letter you sent me from my bag just to smell it again, every word memorized.

…knock, knock, knock…

I check the door.  Room service again.  A young man this time carrying a basket with Canadian beer, bottled water, snack food.  He hands me a card and leaves.

Something for later.  Can’t wait to taste you…

My pulse races at the thought.  We’ve spent weeks planning this trip, anticipation killing us both.  I fight the urge to call you, ask how close you are.

…knock, knock, knock…

Once more to the door.  Bright eyes smiling back at me.  I try not to rip the door off its hinges as I open it and smile back.  I let you in, watch you drop your bag next to mine.  I’m leaning back against the door just enjoying the sight of you.

You look up to see me watching, walk back to me, stop just shy of touching.  I’m surprised sparks are not flying in the small space between us.  Just when the air gets too thick to breathe I grab the front of your shirt and pull you into me.

The first kiss is always the hungriest, lips and tongues fighting for more contact.  Your arms wrap around me, pulling me closer, tracing every curve.  I can feel your heart racing, hear your sigh as I run my hands over your beard.  You move your kisses to my neck, making me shiver, wanting skin.  You raise your head and we both take a deep breath.

Hello there…


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