I could picture how this would end as his hands fell upon me. I would wake alone, the sheets thrown from the foot of the bed, the already nameless stranger from the bar gone, never to see him again. Part of me wished I hadn't brought him back to this old hotel. I knew it was a one-night stand, but it didn't matter. I wanted him now more than I'd ever wanted anything. Desire gripped me, ravenous and greedy.
He had already unbuttoned my blouse, and now his hands roamed over my breasts, fingers stimulating my nipples through the thin fabric of my bra. We spun around the room, our embrace unbreakable, the heat of passion nearing fury, unable to separate our lips, kissing, grasping, groping. I felt his hands at the back of my skirt, fumbling with the zipper as I ripped his shirt from the waist of his pants and pulled it off over his head.
We slammed into something and I felt him lean back, using whatever item of furniture we had struck for balance. He pulled me to him, his hands roaming over me like wild stallions freed upon a grassy plain, rapidly moving down my back to my ass, all over me, sensation shivering over my body. I opened my eyes to see my own reflection over his shoulder in the mirror above the dresser. I looked older in the hazy reflection of the ancient sepia toned glass; the marbling throughout it reminded me of an old photograph of my mother.
Thinking of my mother aggravated me, and I quickly put her out if my mind. I grasped his belt in both hands and pulled it, then worked at the button and zipper of his khaki slacks. I felt my skirt slide down my legs to the floor and kicked it off my feet. His pants were open and I reached inside, feeling him hot and hard and ready. His lips were on my neck, his hands roaming my bare skin. I grabbed his long, Bon Jovi hair and pulled his mouth from me, then knelt before him, taking his coffee-colored member in my mouth.
As I took him all the way into my mouth, he shoved his pants down his legs. He thrust into me, fucking my mouth as I tried to swallow him all the way down. It had been too long since I'd felt the strong, physical presence of a man in any part of me, and it was more than I could take. I removed my hands from him and slid off my panties, then unhooked my bra behind my back and shrugged it off my shoulders.
We were both completely nude, and he shoved into my mouth faster and deeper. I pulled off of him and stood, pulling him from the dresser, wanting him inside me, trying to get him to the bed. But he had his own ideas. He spun me and walked me backwards into the bathroom. We fell into the old claw-foot tub, he atop me, the moon shining in through the lace curtains on our bodies, no other light upon us.
He took me there in the tub as it filled, hot water sloshing around our bodies as we struggled against the confining cast iron surface, trying to get closer to each other with every movement, pushing so hard into each other that it felt we merged into one and nearly came out the others backside.
We left the tub, dripping a trail of cooling water into the bedroom, and collapsed in a heap on the bed. We fucked again, urgent, desperate, violent. He rode me hard, bruising my thighs, then took me from behind, slapping my still damp ass. Three times we fucked on the bed, another on the floor, and one last time against the wall before he dressed and left without a word.
I slept peacefully, soundly, perhaps the best night of sleep I've had since before my divorce. I awoke at noon. I missed breakfast, was late for the conference, and had three messages. But none of that mattered. I basked in the glow of satisfaction last night left within me.
I only heard his name once, and cannot remember it, but I will never forget that night.