Some hotel meet-ups aren’t always sinful. ☺️
“When do we do this again?”
She raised her brows at him.
“I’m not a prostitute, Mister.”
He grinned. “I never said you were. I was just asking ‘coz you know, this is kind of addicting.”
“Twice in a week and it’s addicting already? That’s absurd.”
“You can call it any name you want. But same time, same room, tomorrow, again?”
He tried to kiss her but she hastily got up from the bed, picking up her strewn clothes from the carpeted floor, and putting them on. His eyes followed her every move.
“Stop it,” she quipped as she put on her last piece of clothing, her black leather jacket.
“What?” He looked at her with an innocent face.
“I’ve no time for this. I’m late as it is. I have to be in court in one hour or I will be penalized. It’s a long drive.”
He frowned. “And uncomfortable, riding in a motorbike. Why don’t you. . . ?”
Annoyance written all over her face, she replied, “We’ve talked about this. Many times. Why can’t you accept me for what I am?”
Sighing, he got up from the bed too, and started to put on his wool pants, white button-down shirt and suit jacket, laid neatly on the bedside table.
“I do accept you for what you are. Haven’t I proven it to you. . . many times, too?” he asked.
His words and his morose face touched a nerve. Without a word, she strode towards him. Cupping his face, she kissed him hard, full in the mouth ferociously, like a tigress devouring her prey. He met her lips hungrily, as if he hasn’t feasted on them just moments ago.
Then, abruptly, she broke off the kiss and walked out of the room, leaving him standing there. . . again. With a heavy sigh, he finished dressing up, buttoning up his suit jacket at last, his mind full of dangerous thoughts.
Suddenly, she came rushing back inside the hotel room.
“I forgot my bag,” pointing to the red Longchamp.
Passing him by, she told him, “Don’t forget to pick up Charmaine at 4:00.”
“On one condition,” he said, arms crossed over his chest, barring her from exiting. Damn, she looked so sexy in her all-leather attire, her signature clothes ever since he’d first met her.
“What? You don’t want to pick up your own daughter from school?” she frowned.
“Only if you take the Jaguar and not ride on that stupid motorbike. I have had enough of my wife cruising down the roads and worrying that you’d end up dead in an accident!”
This time, he meant it. She could feel it.
“Okay, babe. If that’s what you want. It’s just that I can be a more effective lawyer for the indigents when I show up in a less noticeable vehicle, you know?”
“Then park the Jaguar far from the courthouse and walk. You are not riding that motorbike. EVER. AGAIN.”
He stated it with such finality that she felt a cold chill up her spine.
“Okay,” she muttered.
“And we are going to meet here again same time tomorrow, after my board meeting.”
“Really?” She was more surprised than annoyed at his imperious tone.
“Yes. Really.” He answered, every syllable punctuated heavily.
She met his eyes and saw the culmination of all his pent-up frustration and anxiety. Five years as husband and wife and this is the first time he spoke to her like that. Which she completely understood, making her love him more.
Dropping her bag to the floor, she put her arms around his neck and whispered,
“On one condition, Mister.”
“A quickie before I go?”