One Evening

She wore a simple black dress and ankle strap black heels. Her skin glistened in the night air as they walked from his car to the hotel. Her hair was dark, her eyes a deep, mysterious brown.

In her heels, she was just taller than him. He wore a charcoal gray suit, crisp white shirt, black tie and cuff links. They walked briskly, both smiling inside and out. This was the first time in months they'd been alone together.

Over dinner, he leaned in to her, listened to her every word. She could sense his hunger, his desire to just be in her presence. She felt the same. Longed for him, craved the sound of his voice. No matter what the story, she wanted him to do the telling. And to see that smile he reserved for those he truly enjoyed. To see what he showed to no one else.

After the meal, they found their room. A rose and bottle of champagne greeted them. The room was all windows and they both looked out on the city they'd made their own.

He turned and pulled her close, kissed the lips he'd dreamed of for months. Her kiss, her touch, her taste, the scent of her soft skin - always, always on his mind. The way she stood in her heels, the way she kissed him softly, the way he wanted her and no one else.

His hands on her back, then to her ass. Her long fingers tracing his arm, pulling him to her.

He led her to the bed, took a knee, and presented her with the rose. Told her she was all he wanted, all he could imagine.

He removed each of her shoes, caressing her feet as he did. His lips pressed against her ankles, his hands on her calves, thighs.

He was facing her, kissing her again, unable to stop himself. His suit jacket off, his tie loose. He looked at her and was possessed.

His lips and hands all over her body, tasting, touching, feeling the heat of her passionate response. His head between her thighs, devouring as she reached a heavenly climax. He held her head in his hands, looked her in the eye and said, "Make love to me... "

He tossed her dress to the side, removed his own clothes, and they embraced. Side by side on the bed, they kissed again. Hands wandering, discovering anew. Each time felt like the first time. Each time was new, fresh, wonderful -- and familiar.

As he entered her, he looked deep into her eyes, saw the mystery there. He watched her complete surrender, just as he gave himself completely to her. He held her close, held himself inside her, and was still. He told her all he ever wanted was to be as close to her as possible.

Slowly, their bodies moved in a rocking rhythm. Her legs wrapped around him, his hands on her waist, their lips locked. The fire was in their eyes, though. The sex was in their minds. They had crossed into a mental, nearly spiritual place. The physical realm was present, was incredible, but this ... this was more.

As she looked at him, her eyes told him... and he looked directly into them as he let his orgasm go, let himself go, surrendered to her as she had to him.

Sticky, wet, beautiful together, they stayed in the warmth of the bed ... looked out into the dark and starry night, a darkness and sparkle her eyes matched.

After what seemed like hours like this, he got up and drew her a warm bath. He came back and took her to it, helped her in, bathed her. He admired every single inch of her body -- her hair, her shoulders, her nose, her breasts, the curve of her hips, the length of her legs, the arch of her foot. All of her -- the perfect and imperfect. He knew it was all his. Knew she saw him this way -- his slim body, his dark hair and eyes, the fact they were the same height. All of it. The perfect and imperfect.

He helped her out, wrapped her in a robe, and took a quick shower. He came to the bed, unwrapped her robe, and wrapped himself around her. The sleep was deep, and dark, and wondrous... a dream that had just begun.

They woke to bright sun, to warmth, to bodies nearly stuck together from hours of peaceful sleep.

This one evening had set them apart.