1.
It’s makeout o’clock. But housekeeping is in our hotel room. We grab a drink at the bar in the lobby – bad cocktails, good company – and then make another attempt. Still, our room isn’t available. “Should we make out next to the ice machine?” I joke, but his eyes go dark and he isn’t joking.
We go exploring, and find a hallway by the service elevator, deserted and clean and white. He shoves me against a painted brick wall, already growling, and kisses me hard enough to make me gasp. My body responds instantly in familiar ways: a hot drop down, a warm pooling outward.
His hands travel wherever they want, roaming, claiming, cupping my ass and squeezing my tits. Roughly, he tugs up the hem of my dress and shoves his hand down the front of my panties to find my clit. He rubs it in stunning, perfect circles until I’m woozy and my knees aren’t working so well.