"Same reservation, two rooms," he said to the front desk worker, handing over his license and credit card. He glanced at the woman standing at his right shoulder. She was peering out at the lobby behind her, looking a little bored. She hefted up her purse sliding down her shoulder, tossing her hair back, met his gaze with a pleasant, if not tired, smile.
The situation is so familiar. So routine. They'd been doing this for years, hundreds of times before. He grabbed the room keys, handing one over to her, and they starting hauling their bags to the elevator.
They were going to be here for several days in trial. They were both exhausted, having spent the last week preparing late into the nights. This week would be more of the same.
The ride up the elevator was quiet. He glanced at her again while she had her head down checking her phone, his eyes quickly raking over her body. Completely involuntary, he couldn't help himself. How many times over the years he had undressed her in his mind? He had always wondered what her skin felt like. What she tasted like. What it would feel like to have that perfect mouth on his hard cock.
She was beautiful. She was either completely unaware of it or totally ignored her effect on people. He'd seen so many people stare at her walking away, or hit on her, and it pissed him off to an extent he couldn't describe. Or justify.
By all accounts, she had no idea what deranged thoughts crept in his mind. They were a powerful team and worked so well together. Their relationship had grown over the years from cool professionalism to warm friends. They trusted each other, liked each other, and did fucking amazing work.
He told himself, as he always did in these moments when his thoughts drifted, that she felt nothing more towards him than the care between friends and the respect between professionals. He was happily married. His life was perfect, and he didn't need to fuck it up. And so he constantly tried to swallow the surge of arousal he felt whenever she was near.
They arrived on their floor and split up towards their respective rooms.
"See you downstairs in 10?" She asked.
"Yep. I'll bring my computer."
Minutes later they were seated at the hotel bar, talking about their case over drinks. She was clacking away at her laptop, sipping on her wine. He found himself once again watching her press her lips to the rim of the delicate wine glass. He shook his head slightly and took a swallow of bourbon, washing the thought away.
Later that night, he stroked his cock thinking about gripping her ass as she rode him. His fantasies were varying. Sometimes he took complete control, rough and forcible. Sometimes he got off on her taking control, submitting to her lead. In his dirty subconscious, this fluid exchange of roles deepened their connection and strengthened the bond that held them together.
He came, sudden and powerful, shooting his load all over the hotel bed. The vision of her dissipated, leaving him with a mix of contentment and lingering dissatisfaction. He shook it off and was ready to focus on the task at hand.
The next two days passed quickly. They were in trial all day and worked their ass off at night, preparing for the next day. On Wednesday night, she suggested that he come to her room to go over some documents for the next witness. They both had suites with separate living and sleeping spaces. It was routine for them to hunch over a table together in one of these rooms, working late hours.
He dragged his stuff over to her room, rapping quickly on the door. She opened the door a second later, barefoot, wearing shorts and a loose T-shirt. Her hair was down, slightly disheveled. She propped the door open so he could drag his rolling briefcase in, heading for the couch. She closed the door behind him and walked over to where he was getting set up. As she passed, he got a hint of her scent - like lilacs and soap. His groin tightened. Why did she always smell so good? He peered at her bare legs and shifted in his seat, adjusting what was now a growing hard on. He mentally chastised himself. He was not a horny teenager. He was 100% in control of himself.
The next hour passed uneventfully, their heads bowed over their work, sometimes discussing an argument or document, but mostly just working in comfortable silence.
"Hey look at this one," she said, leaning over to place a document in front of him. He tried to focus on what she was describing but her knee was pressing up against his, and her face was so close to his as she pointed out various things.
...
He wasn't listening to what she was saying, she realized as he murmured "mm hmm," a few times. She angled back and looked up into his face, and he met her gaze, holding eye contact for just a second too long.
"Why don't we take a break?" she suggested, tearing her eyes away. "We have tomorrow under control, and you look beat."
As she said it, she stood up and stretched her arms over her heads, arching her back. His eyes instantly went to her small chest, where he could see her nipples under the thin fabric of her t-shirt. It was obvious from that position she had no bra on, he realized with a jolt.
She saw him look and smiled inwardly, a thrill shooting to her core. Her nipples hardened under his gaze. She lived for those glances. Lived for when he would guide her through a crowded room, his warm and firm hand on the small of her back. The slightly-too-long hugs goodbye. Those moments fueled unspoken fantasies and haunted her dreams. So many times she woke up moaning, peeled out of a dream with his hot mouth on her wet pussy. In those moments, she would try to relive the feeling in her dream, her fingers sliding up and down her slick pussy until an orgasm washed over her. For years, she had wondered what it would feel like to have him press her against a wall, his mouth on her neck, mouth, everywhere. She had come close to telling him how bad she wanted him, so many times.
And here he was, right in front of her, ogling her hard nipples. She let her arms drop and said cheerfully, "let's watch some TV."
"Ok," he replied. That was new. They've never done anything together as quietly intimate as watching TV... on a couch... in a hotel room. His imagination kicked into overdrive, but at the same time he brushed it off as her just wanting a break and some company.
She flicked off the overhead light, turned on the Late show, and plopped back down on the couch, shoulder to shoulder with him, propping her feet up on the coffee table. A few minutes passed in silence, her watching the TV and him watching her bare legs stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankle. He was fantasizing about trailing his finger up that bare leg, higher and higher until he met the edge of her panties and slipping underneath... when she scooted over closer to him, and softly laid her head on his shoulder, eyes still on the TV.
