"Give me ten minutes. I want to get something ready for you." he had said. So she had ordered another cup of coffee and lingered with her recollection of the last time she had seen Ed. It had been the first time, in fact, though they had met for coffee a few times before that. In every love there is a first time that ignores the times before it and resets the calendar.
That first time had been one of slowness and a thousand kisses – an afternoon of languid lips and soft, slow hands. Of hair entwined in all ten fingers at once and smiles seen through shuttered eyes. It was an afternoon of seeing him against the backlit drapes as he kissed his way from the soles of her feet to the root of her soul, stopping again and again to lick or kiss her thighs on his way teasingly there. It had been an afternoon of arched back and clenched fists, of moans and cries she'd not heard or uttered in who-knows-how long. It had been an afternoon of peace lying in his arms, feeling his pulse inside her. Peace, comfort, and joy. Together they had made a hymn to hidden love.
Now, with the key card in her hand, Susan stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the ninth floor. Just before the doors closed a room-service waiter rolled his cart into the elevator. He smiled briefly at her and pressed a floor button. She smelled scrambled eggs and thought of waking up in Ed's protective arms. The doors came together and the elevator lurched slightly to begin its climb. A drop of moisture broke free onto Susan's thigh and began to trail downward.
As soon as Susan opened the door to room 926 she noticed the soft quality of the light. The scent of candles - pine, lilac, musk - drew her further into the room. On the nightstand, on the armoire, on the side chair and the small desk – candles were everywhere lighting the room. Twenty at least. She saw his laptop on the desk and heard Norah Jones singing, "I had to see you again." But where was Ed? Then she heard the water.
Of course. How many times had they fantasized about this in those long late-night calls? How many times had she watched him in her mind while her hands took her to the brink and beyond?
Susan knew what he expected. She took off her shoes, removed her skirt and blouse, slipped out of her bra, and then put her blouse back on. When she opened the door to the bathroom, she saw him soaping himself in the shower. Though over 50, Ed was trim and slightly muscular. He smiled easily at her and continued to spread soap on his chest. Susan closed the door and leaned against the edge of the vanity.
She watched him. Her hands gripped the edge of the vanity behind her while he slowly stroked his soapy cock and balls for her, his eyes fixed on hers. No more than four feet from him, she could hear the slick sounds of his hands on himself and the catch in his breath every time he let his fingers dwell on the head. Every time she'd masturbated to this image, she'd told herself that she would fight the need to touch herself when watching him shower, would fight that urge for as long as she could bear it. Now though, so close she could reach out and touch him, she tensed her leg muscles and bit her lip.
Ed turned his back to her, spread his legs a little, placed one hand high on the wall for balance, and continued his slow, rhythmic stroking. As she watched his elbow move up and down, she could feel that familiar lightened feeling in her thighs spreading upward and into her core. The room smelled of lilac and warm towels. Over her shoulder she could see the vanity mirror was nearly fogged over.
Susan shifted on her feet. She took a stronger grip on the edge of the vanity, and pressed back against it, hard. Did she moan, too? Was the sound real or imagined? Was she staying in control, as she had always told herself she'd do?
Ed turned toward her, his hands on his chest and belly now.
"It's okay, he said. Go ahead. Touch yourself now: your nipple, your thighs. I want to see the pleasure on your face. I need to see the hunger show in your eyes."
Susan's right hand slid into her blouse and she quickly spread her fingers around her left breast. She traced circles around the nipple and then began to tease it between her thumb and forefinger. Ed smiled and started stroking his cock again. She pinched the nipple and moaned – aloud for certain this time.
He smiled and opened his stroking hand as if to say, see: this is yours. All the while he kept stroking his cock slowly and smiling into her eyes.
Susan shifted her weight against the vanity and put her left hand between her thighs. Ed's smile broadened and her fingers dropped lower. She could feel the dampness on her knuckles as she started to stroke her smooth outer lips. Up and down, trying to match Ed's rhythm. Her breathing began to catch and she could hear herself saying his name under her breath. Each time her fingers ventured in between the lips, she heard his name escape.
