Hotelles (46 page)

His hands act first, as messengers of pleasure to come. They are closer to me than ever. So elegant and yet so firm and powerful.

Delicately, they remove my layers of silk. The dress melts softly to the Oriental carpet. All I am wearing now are an immaculate demi-cup bra and panties. His trembling hands naturally find the small of my back. My body shines at his touch. We melt into each other, our skin becoming one fabric.
All I ever wanted, all I ever needed, is here in my arms. Words are very unnecessary, they can only do harm.
At last I am his. At last he is mine. We have won. We have overcome all obstacles. We have found each other.

Yet a shiver runs through him, telling me he is still incredulous: he still can't believe it. So he tightens his embrace. He holds me. He doesn't want to let me go. He grips me close, afraid I might fly away. And yet I still sense that he wants me to be free. That his love for me will not be a suffocating jail. Not anymore.

I also begin to tremble so violently I'm afraid I might collapse. His contact holds me upright. Every new touch practically makes me faint. He is the cause and the solution. The sickness . . . and its remedy. I want to fall into his chest, feel his strength, and give myself to him entirely.

That is not what he wants. He picks me up. He wants me upright, open, proud. Divine. I won't be a rag doll in his arms. He hasn't led me through so many steps to discover my inner wealth of resources to then have me simply abandon myself to him. Has anyone ever loved me as he does? Has anyone ever desired me to the point of causing inextricable pleasure and pain in me? Tears well in my eyes.

But it is not time to relax. I must act. I must confront him, too. I must climb him like a mountain. I must plant my claws in him like an ice axe. He has already conquered me, body, heart, and soul. I want to possess him, like a man possesses a woman. It is my turn to flush new blood into his organs. It is my turn to give him life.

 

LAUGHTER FROM THE NIGHT OUTSIDE
rings through the window. But the sound does not disturb us. We are burning for each other. We have barely touched, and yet our bodies are already feasting on each other. The surface of our skin seems to have escaped from a planet that has gotten too close to its star. More contact will only be painful.

His cologne blends with his body's smell, which I am discovering for the first time. I can also make out his sex's perfume emanating from between his thighs. His penis is eager, hungry. It points into me, erasing what is left of the distance between us. I have the feeling our intimate parts will blend with as much grace as our scents. That the bouquet of our skin and hair will be harmonious. Touchdown.

 

YES, THIS TIME I AM
the one to initiate, to conquer. I grab his member—the softness of the skin on his shaft is a delightful surprise—and gently guide it to my wet lips. His sex brushes against my clitoris, sending out an electric charge. Something in me explodes, rending the ultimate chasm, the one that has been waiting for just this moment.

My throat suddenly tightens as a ball of lava hurtles from my chest to my vagina, sending delicious pleasure through my body. I arch my back, thrust my pelvis forward, and open my avid lips. I moan with desire, but stop when a new tremor shakes my lower body. I am burning and liquefying all at once.

Years of desire are finally being unleashed, and I find myself submerged in them like a mariner surprised by a giant swell. I stagger, then grab ahold of myself. I am still standing, my body is mine.

I have been waiting for one thing over the past several weeks: him in me. He has been hoping for the same thing for the past several months. Waiting for a lifetime, waiting for me. He alone can satisfy me.

Still, his sex alone cannot erase all that he has put me through. That would be too easy. I am going to need to experience a lot more pleasure to make up for it. If he wants me to love him even more, I am going to need thousands of kisses, able caresses, and looks saturated with desire and love.

I will also need to tend to him, to torture his senses, be lewd, vicious, relentless, in order to forget our twisted beginnings planned by someone else.

But I have no doubt that in the end—once our bodies are united, melted into one orgasmic cry, a heavy and sticky magma—all the hurtful things we have said will be erased.

As if to confirm this thought, we are jolted by another eruption borne from the joining of our sexes. The volcanic activity that unites us is just getting started.

 

I AM MASTURBATING HIM GENTLY
against my thigh. He has been teasing me all this time with agonizing desire. I, too, want to draw out his frustration, to the point of explosion. Until he can't take it anymore. Until he begs. Until he rubs himself against me like a dog driven mad. Until he barks his need for me. Until he bites me. It is his turn to be my toy.

So I play, with care and tenderness, as with what we hold most dear. My hand looks minuscule next to his member. I have trouble grasping it in its entirety. I like that it has grown so immense for me. I tickle it with my fingers, making his shaft tremble. He sighs in delight. At some intervals, I imprison him in my palm like a little bird, and then I set him free again. At another moment, my hand feels a pulse in his inflated, sweating member, as though his heart were limitless and beating in every one of his organs.

The more I play with him, the more he suffers, I can feel it. His panting has given way to long moans. An almost continuous howl. He is going crazy. He begs in a deep voice that resonates like a bell in my ears:

“Take me . . . Take me, now.”

The fact that he pleads with me like a woman radiates through my innermost depths. He is offering himself to me, and I am deeply moved. Outside, the day has disappeared. Only a few remnants of light from the lampposts on the square outside distinguish our bodies from the shadows.

I feel the liquid of his desire stipple my thigh and melt into the river of fluid that has already slickened the area. Our fluids are now one. They coat me in one same desire. It is getting harder and harder to restrain myself. But doesn't being the mistress of our games entitle me to succumb as I see fit? To give myself as I please?

Our bodies are now grafted to each other. They swell under our heavy breathing, which presses them and molds them together. A sweet prelude to the fusion of our sexes. But again, we aren't in a hurry. One hour, one night, one life of desire is opening up before us.

 

HE TRIES TO INSERT A
finger inside me. But I withdraw it. I want to accompany his touch as it journeys slowly over my pelvis to the edge of my swollen lips, diving into the wild bush that covers them, to the avid, emerging point. My love peak. The contact of his index finger on my fleshy mound draws a new tear from me. He is no longer a savage laying me to waste, a mercenary only doing his job. He is the man who desires all of me. The one I greet like a hero with my miniature triumphant arch.

He knows it. He begins tracing circles around my button, driving me wild with desire. His eyes mist over, and he closes them to concentrate on the sensations blossoming under the pads of his fingers. He takes pleasure in seeing me so close to explosion. He loves loving me. My hips sway uncontrollably. My body is no longer mine. Now it will only obey his expert hands. We rock in unison, our movements supple and fluid. Ours is a dance in which every step defines us, invents us.

I search his face. A silent wave washes through us both. At this moment, we are standing at the edge of a precipice, and it is the most delicious sensation we have ever known. And this is just the beginning. We stay here, petrified, savoring the moment like an endless hard candy. A tart second. I refrain from saying sweet nothings, from uttering “I love you.” It's still too early for declarations. Nothing could be more expressive right now than our bodies.

His attention to my lips is exquisite. I close my eyes and let the orgasm rise over the horizon of my innermost depths. It comes like a tsunami, crashing into my whole body, from my belly button to my lips, threatening to wipe everything out. Louie presses his sex into my hip, panting heavily. Is he going to come with me? Is it possible to feel so much pleasure, so quickly, and with just a few gentle touches?

 

I AM THE WOMAN IN
our common fall, the angel of our voluptuous undoing. I take him by the hand like a girl on her first time. I lead him to the bed. We have all the time in the world to explore our pleasures, but for now I know what I want. I remember a quote from Saint-Exupéry, author of
The Little Prince
, that my girlfriends in high school always used to write on their notebooks: “Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.”

Tonight, for the first time, we are not making love face-to-face. We are experiencing ecstasy while looking in the same direction. Our orgasms take aim at the same far-off and invisible target. The firmament.

I stretch out on my stomach, spreading my thighs just wide enough to give him room. My arched back gives way to the proud and generous curve of my buttocks. My crotch peeks out from the hollow between my legs, shining with desire. It has never blared its wish to be taken with such force. Louie lies down on top of me, though without crushing me, as though he were a comforter of skin and flesh. He is long and warm and soft, though a bit angular in parts. He is solid. His incredibly firm shoulders, chest, and stomach meld perfectly with every nook and cranny of my body's surface.

With one hand, he reaches for the small silver wrapper lying on the bedside table. Again with one hand, he manages to tear open the package and remove its contents. Still with one hand, he rolls the condom over his member, which I can feel pressing urgently against my buttocks. He doesn't need it. I could do without. But he respects my commandment.

He enters me slowly, bit by bit, emotion by emotion. A feeling of well-being and fulfillment invades my senses. My body is receiving him for the first time, and yet my vagina recognizes him. He is as I have seen him before, and felt him in my mouth. Long and slender. He touches the sensitive parts of my innermost depths with precision. Gently, when it comes to probing me where the threshold between pleasure and pain is particularly tenuous. Forcefully, when he rocks in and out of me. The walls of my sex envelop him perfectly, guiding first his tip, then his shaft through my intimate folds. I invite, aspirate, devour him. I open myself wide so he can invade my whole being. He slides in me again and again. He is tenderly excavating me. Occasionally, he withdraws so we can savor the moment. And then when he fills me again, we experience the pleasure of rediscovering each other anew.

Another tremor runs through me like a wave unfurling. One, then another crashes down into my crotch, which keeps opening wider and wider for him. Two giant flowers seem to bloom at this moment, one on top, one on bottom. They share the same root, the same lifeblood.

As the first orgasm hits me, I bury my face into a pillow. I twist left and right. My head rebels. My sex surrenders. I am shaking uncontrollably. My mouth is gaping. My cheeks are hidden by my hair. But my lips peek through the curtain. They are as fleshy as an orchid. His teeth try to sink into them. He rams harder against my soft backside. He quickens his pace. My insides are aflame. He does not let up. He will not be satisfied with one ecstatic moment. He wants to exhaust us both with pleasure. Wear us out with love. Carpet bomb us with sex. Hiroshima, my love.

 

HIS RIGHT HAND IS STRETCHED
out over my front side, clutching my vulva. His middle finger is pressed into my clitoris again with authority. Though at first wary, my pink mound has given in, engorging and clamoring for more. An almost painful sensation shoots through it, joining the low rumble emanating around my uterus. The two vibrations meet at last. They become one, plucking my vocal cords, which ring out and excite the wild man, who growls as he ejaculates in spurts as intense as lightning.

At this point, my prior lovers would have collapsed into a heap. He, on the other hand, continues to rise and fall inside of me, hard and resolute. I realize that this is just the beginning, and my pussy spasms in radiant delight. Neither of us are close to being done.

“More . . .”

I do not wait for a reply. I know there will be more. There will be more nights, days, hotel rooms. We will make thousands of rules and transgress them all.

His tenacity is proof of how much he wants and desires me. Perhaps even loves me. No, my happiness immediately corrects: he definitely loves me. Completely, even. A strange glow seems to emanate from our bodies, a miraculous halo, the dawn of orgasms to come. The light envelops us, suspending us in midair. We are fragile and trembling like two butterflies in love.

The room around us has disappeared. And the sky above has cracked open invitingly. A ball of light carries us up with it, suspending us in space. We are in orbit, two fetuses grafted to each other. We contemplate the new earth being born below. It can only last a second; it can last billions of years. Time and space are meaningless; only the union of our bodies matters. We aren't sleeping, we aren't dreaming: we're savoring the moment, recreating the world according to our pleasure. Elle and Louie. He and I.

Without stopping his gentle movement in and out of me, he reaches for a drawer in the table on our left. He withdraws a flat object that I don't immediately recognize, but which has a strangely familiar glint.

My Ten-Times-a-Day! Louie places it on the bed near my face. I could pick out its silver cover from among a thousand notebooks. He opens it to the last page, which is not written in my hand. I don't need to know how he got ahold of it.

As I leaf through it, I see our confessions dancing over the pages in a two-step that has now become one.

I smile. I've understood. Seeing this, he covers my neck in light kisses, sending shivers through my body and awakening other appetites, in the space between my thighs.