"So, as I recall," mused Jake, as he inserted the key into the hotel room door, "one of the items on your wish list — your list of things you write in your books — was sex in a hotel room. Correct?"
I nodded and grinned.
It was the following weekend. Jake's dad had been discharged from the hospital, and was now home and on a slow, but steady recovery. Roberto had gone back to school after winter break. I was almost done with my first draft of my new book. And Jake? He had told me that he gave a few of his cases to other attorneys in his office, so that he could have some more free time. After all, it was not a requirement for him to single-handedly take care of all of the work in the office. Instead of filling up his time with work, he would come over and help make dinner. He even helped Rob construct a papier-mâché volcano for his science fair project, complete with red-painted lava, and well-contoured landscaping.
And he let me take him on vacation. It was one of the few times that he had ever been away for fun; this made it feel very special.
I had wanted to go to a place where we could drive away for the weekend, so we went to Palm Springs, which had lovely weather in winter. While, sure, it had the reputation of being a golfing paradise for the retirement set, it also boasted a thriving gay community, wonderful shops, and cool architecture. It was a whole lot of fun. Deciding that we needed to have the whole mid-century modern experience, I booked us into a boutique hotel near downtown, which was a converted 1950s one-story apartment complex. Built in a square, with a central patio and pool, each hotel "room," was, in reality, a one-bedroom apartment, with a kitschy pink-tiled bathroom, a real, vintage kitchen that included the tiniest stove and refrigerator, and a record player with Frank Sinatra records.
We had the whole weekend to ourselves, and we got to play house in a atomic age apartment. So fun!
The restored, retro apartment had its own private patio, too, on one side, as well as sliding glass doors that opened to the central pool. The owners had built a bar adjacent to the pool, with high tables and a covered patio, and it was used for serving complimentary drinks and appetizers at five. My kind of place.
We set down our bags, took a quick look around, put on a record, and collided into each other. In seconds, we were tumbling out of our clothes. First, my wedge heel espadrilles were off. Next, his shirt, buttons undone, and thrown to the side. Then, his shoes kicked off. He didn't even bother to take his belt out of the loops, he just undid it, unfastened his pants, and they were off. My blousy lavender shirt? Off. My shorts? Off. And then I could feel him, his soft skin running under my fingers, his lips insistent, his hands all over me.
With a flick, he released my lavender bra, and took it off of me, then backed away from me, wearing only his boxers and socks. His eyes raced around my body, lingering on my nipples, my belly button. And then his socks were gone in a flash.
He did a little twirling motion with his fingers, wanting me to spin. As I was wearing just some little lavender panties, I knew that he would get a full view of my ample booty. So I stuck it out, smiled, turned slowly, and gave it to him, and I heard him groan.
"Dat. Ass. Lucy."
When I finished turning, his erection was no longer within his boxers, because his boxers had disappeared. And my beautiful man stood there, naked, wanting me, and I wanted him back.
"Let's get you wet," he muttered, and he walked me backwards to the bed. Perching my booty on the edge of the bed, he gently spread my knees, and then kneeled between my legs. Next, slowing the frenzied tempo that we were in before, he bent forward and let the tip of his tongue softly dance on my pussy, teasing it, teasing me. Darting around, his tongue made me quiver. Then he flattened his tongue, licking the whole length of me, which felt like I was on fire from my toes to my waist. So hot. And then he did it again. After a while I couldn't take it anymore.
"Come up," I moaned, "I want you inside me. Now, please. I want your cock in me."
Giving me a half grin, he stood up, put his hands under my ass, and moved me up the bed. And then he covered me with his body, embracing me, resting his torso between my legs.
"Now," I ordered. "Now. Move up. I need you inside me Fill me up, Jake."
At my words, my frank begging, he positioned his hard cock at my entrance and slowly, carefully, slid in, and then stayed there for a moment, letting me adjust to him. Now this was what I wanted.
"Oh that feels so good," I groaned. "God, I love you inside me."
He looked at me quizzically. "Me too," he responded. And then, finally, he started to move, kissing me, kissing my cheek, my shoulder, the top of my hair, running his hand down the curve of my side.
But then suddenly, he grabbed my ass and flipped us over, keeping the connection, so that I was on top, astride him. My hair reached down past my shoulders, and some of it covered my breasts. He swept that hair aside, brushing it behind my back, and lifted his hands up to rub my nipples, cupping my breasts.
"Ride me," he said. "I want to enjoy the view."
I began to move up and down on his cock, thumping him soundly, enjoying the way we were connected, enjoying the sensations of him inside me and under me, and I started to build my own orgasm in this way. He had reached out and was stroking my clit, insistently, letting me come, which I did, hard.
Once I came down, he smiled at me and gave me the little twirling motion, again, with his fingers. I looked at him questioning. "Turn around, I want to see your ass," he urged. "Keep the connection."
Very carefully, I leaned and moved around, so that I was now facing away from him, and he reached up and fit his hands along my booty, massaging my cheeks, and spreading them.
"Oh yeah, baby," he muttered. "Win."
Moving up and down, I ground along his cock, giving him a view of my ass, and enjoying the hell out of the movement, myself. And then suddenly, again, he knifed up, wrapped his arms around my middle, and flipped us over again. This time, I was on all fours. I loved it this way.
Reaching down between my legs, he again massaged my clit, and again, I climaxed. Such a magnificent feeling of release. I didn't know if I could handle any more, and it was a good thing, because a few more thrusts, and he pushed into me higher, and let go with a groan.
We collapsed on the bed, in each others' arms, sated and spent.
That night, we went to an old-school steak house, and I ate the best steak that I had ever eaten in my entire life, along with broccoli, red wine, and hot apple pie. After dinner, we drove up along the foothills with the windows rolled down, enjoying the warm air, and parked, looking out at the lights in the desert.
Saturday morning, I awoke to Jake gently pressing his finger up and down my arm. He always looked so glorious, first thing in the morning, his black hair tousled, and his denim eyes piercing. Oh, and shirtless; that was a good look, too.
"I'm sorry to wake you," he whispered.
"S'okay," I answered. "I needed to get up. We have a lot to do today."
"Lucy, I don't care if we never leave this hotel room. I don't want to do anything but be with you."
And for some reason, his words made me emotional. I wasn't usually that hormonal, but they made me feel like crying. I didn't know what was happening. It must be that time of the month. "I don't ever want to leave you," I blurted. Then I admitted in a whisper, a secret thought that I had felt, but not vocalized, ever since the day I saw the construction on his new home. "I'm scared of what is going to happen once you move away from me back to your home. Are you going to go back to being a workaholic? When will I see you?"
Very seriously, he looked at me, then leaned over and kissed my nose. "Lucy, I love you." My body entered a state of shock. "We'll figure it out."
As if it were that simple.
"You love me," I whispered.
"Yeah," he whispered back. "I do. I fell in love with you when you brought me the tamales. You have strength and natural beauty. But you are also wise. And you are a wonderful mother to Roberto."
"You don't mind that I have a son?"
"Your son's great," he said. "You are such a powerhouse. You handle everything on your own. But I'm trying to make some more room in my life so that I can help you. I want to be with you. I don't care where we live. That can be figured out."
"I love you too," I said, and a tear slipped down my nose. "I fell in love with you when I realized that you were protecting me, and with the way you took care of Rob."
He smiled, his handsome toothpaste smile.
"Love making or breakfast?"
"Both, I think."
Later that day, we shopped in the antique and vintage stores, visited the small art museum, especially enjoying the sketch books on display, which showed the thought processes the artists went through to create, went swimming in the vintage pool, and cleaned off together in the shower, which led to a few more orgasms. We went to sushi for dinner, and, warm and sated, fell asleep comfortably.
The next morning, my head was in the toilet.
He came to the door of the bathroom, and knocked quietly. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I called, not feeling it. I had been feeling bad since Christmas. "I will be." And I slumped up against the wall. All sorts of scenarios ran through my head of what was wrong with me.
But the one thing I wanted to be was home.