Jon tried to smile at the hotel receptionist, but it was difficult when he could feel Tracy’s stare boring through the back of his skull, into his brain. He ran a hand through his hair, an old habit from before it had started to thin. The girl handed him his key, glanced at Tracy, smiled and told them both to enjoy their stay.
“Thank you.” He turned and Tracy didn’t even look at him as she started for the lift, leaving him to pick up their suitcases on his own. She called the lift, entered and assumed that he was following. A man with a rolled up newspaper under his arm was waiting, but didn’t join them. “Look, Tracy,” Jon said as the doors closed, but she raised her hand with that single-finger-gesture that meant not yet and he fell silent.
The hotel room was eerily quiet.
“Look, I don’t really know what I’ve done wrong here.”
She choked on a dry laugh. “Really? You don’t know what you’ve done wrong?”
“Not really. You know I can’t always be around.”
“Just once in a while it would be nice if you put me first.”
He waved a hand at the room. “I thought I was putting you first.”
She turned away and stared out of the window. “I’m a Porsche,” she said, and started tapping her foot on the floor.
Jon watched her, wanting her. “I already have a Porsche.”
“If you’re comparing yourself with a sexy little sports car, I couldn’t agree more.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Jon took a breath. “You know, if it wasn’t for the kids -“
“It’s not about that.”
She looked furious and it was all he could do to stop himself ripping her clothes off right there and then. In his mind Tracy was every shade of red under the sun. Fiery, dangerous, passionate. He took a step closer and saw her tense as she watched his reflection in the glass against the darkening skyline. Her back straightened and her left hip raised just a little, making her dress crease over her shoulder, across her buttocks and to her thigh. He kissed her neck, her hair tickling his forehead, and she shrugged against it.
“Let me make it up to you,” Jon said.
She twined her fingers into his. “I never wanted this to be my life.”
Jon fell onto the bed to a symphony of springs, throwing his arms wide as he stared up at Tracy. She pulled off her dress in a single motion, sliding the hem over her thighs, past her red lace panties, over a flat stomach and young, bare breasts, up over her head. It floated to the floor in slow motion as she tucked her hair behind her ear and still refused to look him in the eyes. He could feel his cock straining against the front of his pants, his mouth wide with anticipation.
She crawled onto the bed on all fours, leaning forward to grab his wrists so that her breasts hung tantalisingly close to his mouth, making him long to suck on her nipples, but they stayed out of reach.
“I’m still angry,” she whispered, and leaned in to nibble at his chin before rocking back onto his crotch, pleasure and pain assaulting his senses as she crushed his cock with her ass, forcing a gasp from him. Tracy laughed as she lifted herself onto her knees, bringing blessed relief.
She unzipped him then, running her fingertips over his hard cock before pulling her panties aside and fucking him while he lay prone and powerless to resist. In that moment, she was everything he had ever wanted. He felt himself sliding in and out of her pussy. His orgasm wouldn’t take long, but it would be hours before she was satisfied. Right now that still struck him as a pleasurable thought.
Later, as Tracy lay curled contentedly by his side, and he was so spent that his stomach ached, Jon slipped out of the bed and grabbed his phone on the way to the bathroom. He dialled as he walked, tottering slightly with exhaustion, believing her to be asleep.
“Hey honey, just wanted to hear your voice.”
Silently, Tracy cried.
Nicci Haydon is a young thirty-something living in Cornwall, England, with her family of three cats. She spends much of her time reading fiction and poetry about love, life and sex, and has always written for pleasure. Share thoughts with her on Twitter @NicciHaydon.