Morning Leftovers

[mo****]

She checks her reflection in the hotel mirror one last time before turning on her heel to exit the room, without a second glance.

She practically floated to the elevator where she rode silently down to the lobby and through the entrance. She slipped into the night, beaming with self satisfaction and the weightlessness of belonging, of being held, despite walking alone with her head held high.

She presses her fingers to her lips, where she could feel the slight sting of a bruise. A beautifully deep and passionate kiss where it would have been a sin, not to taste the holy wine, yearning to leave a tangible and sentimental impression.

As her ride pulled up, the stillness of the early city morning was eerily quiet, she rode up just a few blocks making her way into her own hotel room. She dropped onto the spacious and immaculate bed, and rolled over onto her back diagonally where she still could inhabit every inch of space and still have room. She kicked off the stilettos that had given her the slightest of height advantages, earlier in the evening. She traced up and down the backs of her legs and thighs, so she could relive the feel of his hungry and reverent mouth lavishing them in holy worship. She touched the raised places on her thighs, breasts , legs, that would soon betray her own hunger, and pressed into the fingertips and partial hand impressions beginning to color in deep impressionist passionate purples, blacks, and reds….

She left him there, in bed, asleep…. She had worked him hard. She had worked them both hard….

[mo****]

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