Through the Weekend

hotel-sign-motel

Lucas watched Rowena back her black Monte Carlo into a first row parking space. “There’s my girl. Rowena Fanning, in the flesh,” he said to no one but himself.

Rowena didn’t notice his figure there in the single window; she was busy checking her look in the visor mirror. She was quickly beginning to feel sick with nerves. Her brain was shouting at her; what the hell are you doing? He could be a killer! She laughed at herself then, and said aloud, “Long goddamned way to come, and a fuck ton of money spent just to kill me.”

She closed the mirror and flipped up the visor. That’s when she saw him in the doorway; broad, and tall, chaotic cinnamon stick colored hair. He was leaning against the wide open door, looking out at the parking lot with a rapacious sort of smile. What the hell are you doing? She ignored the question, gathering up her purse and duffel bag—Rowena was a light packer. She took a deep breath and exhaled three bursts of anxious air before rolling up her window and opening the door.

Lucas stood stock still, taking in the approaching sight of her. She was wickedly gorgeous in well-fitted, faded jeans and tall black suede boots. The early morning winter sun reflected off her hair, blushing yellow light. And good goddamn, those eyes of hers, fiery ice. Her rosebud mouth smiled, and he felt his shoulder slip against the shiny door.

***

“I told myself I would be a gentleman.” But the scorpion was emerging, unzipping Rowena’s jeans, pulling them down to her ankles as he melted to his knees. “I can’t help myself, Lady. I want you too badly.” He peeled down her strawberry pink panties—brand new for the occasion—leaving them to stretch around her taut white calves. He breathed in her scent, and trembled. Rowena tried lowering herself to the bed, but Lucas grabbed her by the hips and held them firmly. “I like it like this.” He tasted her then, and he didn’t stop until she was goose-fleshed and quivering.

***

Lucas never once thought about his far away wife, had no feelings of sickness or guilt as he moved inside of his other woman—his preferred woman. He held fast to Rowena’s hips, pushing and pulling, pushing and pulling until his toes cramped, and he was breathless, dizzy with buzzing gratification. The thunder he felt in his ears, he didn’t know whether it was the sound of his thumping heart or the rumble of an airliner low in the sky. I can die now, he said to himself. He didn’t though, which was fortunate because the room was paid up through the weekend.

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9 thoughts on “Through the Weekend

  1. Pingback: Through the Weekend: Sunday | Kindra M. Austin

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