by Gina Kincade
The hour shortened.
She looked to him as he opened the cage, “457?”
“To the right and down the hall on the left, Miss.”
“Thank you so much.”
“Have a pleasant stay, Miss.”
“Thank you.” She was barely able to squeak out louder than a nervous whisper.
Riley walked down the hall, grateful he was going to be arriving later. Perhaps, she thought, he had, no doubt, had this opportunity before.
And, perhaps he had discovered this was a good approach — to allow his guest an opening to calm and relax. She took a deep breath when she reached the closed door to room 457 before she slid the key card in the security lock.
Riley opened the door slowly and took in the surroundings as she entered. The lights were dimly lit; the view of the City was familiar and comforting. The lights beyond the window sill resembled a blanket of sparkling confetti, ignited by fire, alive with an undeniable essence.
She walked across the room and dropped her wrap on the small elegant brocade chair. Nearing the curtains, she could almost feel the pulse of the “City” below as the lights twinkled with a pulse. She turned and saw a bucket of ice and an unopened bottle of...champagne, no doubt.
Riley smiled to herself.
She ran scarlet-tipped fingers over the antique occasional table as she approached the champagne. The chocolate-dipped strawberries, nestled in a large crystal bowl, glistened in the dim lighting and looked as big as her fist. She smiled to herself again at his attention to detail. Had he arranged for all of this before he’d left for the theater, anticipating any favorable conquest, after seeing her in the audience, or from the reception at the home of the Morrisons?
She asked herself if it really mattered.
She was here because she wanted him.
Not because he wanted her which, she smiled, he clearly did. Her, this favored Hotel, this room, him – it was all going to be a night she would never forget. It would be a night she was going to make remarkable, memorable, life-altering for them both.
She rang downstairs for a bellhop to return and open the champagne.
He was at the door almost before she replaced the handset in the cradle of the phone. She opened the door to his knock and let him in to tend to the champagne.
As was her usual demeanor, in the presence of male staff, she was courteous and solicitous.
“Shall I pour, Miss?”
“Yes, please.” In gratitude, she offered him a tip which he refused.
She carried the flute of wine to the door to see the bellhop out.
He turned to catch another glance at the young woman as he left. He smiled and nodded with a look of admiration on his face, no doubt she thought, for the man who would bed her tonight.
And the man that she would bed tonight.
She closed the door and turned again to absorb the room, the décor and all her surroundings.
She imagined the moments, the hours to come.
It was really a beautifully appointed room, newly remodeled without having stripped the room of its heritage, elegance and history. The crown molding, fittingly described, adorned the ceiling and was beautifully intact along with the high eight-inch baseboards along the deep lush wool Berber carpet. The rich furniture was stunning and elegant.
The bed, she noticed feeling weak in her knees, was expansive and the crisp white sheets were turned down.
Squares of Ghirardelli chocolates were on the pillows and swans of Egyptian cotton towels bowed their nimble necks in reverence. The satin foot cover adorned the bottom of the bed and she smiled to herself as she imagined it on the floor in morning’s light. She ran her fingertips along it as she rounded the expanse and entered the bath en suite.
Perfect, she mused to herself.
She sipped assuredly from the flute as she returned to the main chamber.
She dropped a strawberry in her glass as she sat to wait at the occasional table by the window. She wondered if she should change into one of the soft terry cloth robes.
Then quickly decided she hadn’t that amount of courage.
She would wait, patiently and quietly.
Lady-like.
She turned to the window and looked to the streets below.
Her eyes narrowed to the image in the window. She crossed her legs, and saw her reflection in the flickering black glass. Her skin looked so pale, her eyes uncolored and dark — deeply intense, her lips ruby red, her hair the muted auburn of a bottomless dark red hue.
And the gardenia corsage in her hair was a brilliant white, screaming in all its contrast for attention.
She felt like that corsage and knew full well she would get exactly what she wanted. Moments later, she heard a slight rap at the door and the door swung open.
He blocked out the light from the hallway, he looked so big.
An onyx giant, she thought immediately.
She smelled his musk as the door swept open and announced his entrance. She held the odor of his body in her breast as he approached. Her heart had stopped and all composure threatened to leave her at his touch.
He was wearing an opera cape as black as he, lined in a rich red silk. He shed it to the easy chair with her shawl and crossed the room in three long strides. He cupped her left cheek in his right palm. He seemed to, magically, raise her to her feet in one fluid motion, and when he did, he clasped her flute of champagne in his left hand, took a sip and set it on the table. He wrapped his left arm around her waist and pulled her into him and off her feet with a kiss.
And she melted to his will, sharing the champagne in his mouth beyond measure.
She thought she had died in his embrace, time so seemed to arrest.
And in some ways, she did die.
She relinquished all that was she, opened herself to him and him alone in ways she had never done or felt before. She was electrified by his touch, magnetized by his kiss — destined to be his.
No, she did not die in his embrace but came alive in his arms.
This huge giant of a man, as black a man as black could ever be, withdrew from her arms. He pulled back and considered Riley’s rich emerald hazel eyes.
“You are magnificent, a beauty that captivated me the moment I went onstage tonight. You glowed like a vision, put before me as though you were a destiny, of sorts, I should never refuse. My destiny. You looked like a dream, a virginal iridescent lily, petals open — beckoning — in a sea of thorns placed before me, to enrich my life, somehow.”
“Keenan,” stunned by his romantic greeting, his name fell from Riley’s lips in a honeyed slow whisper.
He ran the back of his fingers along the soft curve of her neck at her jaw from her earlobe to her chin where he stopped and placed his thumb on her crimson lower lip. He parted her lips, slipped his thumb into her mouth, then pulled her tightly to him and kissed her deeply pushing his tongue between her lips. He withdrew his thumb and left the hot wet digit on her cheek as he kissed her magically in a new beginning. He ran his palm from the hallow of her neck to the spaghetti strap of her gown on her naked shoulder, hooked it with his thumb and dropped the strap over her shoulder.
His lips, in a journey of discovery, trailed down her neck and planted a kiss on the rise of her bare shoulder. A deep throaty quiet undertone carried his words.
"I hope I can show you how I feel, how profoundly I need you.”
Her auburn hair fell away from her face baring naked the object of his yearning. She felt her fevered cheek blush at having heard his soulful desire.
She thought she may never have heard something, anything, quite so romantic.
The flutter of thousands of wings exploded in her heart and her breath seized.
Her palms grew damp, nervous in anticipation.
Even with her eyes now cast to the floor, her eager body betrayed her paralyzed passions.
Her breast tightened around a stifled scream, allowing but a whimper to escape.
"...please."
&n
bsp; The room filled with her heat.
She reached out with an impatience she had never known before.
Her arms opened without her willing, without resistance; she reached for him and wrapped him in her impatience.
He pressed instinctively, eagerly, against her. His body, his scent, the slight glistening of his perspiration on her cheek, weakened her resolve and Riley’s knees buckled under the heady weight of her desire. She sighed into his chest as he caught her falling body. In the trail of his scorching touch, Riley’s skin came alive with hunger.
Keenan slipped the second strap from her shoulder and the gown, heavy in satin readiness, slipped to the floor. It settled around her feet in a fluid puddle of white innocence. She stood before him, nervous, facing his need with a hunger of her own. She wore nothing but a laced thong and white satin heeled slippers. He ran his hand down the soft elegance of her arm to her hand and helped her step out of the gathered satin surrounding her feet.
“Don’t move,” he smiled at her as he began to remove his black tux. He dropped each cast-off article on the floor next to Riley’s gown. Their eyes, locked in a magnetic fiery hold, swam in a pool of shared molten desire. Keenan spoke to Riley as he continued to undress.
We cannot deny the strength of our desires,
For we are the ones who seek the pleasure of the truth
And when our bodies burn for one another
We cannot turn away,
But fly into the center of the heat
For if we are burned, it will be because we sought
All that was real and strong and good
Because we knew the power of attraction and how we felt
As our flesh grew and yearned as one
So, do not fear that which we know is special
And do not turn or run from lust or love so pure and true
That would deny the essence of our beings
And keep us from the fire of truth, the flame of hunger, we build
“I wrote that for you in a CD I compiled of love songs. I didn’t know it at the time but, since writing it, I have never recited that passage to anyone before you, ever. You are my Fire of Truth, Miss Riley Parker, my Flame of Hunger and I am your destiny.”
Pushed up against the wall of the hotel suite, and before he had taken her with nothing but raw need, she felt the girth of his insistent cock against her belly, tormenting her with anticipation. It was every bit as much about his cock, now, as it was him.
She hungered to feel him inside, filling her with his black mystical magic.
She burned with that hunger, his Flame of Hunger.
A powerful fire from within made her flatten her spine against the wall and raise her hips to meet him while he impaled her with his engorged cock. The fire, burning deeply inside, melted their flesh into one impatient cauldron of fiery passion. He had her legs parted and her hips pressed against the wall. He bent his knees just slightly and rammed the full length of his cock up inside Riley and she was so fucking wet, it slid to the hilt. He was balls deep against her deliciously hungry pussy and he held it there; oh yes, right there; yes, there, for a few precious, magical and stunning moments balanced on the abyss, the brink, before he began the thrusting, the pushing, the long and rhythmic in and out — in and out motions of enchantment.
The magic of the fire of truth grew. The flame of hunger flared.
Riley was burning with a fever so hot she was sure it scorched his cock as he pushed as far up and into her as he could and then back again slower. The slick fat purple head of his cock just brushed the outer velvet folds of her pussy...before he slammed up, inside of her again and again. Riley screamed in silence and — and oh, fucking god again!
Please, again, again, again...
Keenan... so deep inside her core, it felt as if the total of his manhood and engorged balls were up inside of her, too. He was huge, intense, and insistent. They are sticky, sharing their excitement — slickly wet; covered with their juices that streamed between them in a river of molten fervor. Over and over, Keenan literally dove into her, held her up and into him by the pale white satin orbs of her quivering ass. His face had become a distant mask of passion; here — yet not here — as he hovered above the precipice.
Riley was in another dimension. She rode his stiff plunging black cock like a Valkyrie. His grip, iron on her hips, commanded her, lifted her up then dropped her back down upon his steely shaft. His jaw slacked, his breathing loud — as loud as a cannon roar — and panted, moaned, came up from his lungs and what escaped was a deep guttural roar.
The sound an animal makes.
It spurred her on to more and more as she dug her nails into his mahogany flesh.
And Riley’s husky voice whispered his name into the room filled with their scent...
“Keenan, Keenan...more, deeper, harder. I want you to burn inside me forever.”
Keenan just as clearly wanted to be there forever too, to stay, to live there; to burn from inside with his cock absolutely buried up inside her center; at her core, with Riley’s heart — burning within their essence.
Suspended...suspended by love.
He felt her heartbeat on the tip of his cock, he was so far into her. Or at least, she imagined he did.
And then, there was no turning back, nor did they wish to — nor could they stop. They both began to cum — to fire, to launch, to leave the earth and leave their feet, their bodies a single rocket that screamed for release.
His cock, deep, deep into Riley, wracked, lurched and shuddered as he came in tidal waves of scorching orgasm. He gave himself to her in two, three, four long unrelenting streams of his hot eager seed up and up and up into Riley as he buried his face in her auburn curls which smelled of vanilla and fell like an embrace along her shoulders.
Riley felt his fluid heat ignite the path to her heart, to her very essence and she was pinned to the wall, suspended, unable to do anything but ride out this cataclysmic rush of fire and ice; love and lust.
And the fire of truth was.... Oh God, Riley shuddered, trembled and felt the torrents begin in mounting rolling contractions.
“I am going to cum forever and ever in your arms.”
They were awash in their own juices which pooled — yes, pooled — at their feet as it joined and ran down their legs in the dim glow of the streetlight in that hotel room.
“Oh, MY GOD, oh yes, oh yes, oh no, don’t ever... ever... ever... stop.”
But they did stop — to breathe, to wonder, hearts pounding as one, still against the wall.
Keenan pulled away, slowly, from Riley and looked into her just-opening eyes. They did not speak. He tenderly moved her wet, tangled curls from her face flushed with perspiration and eased his cock from her now clenched pussy. He slid slowly down her body, hands exploring every curve and knelt before Riley at the fleshy alter of their pooled juices. Keenan licked slowly, up the insides of her thighs, taking the proof of their love into his mouth. He held her tipped hips with his thumbs as he cupped the soft pale rounds of her ass. He continued his journey up to Riley’s still parted, engorged and inflamed ruby red lips inside the tender mound nestled between her thighs. He looked up at her, smiled, then opened her further with his tongue and sucked what remained of their mingled juices as he kissed her intimately — deeply — tenderly.
He drank deeply from Riley of their love and it slid around his eager, hungry lips. Keenan rose to his feet and kissed Riley intensely, so deeply the evidence of their love, their cum, passed between their lips from his mouth to hers and back again as their tongues teased in a tight tango. Both their mouths feasted upon their love, as lips savored flavor and eyes memorized every exchanged nuance.
Their tongues locked and entwined, again, in a slippery, fervent feral dance.
He pushed up against her, kissed her through eternity and they were alive. They were there, together as one... and he was hard yet again. Keenan lifted Riley in his arms and carried her to the bed, laid her down and settled heavily between
her legs.
Her world changed in unforeseen and unintended directions from that lustful moment forward.
He kissed her sweetly, passionately then rose.
“I’ll be right back.” He whispered as if someone else was listening.
Her eyesight adjusted to the salty sting of the remains of her excitement.
Riley lay on the bed in a heavy romantic ardor. Keenan went to the bathroom and opened the door, entered and closed the door behind him.
The bathroom light threw a golden glow from under the door when he switched it on. Moments later, she heard the light being switched off then the bathroom door opened and closed. She heard Keenan walk towards the table where the champagne was still chilled.
She saw what she thought were two white burning candle tips in the shadows but it was the whites of his eyes reflected the flickering, diffused, filtered light from the city outside through the window in their room in the shadowed night.
He emerged quietly from the velvet darkness; his body took a glistening shape as it shone like a jewel with his perspiration.
The fevered sight of his naked body stole her breath and paralyzed her heart.
Wanting to memorize every nuance, she stared at his chiseled good looks. His chest was shimmering: the carved perfection of a Michelangelo statue not of opaque pearlescent alabaster but of rich ebony with a slight amethyst undertone. The blackened skin-tight drape of the sweet shadowed flesh of a hungry man approached her, eager to indulge his insatiable, untamed fantasies.
She mistook a wicked twinkle as he approached; a half-smile lay in residence upon the angle of his chin and jaw. Then she realized quite instinctively, she was the one deftly in control. At some point, every woman realizes her strength over men and awakens to use her womanly “weakness” most precisely.
He bent and one drop of his iridescent perspiration fell to her rising breast, searing through her pores straight to her heart. A thousand shimmering stars exploded in a radiant burst and fell to adorn their passions.
He kissed her cheek ever so slightly, as a butterfly would settle and alight softly upon a feather.
