They ran to the lift, her mind on the lightly haired chest she'd panted over so many times of late.
Even back in Turkey's Kuadasi if my memory serves me right! were her thoughts.
His were more like...Oh the dilemma of not knowing how fragile she might fear the moment? I just can't afford to have the whole thing blown by her suddenly cramping up at the expectation of being raped.
He was anxious, elated, yet fearfully frustrated.
But by the time he got into the lift, she had already punched '7'.
He fumbled for their key.
While he was trying to then fit it in the lock, she was climbing all over his back.
"Hurry, darling," she told him.
They helped each other undress. Each had watched the other undress often enough, so knew the process. Both, somehow, felt like naughty children playing at something they knew was taboo. And when both were naked, they spent an entire minute simply staring each other up and down.
She then drew him to her and they embraced tightly, still on their feet, kissing deeply, hugging, squeezing closely all the way down. Becks could feel his poker-like manhood, and he trembled as she began massaging her breasts against his. He eased his hug so she could manoeuvre the easier, and she giggled, to begin a slow wriggle of her hips. His hands went to her buttocks to clasp them, letting them ride her movements, yet at the same time pressing her more tightly to him.
And it was she who first moved her feet, drawing him after her as she backed towards the bed, to sit, waiting for him to make the next move. He gently eased her backwards, her feet still on the floor, to then draw back so his lips could kiss her chin, throat, and slide ever so slowly to the cleavage between her breasts where he let his tongue linger.
She could feel the heat of his breath as he began licking her all over. She knew she was moaning loudly and smiled inside as she felt a shiver run through him. She'd heard of tongue massages yet never experienced one...
Well not like this. Oh how do I tell him I never want it to stop?
She was running her hands over his back now, giving him her own gentle massage.
And it seemed an age before he made a move towards penetration.
And I'm ready for it, her mind told her.
"You can never know how I ached, knowing those men had you prisoner, helpless."
She waited, sure he had more to add, yet nothing followed. His tongue returned to its massaging as his arms went under her to lift her fully on to the bed. He kept slowly licking her breasts as he knelt over her.
Should I try entering her now or should I wait until she shows me she is ready. I don't want to come quickly yet I'm afraid I might. I don't want her to be disappointed--I want her to come with me, but how do I know? Can I hold back if I sense she isn't ready?
His problem was quickly solved when she wriggled such that he was suddenly there--her body showed him how ready she was for him. Both moved as if programmed; all was warmth and moisture--both felt in the instant that they could never be closer...
Their lovemaking was frantic, every inhibition discarded as if by instinct--frantic in intensity, despite being unhurried. It seemed an age that each kept satisfying the other's hunger.
"I can tell it's not acting as if you're on stage, yet..."
"The first time this happened to me, it left me so wanting. I now realise I must have been waiting for you."
He didn't answer for a while. He was still coming down to earth.
"Maybe we have FARC to thank. It was only when you were captured that I realised how much you'd come to mean to me--that the affection had become love. Even then I had to wait to see how you really felt about me."
She dwelt on his words before responding.
"Ah! That is exactly how it's been with me!"
All the probing by each as they explored and tested, teased and triumphed all at the same time had come to a wonderful climax. Neither had wanted the pulsing sensations to end.
They were now, at last, very much partners.
Little did either realise, however, that by the end of their adventure on that exotic continent, that their first week would be considered, in retrospect, 'mundanely uneventful'.