Penultimate Moments – Part IHe chuckled, “what’s your seat number?”
“13D.”
“I’m starting too like that number. It isn’t that unlucky, you always do get here eventually…. Remember hitting the room that one night in Memphis? My plane was late; you arrived on a different flight?”
“Yes…” she remembered, when she had entered the room with the key that he had hid behind the garbage can on the 13th floor, he had surprised her.
The room was lit by dozens of candles. Soft music played in the background and before she had a chance to take it all in he came out of the bedroom and without a saying a word, picked her up and kissed her. She always hated being picked up, and yet she couldn’t imagine anything more romantic than being held in his arms. When he put her down, he had gone down on his knees and laid his head against her tummy.
Lifting her shirt, he began kissing it over and over again. She felt drunk, and again he had melted all of the travel stress away.
“I kissed your tummy, and then your nipples…. Remember?”
“Yes…. But not here…” she pleaded, the memory of his hand moving behind her back, pushing her breast closer to him, and watching him take her nipple into his mouth. She opened her eyes wide and focused on the plane, her fellow travelers, anything to stop the throbbing between her legs. Her nipples contracted hard and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her body struggling with the memory of his mouth on hers, she wanted to give in, and yet she was in a plane full of people. Granted most of those people were too engrossed in their own thoughts and frustrations to notice. Still Meg wanted not to flush, not to give anything away, but his words had done their work, and Meg was warm, moist and afraid that at any moment she would start dripping down her thigh.
“Not now…” she pleaded.
“Why not?” He teased her. “Remember the feel of my mouth on your breast, my tongue licking your nipple until it stood out hard?”
“Yes… how can I forget?”
“I picked you up in my arms and took you to bed.”
She sighed with the memory and closed her eyes hoping no one was looking at her. Her face always betrayed her when he did this. These naughty phone calls had become a regular part of their existence. Once, when she was traveling with family, she had tried to find someplace to talk in the hotel without being overheard. It hadn’t worked very well. The hotel was full of families and even the staircase was no escape. There she was, weak, flushed and wet, and mothers with their pre-teen daughters were walking past. The stench of their disapproval had sent her back to the bar. There she could listen, even if she couldn’t participate.
“You picked me up like I weighted nothing.” She remembered.
“Twenty pounds, not an ounce more.”
“Philip, we’re moving.”
He whooped, “I’ll meet you at baggage claim.”
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