**Author’s note:** My current novel will include some sexy scenes, and I’ve never written them before. This is a practice run for me, so feedback and criticism is more than welcome. My main concern is that this is too erotic/smutty. I want it to be sexy, full of innuendo and implication, but not explicit. What do you think?
WARNING: This story is definitely rated R and not safe for work.
“Trust me,” he says and kisses my neck.
He stands at my back and wraps his arms around me. His right hand rises and holds my breasts tightly. His left moves to my hip, his fingers falling lower and caressing my inner thigh. I lean my head back and exhale. A sigh of pleasure parts with my lips and my heart beats, embarrassed. This seems to turn Clay on. His breath deepens and he exhales in the crook of my neck, his warm breath wisping over my collar bone.
He pushes away from me and I feel his hand gently grazing my neck. He grabs the zipper to my dress and pulls, loosing it from my shoulders. With his hand he pushes the fabric from me and I feel my clothes drop to the floor. I wear only a red thong. The room is slightly cool and I feel my skin tighten, my nipples becoming erect. I shiver. Clay’s hands are at my ankles, grazing my skin. He moves upward, touching my ankles, my thighs. His hands tickle me and provide me a contrast of warmth against the coolness of his room. He pushes his finger under the fabric of my panties and pulls them to the floor.
“Just enjoy it,” he says. “Relax.”
I met Clay in the hotel lobby. He stood waiting while the bellboy loaded his bags onto a cart. When he saw me he smiled and I turned away. He got onto the elevator and I thought that was the last I’d see of him. But of course, it wasn’t. I couldn’t sleep, so I went to the hotel bar and ordered a martini. I lit a cigarette. The I heard a man’s voice, “Would you happen to have an extra?”
I looked at him and my eyes jumped. This was an unexpected surprise. I handed him a cigarette and my lighter. “You and I,” he said, “We have a connection.”
Clay kisses me on the small of my back and works his way up my spine to the crest of my neck. Then, gently, he grabs my shoulders and lays me face down on the bed. I follow his lead, but I feel myself guarded. I’ve only just met him, after all, but inside I want to let go. I want to let myself be vulnerable.
“Wait for a moment,” he says. “No peeking.”
I hear a shuffling noise. I wait twenty, thirty seconds, then feel his weight depress the mattress. “This might be a little cold,” he says, and I feel little pinches of moisture drip onto my back. His hands rub the oil over my skin. It smells of lavender and vanilla. Clay’s strong hands caress my body, massaging away my tension, my apprehension. I allow myself a moan of pleasure.
“I studied massage therapy,” he tells me.
“Of course you did,” I reply.
He laughs and continues. He works on my legs, and back, and shoulders. When he feels my body ease, he goes back to my legs and moves his hands along my inner thigh, going higher and higher. I feel myself tingle and try to suppress it. Then I feel his fingers touching me intimately, continuing the massage, but its far more satisfying.
It was his confidence that brought me up to his room. A normal man would have been turned off by my flippancy toward his advances, but not Clay. Every time I denied him, he would smile and sit quietly, gazing at me with his dark hazel eyes. Even when I looked away and turned my back to him, he didn’t budge. He just sat there, drinking his tequila until I turned around again.
“Who the hell drinks tequila straight?” I asked.
“My father is from Mexico. This is the only way we drink it.”
It isn’t until Clay turns me over that I realize he is nude. And his body isn’t bad. He’s toned and slim and his dark skin looks like caramel in the dim lights. I look below his waist and see that I’m not the only one aroused.
“Not bad,” I tell him.
“Shhhh,” he replies.
He starts at my toes, kissing and tickling them with his tongue. Then he moves to my ankles, then to my shin and calves. When he comes to my thighs he runs his hands down the sides of my legs, then grabs me and pulls me up to his mouth. I put my hands on his shoulders, uncertain that I want him to continue, but he just smiles like he did in the bar and lowers his head between my legs.
The more we drank, the friendlier we became. His hand was suddenly resting on my bare knee and I didn’t know for how long. I looked at his hand, then up to him. “You’re sly. I didn’t even notice you were touching me.”
He smiled mischievously and began stroking my skin. He moved his hand slightly higher, then leaned in and kissed me. My response was delayed, but after feeling his warm and moist lips touching mine, there was little I could do but surrender to him a kiss. He pulled away and smiled and said, “You’re a good kisser.”
“That’s the best line you’ve got?”
“I’m a firm believer that actions speak louder than words.”
“And just what do you mean by that?”
“Come up to my room and let me show you.”
Clay licks me until I fully surrender and release a moan. I feel my muscles loosen, as if dissolving into the bed. He lifts himself up and gazes at me with his dark eyes, causing my breath to shudder. “Finally relaxed,” he says, then leans down and licks my breasts. He kisses my skin and flicks my nipple with his tongue, then presses his weight against me.
He starts slowly, rhythmically. I ask him to go faster, but he doesn’t. Instead, he goes deeper, and it makes me want him more. I feel my body begin to tense again and suddenly, unexpectedly my toes curl and my breath escapes my mouth uncontrollably. In this instant, his hips spasm and he elevates my back and I feel him and are eyes meet and then it stops and we relax and he’s on top of me like a heavy quilt.
We breathe the same rhythm. He rolls off of me and adjusts his bed sheets. He pulls them up to cover us and we curl up together. I face him and with his free hand he pushes away some loose strands of hair that cling to my face. “Let’s just lay here like this all night,” he says.
I smile and kiss him deeply, fully comfortable in his gaze.