“Ouch! Motherfucker!” She shouts as the bedframe shakes underneath me.
“Shit, are you alright?” I start to get off the bed, my hands out in front of me, coming up with nothing but open air.
“Fine.” She wheezes out. “Stay there; if you start moving around, it’s bound to be more dangerous.”
Letting out an unexpected chuckle, I shake my head, but I do as she asks. When the sounds change in the room from a set of footsteps to two, I imagine her on her hands and knees. The thought that I'm missing her ass in that position has me equal parts frustrated and turned on. A few seconds later, I hear her rummaging in what must be her bag.
“Ah, ha! There you are.” After a few seconds of more rummaging in her bag, she breaks into laughter.
“What?”
“TSA, that’s what.” She says through more laughter. “They took my lighter. I almost took my toe off for nothing.”
“Maybe the hotel put some matches in our kit?”
“Oh, maybe.”
“But it’s late; we should try in the morning?”
On cue, she yawns. “Yeah, alright.”
Waking with a start, my hand searches in the dark. Emma sighs as my fingers graze her back. She’s still naked, just as I am.
Jerking, I hear the noise that must have woken me. Outlining the heavy curtains, I move towards the only light in the room. With a finger on the edge, I look out and see, along with the rain, there is hail mixed in. I’m not an expert, but I thought tornadoes drop hail, not hurricanes.
“What is it?” Emma asks in a throaty tone. I doubt she’s trying to turn me on, but it doesn’t stop my body from reacting.
“Hail.” Even outside in this storm, it’s lighter than in this room. Opening the curtains more in the middle, so that I can see, I walk to the bed and get under the covers. Laying with one arm above my head and the other over my stomach, I will my erection to deflate.
“I think it sounds kind of nice.” The bed creaks and dips as she turns and presses herself against me—my arm curls around her like it’s the most natural thing.
“It sounds like it’ll come through the window. I fail to see the nice in that.”
Her laugh vibrates past my ribs and into my chest. “I didn’t ask, but now I’m curious, where were you headed before this storm hit?”
Even with her so close, my erection disappears quicker than letting air out of a tire. “Visiting someone.”
“Do you know this person?”
“I used to.”
“So, an old friend?” I can feel her head shift and her stare on the side of my face.
“Not exactly.”
“Why does it feel like I’m sticking a needle in your paw?”
“It’s complicated.”
“...and, you apparently don’t want to talk about it.”
Squeezing her harder against my side, she sighs. I think then she’ll go back to sleep, but she asks another question. “How about what you do for a living? Will you answer that?”
“Night stocker.”
I close my eyes in the hope she will not ask me anything else. She wiggles and shifts. My eyes open to find her laying on top of me, her hands under her chin. There’s a smile playing on her lips.
“Are you trying to sound like a serial killer?”
That catches me off guard. When I say nothing, she starts ticking off things on her fingers. “You have a job no one wants, might isolate yourself, little to no friends. You’re mysteriously traveling to meet with a ‘friend’.” Her extended fingers quote the word friend. “That you may or may not know.” She raises an eyebrow.
“Ever notice serial killers shy away from identifiable marks? I'm covered head to toe in them.” I look down at my shoulder then back to her.
She looks down as if surprised, but she’s had plenty of opportunities to see me naked. Her fingers are feather-light as they trace the closest tattoo on my chest. The motion of her soft touch is soothing. “You could cover them up.” My eyes closed when she started to trace my skin, but I hear the smile in her tone.
“If you’re convinced, you would have to accept that you’re a bad judge of character.” I open an eye and catch her wrinkle her nose.
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“If you were going to question my moral compass, you should have picked a better moment.” Wrapping my arms around her, her eyes shift to meet mine. “I’ve got you trapped.” I tap her back with a finger. “You’re locked inside of a hotel room.” Tapping with a second finger. “You’re naked.” I tap a third and final time. “If you tried to get away now, you wouldn't make it very far.”
She purses her lips in a poor attempt not to smile. “Sound point. Can I ask another question?”
“If you must,” I sigh.
“I’m taking that as a yes.” Looking down again, her fingers move with the flow and changing color of my main chest tattoo. “Do all your tattoos hold meaning, or are some beholden to the overall aesthetic? I’ve never seen so many on one person before.”
“Don’t know of Rick Genest?”
“Who?”
“Never mind.” I force my laugh down.
“I wouldn’t put anything on my body that doesn’t mean something.”
“You’re inked with all your secrets.” She blinks, and when she opens her eyes, she’s looking at me again. In her gaze, I'm exposed, naked, more than I have been in a very long time.
“Not all,” I respond, but I don’t offer anymore.
Being human, we tend to subject ourselves to relive the worst pain closest to the beats of our heart. Wearing it on the outside, for me to reflect on every day, wasn’t a choice; it was penance.
What had moments ago felt relaxing is causing an ache as I watch her fingers glide around unaffected. Grabbing her
