The Scoundrel (M)arches to (Finish)

My company sent me to Little Rock. You were the office flirt. Damn! Blonde hair, slim figure, curves and a smile that made men whimper inside. I can’t even recall the dialogue, but we made a connection. Once I returned back to Jacksonville you and I were chatting, emailing, flirting on a regular basis. It was innocent fun at this point.

I emailed you that I was coming to see you again. You told me to leave a key at the desk and you’d come see me. I did, thinking that I was wasting my time and hopes. That evening I was relaxing at the hotel and there is a knock at my door. I pull the curtain aside to see you standing there in a T shirt pulled tight against your breasts and a pair of cutoff shorts. I don’t remember telling you about my affinity for daisy dukes, but you’ve heard/remembered/guessed that I would like it. I damn well did. I open the door and you walk in planting a hot kiss on my lips (our first). Virtually you and I have done EVERYTHING, IRL, not so much. We talk awkwardly now, now computers or networks to hid our desires. We kiss passionately and run our hands over each others bodies. Damn you are perfect and I can’t get enough of you. I push my hands down your tiny shorts, past your panties and pinch your clit ever so tenderly. I nibble your ears, neck and run my mouth and tongue down to your perfect pert breasts.