The night before at dinner, he noticed her formidable appetite - she devoured her food, rather than ate it, ravenously, as though it was her last meal on earth. "I wonder if this extends to all her appetites...?" he mused. They had raced back to the hotel, the rest of the night a heady blur of exploration. They had met via words, an intellectual attachment had formed - they intrigued one another. Challenged even, despite the years between them.
They had slept fitfully, yet strangely peacefully, waking, kissing, making love, then drifting off again. Gentle kisses on the backs of necks, satisfied sighs, that appetite temporarily sated.
He awoke, properly this time to the rustling of papers and soft cursing under breath. "What the fuck kind of hotel doesn't have a 24-hour menu?" she hissed to herself. They had chosen the hotel for its character and quaint charm (not to mention the very large baths), and apparently this extended to the room service. He glanced at the beside clock. 6:30 am. 90 torturous minutes until breakfast. "Are you alright, my dear?" he inquired, a note of wry amusement clearly present. "The god-damn breakfast doesn't start til 8!" she exclaimed. "And yes, I can hear that tone. Ha. Ha. Ha." She pouted. "This damn appetite is a curse." ("Not to me it's not," he thought to himself). His expression clearly betrayed his thoughts. The pout turned into a glare. "Laugh all you want," she growled "I'm still fucking starving. I..." - a kiss stemmed the flow of her potential tirade. Soft and sweet at first, then increasing in its intensity and fire. Soft again, as it grazed across her cheek and down to her neck - her weak spot. Her gasps, and the tell-tale arching of her back as she pressed into him betrayed her wetness, without even a touch. Firmly, wordlessly he turned her around, leaned her over the edge of the bed and pushed aside her robe. Entered her with one exquisite stroke, then withdrew. He walked over to one of the antique armchairs and sat down, his matching bathrobe still tantalizingly open. "Now come over here and drink your tea demurely," he said, motioning to the armchair opposite.
Legs shaking, she sat down and picked up her tea. It was scalding hot. She gazed at him hungrily, though in the back of her mind there was another hunger there too. "Shall we try them again?" she asked, desperate for distraction. A brief phonecall, and it was done. "It will be about 30 minutes" he said, smirking at the look of agony on her expressive little face. "How shall we ever pass the time...?" She attempted to stand up - "No. Finish drinking your tea." She sat back down, chastised and sulking, big brown eyes glaring over antique china. This was going to be difficult. Aside from the intellectual bond, she also found him wildly physically attractive. He ticked all her 'demographic boxes:' tall, slender, intellectual. Immaculately dressed, just the right amount of grey. A man of refined taste. And that cock... Large enough to cause an appreciative double-take, but not painfully so. And so responsive. Especially right now. Rock-hard, as he gazed at her hungrily, his hand inching closer and closer... She fought back a cry as he took himself in hand. Slow, teasing strokes. She had never wanted anything more than in this moment right here right now. She made another move to get up. "Sit. Tea, then me."
"Fuck it" she thought, and knocked back the tea, gasping and wincing, the harsh, burning sensation thrown into sharp relief by the the warm, throbbing sensation between her legs. She slammed the cup down and in an instant knelt over him on his chair. Payback time, she smirked. She gazed intently into his eyes, then lowered herself down ever so slightly, until her lips brushed the tip of his cock, feather light. His gaze burned into hers, knowingly, almost sardonically, daring her to give in. She gasped as she slowly slid onto his tip, biting her lip. She lingered, soft, gentle teasing kisses to his neck. A few agonisingly pleasurable minutes of this before she lifter her head and gazed once again into those knowing eyes. This time she did cry out as she thrust him into her. His endowment, combined with the fact that the antique chair did not allow for much room meant that, regardless of how incredibly wet she was, it was a very tight fit indeed. She leaned back, one hand resting on the coffee table behind them, leaving the other free to circle her clit as she watched him sliding in and out of her. It was more than she could take. He sensed a hesitation. "What's the matter?" he breathed raggedly. "It's the chair," she gasped, "it's an antique - I don't want to ruin it!" He laughed. Her worries concerning a certain 'response' of hers was something he eagerly looked forward to working on. He pulled her in close and whispered in her ear. "Just do it. I'll pay the bill." Her eyes widened, shocked but elated. She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into her as hard and as deep as she humanly could. "Oh God," she moaned, "oh god... oh -"
"Oh shit!" They both giggled, hastily re-robing. She remained seated, blushing as the just as embarrassed 'guest' laid the tray on the table. He signed the receipt, strategically-tied robe not entirely hiding his arousal, then closed the door, his angular face slightly red. "Now where were we?" He asked, turning around. "MmmmmmmmmMMmMMMmmmmmmmMMMMMMMphhhhh." His companion hadn't wasted a second, and was now intently occupied with her meal.
"Hmph," he pouted. "Now I know where I stand." Finishing her mouthful, she looked up at him and grinned wickedly. "My darling, my priorities are my Dog, food, and sex - in that precise order. But you knew that before you met me."