” We got up and went into the bedroom and set a new speed record getting out of our clothes. In less than a minute she was in my arms on the bed. “I cried when you quoted Browning. Did you know it’s my favorite poem?” “No. It just came to me.” “I don’t remember you being so romantic.” “Yeah, I don’t remember your tits being this big,” I said, and felt a hard nipple with the tip of my tongue. She took my wrist and led my hand to rest between her legs. “I’m ready,” she whispered breathlessly.” She was. It was as wet down there as a hot bath. I was ready too. She moaned as I entered her. She was tight, hot, open. I felt ripples of pleasure spread over me from the place where we joined. I moved slowly, plunging as deep as I could go into her. It was loving sex, slow and easy, gentle and affectionate. Her legs wrapped around me, her mouth opened to mine, I tasted lipstick and the sweet tang of whiskey. We made a symphony of sounds—groans, moans, little grunts of pleasure, swishes. The idea gave me goose bumps. ‘Marty should have called this off,’ Nick observed. ‘No way to reach the customer,’ I pointed out. ‘Not on a Sunday.’ ‘It’s January. Marty should have thought of that.’ ‘He didn’t know,’ I said defensively. Nick was right though: Marty should have known this might happen. I’d hoped he would change his mind this morning when I called, but he hadn’t. He thought it better I be there, no matter what the case. Just in case. We didn’t want to piss this customer off. Any more than he already was, anyway. ‘You should just come home,’ Nick said. ‘I can’t. The airport’s closed.’ That was a lie, which I suspected might just be true, or would be true shortly, with snow coming down in buckets. ‘We’re still good for Wednesday night, though, right?’ ‘Of course. Unless you get snowed in.’ I cringed at the thought. Snowed in for three days? In Charleston? Please! ‘Problem is,’ he said doubtfully. ‘The forecast has deteriorated here too. They’re saying we could get upward.
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