Page 1 of Kiss and Make Love

The Early Morning After

I’m always looking for meaningful one-night stands.

- Dudley Moore

Iwalk to the window and pull the heavy curtain to the side, not caring about my nakedness. It’s still dark. The only light filtering through the panes comes from the streetlights below and the moon above. Resting my forehead on the cool glass, I look out at the city. At this early hour, it’s barely begun to stir.

My feet pad lightly on the cold floor as I collect my clothes from the night before, spread across the hotel room. As I dress in my violet lingerie and gingerly sit in one of the overstuffed chairs by the window, the ache is still fresh between my legs from only a few hours earlier. Surveying the room, I finally notice the luxuryof it all: marble floors, rich wood furniture, silk sheets. The man lying in the bed is a stranger to me, but the room whispers he’s a man of means. I can see most of his body, scarcely covered by the bedding. Broad and toned, but not overly muscular. Short hair tousled from the intimate activities of our night. His cock’s half-hard, lying heavy against his thigh in the glory of these early morning hours.

A faint smell of juniper still lingers in the air. The aroma of gin from the two empty glasses on the end table brings back memories of the night as the sleep lifts from my mind. I’d gone out with the friends I was visiting. We danced, we flirted, and we teased the men who struck up casual conversation with us. I didn’t intend to stay with him, but I did. Why? In truth, I was searching for something.Soon after my friends left, he was all over me. Kissing me, holding me, touching me. I welcomed it.

He asked me to his hotel room, and I jumped at the chance to say yes. Desire and need fueled us both. I was on him in the elevator, hands in the waves of his hair, his mouth on my slender neck. He fucked me fierce and long last night. The tenderness between my thighs and light bruising on my breasts are an easy reminder of his uninhibited wanting. It’ll be a long time before I forget the way he felt on top of me. Inside of me.

I gather my purse and heels and pause at the doorwhen I hear a loud exhale. Turning, I see him shift against the sheets, his sleeping face striking in the dim moonlight. I don’t have to go, do I?I could count on one hand the number of one-night stands I’ve had, each time leaving before the night waned into the morning. But he had stayed, and I had stayed, and we fell asleep with our limbs wrapped around one another.

Setting my clothes on the entry table and placing my purse and shoes back by the door, I cross the polished floor. Standing beside the bed, I peer down at him. It would be easy to get a taxi at this time in the morning. It would be easy to sneak out and not say another word. The night before thoroughly satisfied me, and I need nothing else but…Iwantmore. He’s easy to be with—endearing and attractive and rough around the edges in all the right ways.

Softly, I lift the covers and slide in next to him. His arm reaches out and pulls me close against him, hot against my flesh. I inhale his scent, something like cedar and sweat. The aroma gives me a heady feeling, and my heart quickens. So what if it’s only going to be one night? I bury my head in his chest as his fingers gently roam through my hair. He grunts appreciatively in his sleep. I close my eyes with the feel of his fiery skin pressed against mine, the memories of the night raw between my thighs.

The Professor

There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable.

-Mark Twain

“Aw, fuck me,” Mr. Monroe murmured under his breath, bending over to pick up the stack of essays he’d accidentally knocked to the floor.

“Would if I could,” Spencer whispered to herself, glancing at the notes on her laptop.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mr. Monroe’s hands hesitated over the papers, just for a second, before continuing to clean them up.

Shit. No way he heard that, right? Conner, the student closest to her, disguised his titter behind a cough. Double shit.

She was sitting halfway back in the lecture hall.Sure, it wasn’t packed with students. Few people wanted to become licensed embalmers. But today, they’d had to use one of the large lecture halls due to several classrooms in the psychology wing being renovated, including the regular room forPsychology of Death and Dying.

Spencer sat off to the side. Far enough from the front to show she didn’t want to be bothered by others but not far back enough to disrespect the professor…who may or may not have heard her say she would like to fuck him. Shit again. Her and her runaway mouth. What did her mother always tell her?One day, that mouth is going to get you into trouble!Well, if only she knew.

Snippy. That was the word her mother used to describe her growing up. She was always told to stop being sosnippy. If people weren’t so annoying, she could be lesssnippywith them. But that wasn’t a worry for much longer. One more month until graduation. Then she’d be on her own and working with the dead.

Know what’s great about dead people?

They can’t talk.

They also can’t hear the inappropriate thoughts she murmured aloud to herself.

Win-win.

“We’ll pick this up next week,” Mr. Monroe announced from the front of the room. “Remember to finish the chapter on end-of-life issues and decisions,and we’ll talk about it next class. I think it’s going to make for an interesting discussion!”

Spencer packed her laptop and notebook in her bag, grabbed her coat off the back of the chair, and made for the door before she could embarrass herself any further.

“Oh, and if you haven’t handed in your essay on the funeral process yet, it’s overdue. But you can still get it to me, and I won’t penalize you,” he added, a big smile plastered across his face.

Rolling her eyes, she pushed open the lecture hall door and slipped out. Classic Mr. Monroe. Always allowing his students extra time to get their work in. Always smiling.

Always looking so good, her brain added. She needed to stop that. Brett Monroe was not her type. He was too…cheery. Too smiley. Like the human personification of a sunbeam. Bright and shiny and full of light. The day to her night.

No, thank you.

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