Henry insists on driving you to where you're staying in London on his Ducati. It is nice to cruise the semi-deserted streets of London. You had fallen asleep after playing Witcher 3 and Cleopatra while watching Doctor Who. He takes off his helmet as you take off yours.
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"So you're at the Palmer's Lodge," he says, pulling up in front.
"Yeah," you say with a smile, sliding off the bike. You can't resist letting your hands slide over his torso, feeling your cheeks heat. "It's so damned British, I couldn't resist."
"This is a hostel," He seems to be assessing the place. "Like a dormitory?"
"Right," you nod, putting your hands behind your back sweetly. "which means if you come upstairs I'll be in big trouble."
You both laugh at that, feeling like a couple of kids who stayed out too late. Well, at least you did.
"Do you like it?" he asks.
You realize that he is probably wondering why you aren't at a hotel. "Staying here is an experience," you say. "I meet different people from different places, write and relax in a creative environment, and well, affordable, you know?" You feel a little self conscious about that, but it was the only way to make it there and meet him. "It's actually very safe and friendly here."
He slides off the bike, surprising you by the look in his eyes, the set of his jaw. He is up to something. You feel your heart flutter as he steps directly in front of you. "I'll be in touch."
"How can you be in touch—"
"You really shouldn't open your phone in front of people," he purrs shaking his head, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "You never know who's watching for your code."
You swallow hard, but can't help but smile at him shyly. "I'll have to remember that."
"I put myself in as Dal."
"Ah, your middle name."
"Yes," He nods, his eyes warm and inviting as he looks down at you.
"Thanks, I had fun." You're breathless, damn it, you're breathless! Stop it, just stop, you try to tell yourself, but how can you say it's been awhile since you had so much fun or how long it's been, period? You simply can't.
"I should be thanking you," his voice is smooth and soft as he puts his hands behind his back mirroring you. "I guess, in proper fashion, keeping you out so late, I should do that last thing that seals your fate."
"Wha—"
His lips come down on yours, soft in texture, but firm in pressure. Your mind reels, and you feel your knees buckle. His arm goes around your waist as he holds you closer, coaxing your mouth to open wider with small nibbles on your lips, particularly the lower one. A small moan escapes you and his other arm captures your body as his tongue gently surges into your mouth.
