Sherlock

Warning: Mature situations and language

I arrive at the upper level suite. The door is left ajar, the chrome security latch shoved out so I won't need a key card to enter. Pushing in and locking the door, I move into a sitting area, putting my messenger bag in a chair. The room is opulent, beautiful. Lovely modern furniture, the decor perfect, all in blacks, camels and creams. The drapes are a beautiful scarlet chintz, nicer than any I could afford. A large arrangement of fresh flowers are on the table in the center of the room. It smells wonderful in here.

         “Aren't you afraid someone will break in and attack you?” I call, as I make my way through the sitting room, winding my way to the back of the suite, towards the bedroom.

The bedroom apartment is even more opulent, majestic drapes hanging from the ceiling in front of the windows and to either side of the magnificent headboard.

The centerpiece of the room is the huge mahogany four poster bed.

He is reclining on the bed's soft bedding, several large ticked pillows all around and under him. He is naked to the waist, a big hotel towel wrapped around his lower half. Fresh from a shower I suspect, his damp hair hangs in tendrils to his neck; he looks different than I've ever seen him. I hadn't noticed before how long his hair had gotten.

Only he would be ballsy enough to shower with the hotel door unlocked.

Lying there, Downey looks like the cat that ate the canary.

He has a smirk on his face, as he is eating an apple. His naked feet relaxed on the bed, his toes are wriggling.

         “Hungry?” he provocatively asks, offering himself. I laugh softly, and shake my head at him, at his antics.

All scrubbed and sweet smelling, he did look tasty.

Not only had I not slept with him since that night in May, I had not slept with anyone since then. People who know me are not surprised to hear this. I am not what you would call a frequent dater.

However, I realize now that I am flushed with want for him.

My simple white Van Heusen shirt I left unbuttoned suggestively, purposefully. A black lace bra peeked out. I packed my snuggest jeans to wear on just an occasion as this. I was so aware of how the Coach heels that I am wearing thrust my pelvis, provocatively, forward.

Slowly chewing a bite of apple, he studies me with his dark eyes. Walking closer to the bed, I can see those lashes, that masculine face with the scruff. I love the lines trailing from his eyes and his mouth. I see the flecks of freckles across his nose, the subtle smirk that begins, then curls at the side of his handsome mouth. A few drying strands of hair- finally free from studio stylists- fall forward in his eyes, recalling pictures from his youth. I stood close beside him, drinking him in. I feel my nipples tighten.

         “Come to bed,” he whispers to me. He strokes the place beside him softly, invitingly. He can't take his eyes off me. He swallows then drops the rest of the apple to the floor. His look is very serious.

         “You have left me a thirsty man for too long.”

I slip my fingers in my right pocket, take out three condoms and toss them on the bed beside his pillow. I unbutton, then slide the jeans down my legs, kick off the red suede heels. I slide in, straddling him. Already, he has the dirtiest smirk on his face. He is enjoying this too much, already.

         “Now that's what I'm talking about,” he says cockily.

         “Are you ready for this?” I suggestively ask. His big hands caress my thighs, under the hem of my shirt. “It may make for a long night.” He intently looks at me, his black eyes sparkling. He was working his jaw again, giving me a duck face. He was hot and bothered, alright.