Knocking up the Bride.

(French kissing each other.)

Chapter seven:

Maybe they made a mistake? I told him. Which is possible. But irritating in a hotel of the Alyster's caliber.

They better not have. He replied back. He checks the envelope that the key card came in, then swears under his breath. Damn it. Wrong room. He said.

I laugh at his chairgrined look.

He pulls me down the hallway. Finally, we stop at the door at the end of the long corridor. He sticks his card in, then dramatically intones, Open seasme. The lock clicks. Finally!

He turns the handle, and we spill into a semi-dark suite together. He puts the plastic in it's slot next to the door, and all the lights in the suite come on. Very convenient, because I want to see him.

He pushes me against the wall, french kissing me while holding my long brown hair ponytail with one hand and putting his other hand around my waist. I french kiss him back sticking my tongue down his throat, my need no less intense than before. It's like all the logistics of leaving the club and coming to the hotel and checking in and finding this room have whipped my lust to an Everest-like height- as though they were necessary steps before the most sumptuous meal ever.