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Your golden bedsheets are made from Egyptian cotton, heavy and luxurious. I recline into the bed and pretend that I'm you. Every moment is spent in this room with its mosaic walls and delivered food. I can sit on the floor and practice a new song with a guitar in my lap. I could live in this bed.
When I look up at the sound of footsteps, I find you watching me from the door. You're slanted against the frame. Your shirt rides up to expose your bare side.
"Nice, is it not?"
"It's very nice. I wish I had a grand bedroom like this."
You approach me and take a seat on the foot of the bed. "Why, where are you staying?"
"In the hostel. It's what the university picked out for me." Elbows against the pillows, I lift myself to look you straight in the eye.
"Ah," you give a nod of understanding and look at me tiredly from under your lashes. "I was expecting to meet you today."
Something like shock and interest throbs my abdomen. "How do you mean?"
The sunset glows through the sliding glass doors and your hair reflects in a burnished tone. You speak with your hands and I follow them.
"Not you exactly, but someone like you who is knowledgeable and kind. A sort of gut feeling. Do you ever have premonitions like that?"
"Sometimes. I never imagine crossing paths with people. It happens before I can expect it."
You contemplate my words as your eyes make a loose track of the bed. The crisp sauvignon blanc from earlier still bitters my tongue and leaves me buzzed.
"Is that how you feel about our meeting?"
"Yes," I respond. "Definitely. But there's a feeling that I've known you for awhile, too."
A finger to your chin — I love the image of the philosopher, your fingertips stained red from the stewed tomatoes in this evening's room service — you regard me one last time before standing and reaching me at the top of the bed.
I'm not surprised when you reach down and take my face to kiss me. Your lips are warm and healing. A glow rushes along my spine. Pulling back, you search me openly.
I oblige and make room in the sheets for you where you lift yourself beside me. An intimate pose: your body lifted by an arm and your glance sleepy and low.
Your voice comes. "Do you want to stay here tonight? I can take you to class in the morning."
"As long as I can sleep in this bed."
"Of course." Nearly a whisper.
We're close enough that your heat lingers on my skin. You kiss me once more and this time I open my mouth against yours to taste the night's events.
Like old lovers, we carefully set aside each other's clothing. Lingering kisses mark my upper body as you unbutton my shirt.
You have dark hair underneath, and cool, pale skin. I stop a moment to press my cheek to your arm and you run your fingers over my head. Yes, I think I've known you for some time now. When you help me onto my back and rise above me, I sigh into rapture.
You make love with a deep intensity, buried inside of me with your hands near my face. The pleasure you draw from me is overwhelming — makes me pant against your neck and pull you achingly close to me.
I taste my name on your lips as you spur me on. Further and further into bliss until we both reach climax. But I don't want it to end. I rock my hips to yours to ride out the feeling, but you hold me down and furrow your brows as you pull off me.
We're silent together, calming our breaths. The sun has set and the nightlife, rich with flavor and sound, echoes through the open balcony doors.
"I know who you are." I put my hand on my chest. "Depsite your anonymity."
"I suspected. I was trying not to be cruel," you respond.
"Hmm?"
"By not bragging. I was trying to win you over with just my charms and good food. No mention of Zeppelin."
I turn on my side to look you over. You're dewy and your chest shines with sweat. Black tendrils of hair loop over your shoulder. "You did win me over."
My comment earns me your low smile and your sweeping touch.
"Will you spend the rest of my trip here with me?"
I think of the last day, when we'll have to part. I imagine seeing you off at the airport, but I can't draw up a feeling. I've never had to watch someone like you leave. It will be like snuffing out a candle. But I nod my head and bury it into the softness of your pillow.
