This Won't Have A Name For A While

11. All She Wants Is

John and I were sitting close together on the bed, which was still crumpled and messy from the night before, eating the pastries and drinking the tea that had been delivered to our room after we’d made use of the shower. I’d changed into another shirt that he’d leant me from his suitcase, since the other one was laying soaked on the bathroom floor right now. John had his arm draped around me possessively as he retold stories of previous tours, and I listened intently, adding my own little quips in answer. Even after spending that wonderful night with him, I still couldn’t believe all of this was real. I didn’t think I’d ever tire of feeling his skin contact mine.

–“John,”–, I asked him, interrupting another story, –“was last night just a one time thing? Because I think you should know, that’s the most serious I’ve ever gotten with a man”–.

He looked a little taken aback at being asked such a question out of the blue, and took a while to answer.

–“It felt pretty serious to me,”– was his reply, and he looked me dead in the eyes as he said it. I felt my heart rate jump. He looked away and added, –“I’d like us to be serious,”– in a smaller voice.

I took his hand in mine and added my own thoughts, –“I really meant it when I said I loved you last night, it wasn’t just the hormones talking”–.

I had his undivided attention.

–“We don’t know each other very well yet, but I can see us building something special here,”– I added.

John was staring at me like he’d never seen a woman be so honest; his eyes were wide and he was almost gawping. I started to go a bit pink.

–“So, what do you have to say to that?”– I tried to coax the answer out of him, getting nervous now at his lack of a reply.

He chose to answer in a different way, and took me gently by the chin and kissed me full on the lips again. It was a clear agreement. Slowly, the pink turned to red and my face glowed. Eventually, he had to break away from the kiss to actually breathe, and so did I. But soon enough, we were back at it again, this time unbuttoning shirts, too, until a knock on the door stopped us in our tracks.

–“Probably room service,”– John breathed INTO my mouth, which was oddly hot.

–“I’ll get it, I’m the only one wearing a shirt,”– I decided for the both of us, sliding off the bed and doing up the buttons John has so hastily undone, but not bothering to sort my messy hair. I only had to be vaguely decent - it could only be room service.