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She stared back at him and blinked, not sure she had heard him correctly. She had been thinking about the way his bare chest looked and the size of the tent in the red, stretchy material underneath his partially zipped jeans. Did he say…? He raised his eyebrows and looked at her evenly, with barely a hint of a smile. “The dress, Sloan. Take it off?” For the first time she saw it: the harsh light in his eyes. A flush of heat came over her suddenly and she knew her face must be crimson. She didn’t know what to do. No one had ever ordered her to undress before. No one. Slap him in the face and walk out of here, she told herself, then walk back in and slap him again. She didn’t leave. Her hands infuriated her by trembling as she let the delicate, grey patterned material drop to her feet. Griff kicked off his flip flops and observed her coolly. “There. Happy?” She wanted to be glib but instead the syllables came out sounding tight and forced. Griff pushed the faded denim over his butt. We met in the hotel bar, had a drink and made small talk- all so nervous it was about everything but what we were there for. After half an hour or so of awkward conversation her hubby excused himself to "go make the room ready", and once he left the conversation started to flow more and the sexual tension started to grow, even though the nerves were increasing as the moment came closer and closer.Finally the moment came where one of us said "shall we go up", and we headed towards the elevator. The doors closed and suddenly the dam broke- we started kissing passionately, our hands all over each other- we were ready. We reached the hotel room, she opened the door and we stumbled into the lobby area of the dimly lit room, lips still locked together. In the gloom I could see her husband on a chair in the corner, and he smiled and gave a thumbs up, but to be honest at that it was like she and I were the only two people in the world.By now our urgency had reached the point where we were.
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