I wake up to my loud and annoying alarm, but it only takes me a few seconds for my mood to brighten as I recall all the details of the last night's flight.
I drag myself out of bed and into the shower, not quite ready to get up but thankful I'm giving myself two hours to get ready.
I take my time after a long shower, applying makeup and straightening the loose waves out of my hair. I'm grateful that I’ve managed to bring some of my favorite outfits. I never know what I’ll end up doing on a layover; so I usually try to pack one casual outfit, one dressier, and the classic black dress in case it gets really fancy.
I put on my favorite black sweater - its snug and reveals the perfect amount of cleavage. I pair it with jeans and black riding boots. Perfect! Although for a date of a lifetime like this, I would have had no qualms about hitting the Kensington shops in search of an outfit worthy of this evening.
I do a final once-over and feeling like I made a simple yet classic and flattering choice, I throw my hotel key into my purse and head out of the room.
My heart is beating fast in the elevator and I try to take some deep breaths to calm myself down. I enter the lobby and actually feel my heart skip a beat as I quickly spot him at one of the tables off to the side.
Spotting me at the same time, he smiles. I keep telling myself to relax and keep cool as I make my way over to him. As I get closer, I take in more details - his royal blue sweater is just a shade darker hued than his eyes, making them pop like crystals all the more. A white tee peaks out of the neckline of his sweater and his blond hair is a bit more tousled than last night, probably freshly washed. He's clean shaven too -- and absolutely gorgeous, even more so than I remember.
He's looking at me with the same desire in his eyes from last night and I'm loving it. Trying hard not to make the fact he is appreciating my cleavage obvious, he does a fast scan of my body then meets my gaze quickly once again.
"You look amazing -- although a whole lot shorter," he grins. His eyes shift over to my flat riding boots then back to my face.
"Well, with me coming in at a measly five feet you're not that much shorter than me sitting down. Just how tall are you?" I ask.
"Six three," he says.
"Wow," I say, my turn now to quickly scan his body. "I can see that. You're really long."
He raises an eyebrow at me and I laugh at my own faux pas. "Shall we go?" He nods to the door and puts his hands on his wheels.
A bit unsure about the protocol, I walk to the door and hold it open for him while he exits. I must have done the right thing because he simply thanks me as he heads toward the ramp. I follow just a step behind him, trying to find a good pace to keep alongside him.
On the way we make leisurely conversation about tonight's weather versus the perfect California climate he just returned from. I see the pub approaching on the next block... and the three steps leading up to it. Oops.
How have I never noticed these steps? I'm certain I've had to stumble down them before after knocking some pints back through all the years of coming here.
"Oh Jason, I'm so sorry!" I feel like such a incompetent and thoughtless wench.
If he's bothered or annoyed he hides it well. "It's okay, lets find the next one.” This must pretty common problem in the UK due to the old architecture. Almost as if he can read my mind he confirms, "Accessibility is way easier in the States."
"I would agree, except I live in Manhattan so not sure if it applies there."
"I wouldn't know, never been to New York."
"Well, you can come visit me anytime," I blurt out, a bit impulsively. Sometimes I wish my mouth had a filter.
"Okay," he shrugs. I can't help but smile.
The beautiful thing about London is that you’re never thirsty for long. Just one more block and we've already come to the next pub. With only one step between the street and door I assume he could manage, but await his reaction. "This will work, what do you think?" he says looking in the window.
There are two large windows with the typical plant-filled flower ledges filled. It looks like something of a Norman Rockwell painting; the only thing missing is the snow. It’s quaint and inviting.
"Great." I stand there, a bit awkwardly, awaiting direction.
"If you wouldn't mind getting the door again?" He instructs.
I pull on the handle of the heavy, awkward door that opens to the outside. I make sure I stand out of his way as he lifts up his foot plate by doing a wheelie and hops his chair forward and up into the pub.
He continues to take the lead and I wait as he studies the room. He spots a table by the window with a nice street view. He motions to it with his head as he starts moving towards it, awaiting for me to follow.
For a Saturday, the pub is really empty; only a few people sitting in the actual bar and just one other couple sitting in a booth against the back wall.
I feel like all eyes are in us as Jason pulls a chair out of the way to make room for his own.
This is the first time we’ve been face-to-face since those short minutes sat next to him back on the plane. The most obvious things I notice now is how much taller he is than me and despite how lanky he is, his shoulders are still amazingly broad, even obvious under his sweater.
Suddenly, I'm overwhelmed with the desire to rip that sweater right off him and take a look at his shoulders and chest - I know that it's going to be amazing.
I have to focus my attention elsewhere before I jump him right here in the pub. So I look towards the bar and study the beer taps instead.
"So what are you for?" he asks me after he follows my eyes and sees that I'm trying to decide what to drink.
"It’s hard for me to pass up a good Guinness over here; it tastes so much better than in the States."
"I must say I'm impressed," he says raising that same eyebrow from earlier. "I like a girl that enjoys her stout."
"Don't give me that much credit. I can usually only drink one because it's so filling. A captain I know says they're a pork chop in every glass."
My stupid remark makes him laugh while I survey the room for a waitress. With none in sight, I offer to go get the beers. "Okay, as long as you let me pay," he says handing me a 20-pound note.
I make my way to the bar and the bartender comes up to me immediately. As he's filling our pint glasses I notice the jukebox in the corner of the bar. I drop the beers off at the table and ask him if he’d like to check out the music selection.
We head over, assess the selections - we have very similar taste in music. I guess that's not too hard to accomplish because I am a huge Brit pop fan and he's British so there's a good chance we're going to like the same stuff.
Although the selections are pretty 70's heavy, we manage to find quite a fair amount of Oasis, Coldplay, and other Britpop bands. We mix those up with some classics from the Police, Stones and Fleetwood Mac. We both agree that we created a pretty good compilation.
First dates are always good for discovering a common ground in music. It's never quite a deal breaker, but it always helps if there is some kind of shared genre. Of course, Jason is so scorchingly hot that if all he liked was polka, I would find it easy to forgive. I would just invest in a good set of earplugs as long as I could look at him 24/7.
Coldplay's “Yellow” plays as we settle back into our table. I take a drink of my beer, when I put my glass down I notice his gaze is fixed on me. It makes me a bit flustered.
I shift in my seat while circling the rim of my glass with my index finger. I gather enough courage to look at him again and notice his elbow on the table with his head propped on his hand. The sleeve of his sweater has rolled down exposing what looks like the tip of something inked on his forearm.
Without hesitating I grab his arm and pull his sleeve down just a bit more so I can get a better look. It's some sort of interlaced pattern, like chain links forming a geometrical design.
"What is it?" I finally ask giving up on making a guess. "Is it tribal art?" His mouth gapes open and his eyebrows draw together in disbelief. Gauging by his expression, I may have just as well asked him if it was Tinkerbell.
" No," he says slowly, then takes a dramatic pause and smiles, "it's a Celtic knot."
"Sorry, I guess I'm just not up to speed on my Irish knotworks," I laugh.
I lower my voice while tracing it with my finger, taking in the feel of his skin before adding, "I have considered getting something small in a discreet area."
A waitress finally shows up and approaches us. Our beers are almost empty now so we order another round. I make my switch to Harp, a lighter favorite this time.
"So, what would you get?" he asks getting back on subject once we find ourselves alone once again.
I shrug. "I don't know; there's a few phrases that mean a lot to me. Maybe 'To thine own self be true'. That one speaks volumes," I share with him, not wanting to elaborate any further at this point.
"Ah... Shakespeare,” he nods approvingly. “I like it too, but you should consider some original art for your first one. I have a mate who is an amazing artist. He does mine; I can take you round to his shop sometime to give you some ideas."
"Okay!" I beam absolutely loving the idea. "Would you get one with me?" I add.
"Sure,” he shrugs. "I'm always up for adding another."
“How many do you have?"
"A couple," he grins. "They're all Celtic. You can figure out where they are on your own later," he says with a sly smile. I feel myself flush with pleasure.
"So you must have some Irish then, with all the Celtic interest?" I ask, trying to get back to a G-rated conversation.
"Yes, my dad's side. My mum is all English and apparently has the stronger genes because I look more like her than my biological dad." He says this in such a sterile manner that I wonder if he has any relationship, or at least contact with his dad. I decide not to dig too deep, keeping the conversation light.
"I'm actually mostly Irish too. Hence the pasty skin and dark hair," I say, running my fingers through it for effect.
"No, it's nice together," he says with that intense stare that makes me dig my nails underneath the seat of my chair.
I pick up my beer and take another big swig. I am dying to ask him the question and decide now is as good a time as any because I have been dying to know. So much for light hearted conversation.
"Jason, can I ask how you got hurt? Was it sports related or something?" I ask.
"Everyone always assumes that," he says taking a drink himself. He seems to be focused on something far away. His glass clicks as he sets it on the table. Looking straight into my eyes he utters. “Another time, okay?”
As curious as I am, I don't want to ruin the evening so I quickly change the subject. "Okay. In the meantime I’ll definitely take you up on that offer to find your tattoos."
This makes him smile.
"So you probably have some good airplane stories?" he asks, probably his way of ensuring that we are as far away from the topic of his injury as possible.
"But of course, This is one of my favorites," I tell him preparing to launch into my story.
"I don't know if you're aware, but the new aircrafts have these crazy powerful suctions in the toilets. You can unroll toilet paper all the way down the aisle and flush one end of it and it will suck the entire roll down in five seconds flat, just to give you an idea.
So one day we were going to Cancun when this lady spills tomato juice on her white sundress. From what she told me afterwards, she had taken it off in the lav and was trying to clean the stain in the sink, not realizing the tip of her dress was too close to the toilet.
When she flushed some napkins down, the suction got ahold of the hem and the whole dress plunges down the toilet."
Jason’s jaw literally drops, his eyes wide with astonishment as I continue. "I was in the galley when I hear her crack the door just enough to get my attention. Poor thing was totally distraught and basically naked."
"Poor thing, what’d she do?" he asks, prompting me for he outcome.
"Luckily, she had her carry on with extra clothes in the overhead, so I brought it to her. In the end it all turned out well. Come to find out she's on her honeymoon! We brought her and her new husband a bottle of wine from first class. I bet that's a honeymoon story to tell the kids.”
Now he's just outright laughing. "I guess I was not aware of your super suctioning toilets. Then again, I haven't been in airplane bathroom in a long time."
I immediately straighten up a bit; it's sort of not fair because I have no idea how to respond to his disclosure. Obviously, he's alluding to his injury yet he's made clear he doesn't want to talk about it.
I mean, I have no timeline whatsoever to go by, but gathering this comment I can pretty much confirm it's been a while from whatever happened that put him in his chair. "Oh, well you're not missing much," I say, unable to think of a better response.
"Apparently I'm missing out on toilets that can suck down body parts." But he laughs as he says this, easing me into laughing along with him.
When our third pints arrive, we finally begin to discuss food options. I think of the Thai noodle shop adjacent to the hotel, with the best coconut curry shrimp soup I've ever tasted. I quickly realize it wouldn't work, remembering the steps up to the dining area. Darn, the whole accessibility thing is not easy over here. Maybe Manhattan is easier after all.
I probably need something in my stomach to absorb the alcohol, but with him sitting so close to me my appetite is for things unrelated to food.
"How about we just order something here?" I suggest, trying to make it quick and easy.
"Here? I was thinking more of a proper dinner was in order. I just feel like a right asshole not doing that for you."
"Tell you what. If we order food here, we'll get to dessert in my room that much sooner," I smile suggestively.
“Let's order,” he says half joking. I seems I know exactly what it takes to get things going my way.
Maybe it’s the beers or how hungry my body is for him but I quickly decide that I've had enough of sitting across the table - I need to be closer to him.
I start to scoot myself in the chair over to him but I think the chair weighs three hundred pounds and just resists against the carpet, so I decide it's easier to just stand and drag it over in a semi-circle towards him.
He's clearly on board with the idea because as soon as it's within arm's reach, he effortlessly pulls it next to him like it weighs nothing, highlighting his incredible upper body strength.
I sit and turn my body towards him, tucking my legs under me for maximum closeness. Without wasting another second, I do what I've been wanting to do since I first laid eyes on him: I go in for the kiss.
Tilting my chin, my mouth comes up to meet his. I start soft with just my lips gliding delicately against his but I instantly feel the heat rising in the back of my neck as his hand presses against my nape, his fingers tangling in my hair as he pulls me in closer and deepens the kiss.
We build momentum and the feeling that shoots through my body is so intense, I feel that distinctive sensation radiating from my pelvis towards my inner thighs.
The only thing putting a damper in the moment is the awkward positioning of our bodies, our chairs side by side. Even though I've turned my body in his direction, the wheels on his chair form a barrier.
"Come here." He whispers softly into my mouth, neither of us want to break the intimate contact between us. Backing his chair up, he allows me just enough room to stand then pulls me into his lap. I waste no time wrapping my arms around his neck as he pulls me into him once again and continue where we left off just moments ago.
The pub is dim, but we’re putting on a pretty obvious display of affection and surely not going unnoticed. The problem is I just can't stop myself; rendered powerless by his touch. Frankly, I've always laughed at PDAs, but at this moment I am so driven with lust that I couldn’t care less what other people think.
Once our lips part, I blush, finding the fish and chips basket on the table. Apparently, we were both too caught up in each other to notice it delivered to our table.
We both look at it then agree that kissing is far more important than a basket of greasy food. We quickly turn our attention back to each other.
"I’d been wanting to do that since I first saw you," he says, his face just inches from mine; his thumb caressing my cheek; the passion flaring in his eyes is strong and unwavering.
Both of our heart are beating at such a quick pace, our breathing ragged. His gaze so intense that it just melts me from the inside out.
"You have no idea," I say, trying to level out my own breathing. I still think I’m going to wake up at any moment and realize this has all been an unbelievable dream.
"Lets just go," I suggest. He agrees and squares up with the waitress and we head out before even half of our selections are heard on the jukebox.
Once outside, I notice that the light drizzle has stopped but the breeze has picked up a bit from earlier. I fold my arms across my chest to keep warm which he immediately notices and offers me his sweater.
"No," I say, "then you'd really freeze."
"I'm wearing a tee shirt underneath, I'll be fine," he says as if I hadn't noticed.
"Yeah, but I already have a layer on so I'd be doubled up and you'd be almost stripped of everything."
Still, I can't help but think that if he did give me that sweater I'd be at liberty to see the definition in his arms while he pushes his chair, which would be incredibly sexy yet horribly selfish on my part.
I look up to the sky just in time to see some small clouds parting and exposing a little crescent moon with just one little star below it, just like the ones seen in the cartoons. We both comment on how picturesque it looks as we walk back to the hotel at a quicker pace than our walk to the pub.
It is Saturday night in London the streets are pretty busy. Even with my focus nearly solely on Jason, I am still aware enough to notice people going out of their way to move out of Jason's path on the sometimes narrow sidewalk.
We make small talk the rest of the way to the hotel but I can feel how charged we both are with sexual energy. Inevitably, I can't help stealing the occasional sideways glances of him as we go back to the hotel.
A quiet ride in the elevator up to my room has me buzzing with anticipation -- I just know something amazing is about to happen. I fish my card key out of my pocket as we head down the hall because I don't want to waste a second that could be spent in his arms. I quickly slide the card into the lock and hold the door open once again as he enters.
The door is heavy and solid, the weight makes it slow to close but I'm already in his arms and picking up where we left off before we ever even hear it click shut.
Maybe it's partly due to the beers and the partly having him finally in my own private space, but I find my place on his lap. It just feels so right -- so natural.
He puts his hand behind my neck and draws me as close as he possibly can to himself. I turn my body towards his this time - straddling him, my legs hang off each side of his chair.
As we kiss, I latch the flat heel of my boot against the hand rim of his wheel and let it slide off my foot. I do this with the other side, hoping that it doesn’t catch a spoke or something and do any damage. Luckily it's fine. I think he was too preoccupied to even notice or care about what I was doing.
I break away from his mouth and slide my lips up the side of his neck, the taste of his skin sends me reeling. His small pleasurable groans encourage me to explore further -- up to his ear, nipping and sucking on his lobe, gliding my tongue up the delicate shell of his ear.
After a few minutes of this, he returns the favor by pressing his mouth to my neck. I close my eyes and concentrate on the sensation of his mouth on me; I feel like I may just peak from that sensation right then and there.
I decide to be a bit bold and pull my sweater over my head, exposing my breast to him inside a very sheer and lacy black bra.
His mouth gapes open a bit as he stares at my breast and I know right away he is sold. "Magnificent," he whispers pulling the sheer fabric down just enough so he can encircle his thumbs around the nipples, bringing them to full attention.
He is still admiring them when he puts his arm behind me and with one hand expertly unlatches the clasp of my bra. He watches them spring loose as the tension is released and my bra falls somewhere between us.
He cups his hands around them, bringing one of my erect nipples to his mouth and now is my turn to let out a soft moan as he expertly nips and circles my excited tip with his tongue. Just when I think I can't take anymore, he turns his attention to the other breast, repeating the process while I breathlessly pant over him.
I tug at his sweater - desperate to feel his warm bare skin against mine. He obliges and pulls both his shirt and sweater off over his head with the one still inside the other and throws them on the floor.
"Oh my God, Jason!" Now it's my turn to gasp.
I stare at the most amazing chest I've ever seen; Becks has nothing on him. It's so glorious it could merit it's own chapter.
His shoulders are so round and tight; his pecs are perfectly muscular, like his biceps, but not in an overdone way.
I find tattoo number two between his chest and right shoulder -- another thing I can't identify, reminiscent of the first one.I trace it lightly as I did with the other one, letting my fingers roam the planes of his muscles. He has a few random scars; one a couple of inches long between his shoulder and clavicle. I don’t ask him, but I wonder if they are related to his injury.
I continue my downward path between his nipples, down his sternum and then even lower. He lets me take my exploration slow--just taking in his physical beauty.
Tattoo number three sits vertically along the right side of his rib cage. Gaelic writing, I will ask him about it later, right now I'm a bit preoccupied.
His chest is smooth and tan, the only hair I spot is his happy trail which is a sandy blond thin line right below his navel disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.
When I run my hands past his chest and get to his stomach, I'm actually taken back by the roundness and softness of it. It's not a gut by any means, but there is also a clear lack of muscle. I think if the rest of his upper body wasn't so tight it would be hardly noticeable I suppose I was expecting rock solid abs and maybe even a six pack to match his chest.
His eyes are still transfixed on me but he is still not saying a word, as if he just wants me to explore him and figure it all out on my own.
I move my hands off him and put my arms around his neck once again, pressing both of our upper naked bodies together. I am swept away with the sensation of his bare skin on mine and this is more than I can take. I want him, all of him, my body yearning to feel him inside me.
"Jason, I need you. Now," I gasp, my body craving his with urgency. I honestly can't recall the last time I wanted someone so badly, with all that intensity overpowering all other emotions.
"Don't move," he says, already moving us towards the bed with me still pressed against him.
But I'm so focused on my mouth capturing all the emanating heat off his neck and shoulders that I barely feel us stop. Soon there will be no barriers between us, just skin on skin--and just that thought is enough to make my already raging desire reach a fever pitch. I look over my shoulder and are we are about as close to the bed as we are going to get.
I can’t believe this is happening-- I am about to share my bed with the hottest guy on the planet.