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the nights were mainly made

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Hotel bars were some of the loneliest places in the world, Amy decided, as she stirred her pomegranate martini idly. This one didn't even afford her the luxury of exciting people watching; there were a few tables filled, but she'd dismissed them as uninteresting when the laptops came out.

She sighed. She was bored.

The trip to Miami for a tech conference had been on Caritas's books for ages and she and Jamie had decided it would be nice to combine her work trip with a weekend away at Cavador Key, both to celebrate their two year anniversary and Jamie's impending law school graduation. They'd meant it to be a last hurrah before the reality of bar exam prep and Jamie's official move into Amy's apartment bore down on them. One last chance for the passionate reunions of two years of long distance to reign supreme, before settling into the routine and monotony of cohabitation. To be clear, she couldn't wait for that, but she would miss the reunion sex. She could admit it.

And where was Jamie? At JFK, waiting out a string of canceled and rebooked flights, due to a snowstorm in Colorado.

She sighed again and drained her glass.

"Another?" asked the bartender.

She shook her head and reached for her wallet.

"You weren't leaving, were you?"

Amy turned her head toward the voice, her eyes widening at the sight of the tall, gray-eyed man standing next to her. She opened her mouth to speak and he shook his head fractionally.

It was like that then. Well, two could play at that game.

Amy straightened on her stool, and brushed her hair back over her shoulders. "Well, that depends."

"On?" said the man. He took a half step closer, bringing his hand to rest on the back of her stool.

"We could talk about it over a drink?" Amy suggested, as she angled her body towards his. Her skirt rose on her thighs, and she didn't pull it back down. "You were going to offer to buy me one, weren't you?"

His fingers brushed across her shoulder and he smiled at her, almost wolfishly. "It would be my pleasure." He raised his other hand to signal the bartender. "She'll have another--" he looked at her empty glass and back up at her, with one eyebrow raised in question.

"Pomegranate martini," Amy supplied, with a small, private grin at his fleeting, pained expression.

"And a vodka gimlet," he finished. "Thank you." He turned back to her. "I didn't get your name."

"Do you need it?" Amy countered.

"I have to call you something," he countered, his fingers still stroking idly over her shoulder. "Unless you'd like me to choose a name for you?"

"Been there, done that," Amy murmured to herself. "You can call me...Annabel. And what might your name be this evening?"

"Me?" he said, accepting his drink from the bartender. "My name is Edgar. But my friends call me Ed. Are you going to be my friend?"

"We'll just have to see," Amy said, somehow managing to choke back a laugh. She held up her glass. "A toast?"

"To kingdoms by the sea," he said, tapping his glass against hers.

"To not being bricked up in a wine cellar," she answered. "Cheers."

They drank, holding each other's gazes steadily. Almost in unison, they returned their glasses to the bar. Amy didn't smile, even if she wanted to.

He managed to step closer, his hand now resting firmly on her shoulder. "What brings you to Miami?"

"Work," she said, and then added a theatrical sigh for good measure. "And I was supposed to be meeting my boyfriend for a weekend getaway."

"Was?" he asked, his voice filled with mock concern. "Don't tell me he stood you up?"

"I'm not sure weather-related flight delays count as standing someone up," Amy said. "What about you, Ed? Big plans for the weekend?"

"I was also supposed to meet someone," he said, making a show of looking around the bar. "They don't seem to be here, though."

"How strange," Amy murmured, taking a sip of her drink. "It's quite the coincidence that we should both find ourselves alone for the evening in the same hotel bar."

"Isn't it just," he said, his eyes fixed on hers. He smiled at her again, and something in Amy went weak. From his pocket, he drew out a hotel key card packet, and set a single key on the bar. "This might be forward of me, but if you'd like to continue this conversation, we could do so in my room?"

"You're right," she said, tapping her fingers on the keycard. "That is forward of you."

"That's not a no," he said. He covered her hand with his, trapping the key underneath. He bent his head, and brushed his lips across her cheek. "Either way, it was nice to meet you--Annabel."

Amy watched him as he walked over to where the bartender was pretending not to watch them, and as he signed for their drinks. She watched him as he walked out of the bar, and as he headed towards the hotel elevator.

She drained her drink and picked up the key that he had left her.


In the hotel room, Jamie ditched his jacket and loosened his tie and waited impatiently for Amy to arrive. His entire day of travel had been an utter shit show, but at least some of it had been worth it for the look on Amy's face when he surprised her in the bar. The chance to play out their favorite role playing scenario didn't hurt either.

The door started to open and Jamie was there in an instant, tugging Amy inside. He pushed her back against it, his mouth already on hers in a kiss that poured out all of the frustration of the past day, the past month of missed weekends together, hell, the past two years of not being able to do this every single day whenever he wanted to. He always wanted to.

Too soon, Amy tore her mouth away, words somehow managing to slip out between ragged breaths and more kisses. "I--thought--you--were--fogged--"

"Jenny," he managed to get out, while his hands were busy with the buttons on her shirt. "Rebooked. Didn't ask."

"Good idea," Amy said, her hands tugging at his belt. "Bed. Now."

It was an even better idea.

Somehow, they stumbled across the room, losing Amy's shoes and his shirt and then they were falling onto the bed together, in a tangle of limbs that could only be described as undignified. It broke the frenzy, and they both laughed, their bodies still wrapped together, so that he could feel every inch of her laugh, from first breath to final exhalation. It wasn't the foreplay that they'd been engaging in just seconds before, but somehow it was as good.

He kissed her again, this time languid and slow.

When they broke for breath, Jamie managed to push himself up on his elbows, and leaned down over Amy, his hand brushing her hair back from her face. "Hey," he said. "I missed you."

She smiled up at him, wicked and sweet and his, and turned her face into his palm, pressing a kiss against it. "Me, too."

It was too innocent a gesture to make him feel like he was on fire, but then she'd always had that effect on him. He rolled them so that Amy was splayed across his chest, looking down on him. "How much?"

Her eyes narrowed at him. "I feel like that question is a prelude to asking for something kinky, in which case you should just ask and not play coy."

He laughed, and tugged her head down to steal a kiss. "Tell me, do I normally have a problem asking for whatever I want in our bed?"

"No," Amy admitted. She kissed his neck, his chest. "But there's a first time for everything."

"God, I love you," Jamie said.

He didn't wait for an answer, but kissed her mouth again, firmly and with purpose, before stripping off her shirt so he could take the kisses lower. He kissed her neck, lingered at her breasts, teasing her through her bra first, then unfastening it and going back for more, until Amy's hands were clutching at his hair, his name a curse and a plea from her lips. He showered kisses across her stomach, tracing the small constellation of freckles on her hip with his tongue, as he toyed with the zipper of her skirt.

"Jamie," Amy gasped, her nails raking across his scalp. "If you don't--"

He grinned. "What was that you told me about asking for what you want, love? You were the English major, use your words."

"If your mouth doesn't find my cunt in the next five seconds, I am not going down on you for the next year," Amy threatened, in a voice made raw by need. "Jamie, please."

"All you had to do was ask," he said.

And then he obliged her, happily setting about his task with the hunger of a starving man. The skirt disappeared, but her panties, black lace and soaked, stayed. He pushed them to the side, too impatient to even take the time to remove them. He licked her open, teasing her with lips and teeth and tongue, dragging every ounce of pleasure he could from her body and then demanding more.

She cried.

She pleaded.

She cursed his name.

She begged him for more.

When she came, he swore he heard her speaking in tongues.

"Please, please," she panted. "Mercy, please."

He grinned against her, and gently kissed the inside of her thigh, before resting his head on her stomach. He wasn't done, not by a long shot, but there was plenty of time for round two.


Amy was pretty sure she had gone blind.

This, this right here, was the only thing that had made two years of long distance worth suffering through. Well, and Jamie himself. He was worth it too.

She took one deep breath, and then another. She felt, rather than saw, Jamie lift his head to watch the motion of her breasts with interest. "Pervert," she said fondly, and raked her fingers through his hair. "I owe you one."

"Mm," said Jamie. He kissed her stomach, and then levered himself up so that he was overtop her. "I have some ideas as to how you can repay me."

"Please," she said, just before tugging his head down to kiss him once more. "Tell me all about them."

Jamie did.