When I see your text message, I have to read it more than once to actually digest the words. Today, you scolded me at work, in a not so subtle way. And now, in the middle of the night, you send me a message, asking me what I'm up to? I should be angry, offended, revolted… but no, of course not. Instead, my heart speaks rather than my head. I read over your message again and my stomach flips. I wish I could stay angry with you, anger is an easy emotion. Unfortunately, you've already crawled under my skin and made yourself at home. I can't be angry with you when my entire body is reaching in your direction. And when I say my entire body, I mean my entire fucking body, because my stomach is twirling and my cheeks are flushed and my ears are ringing, blocking out every sound around me as I look down at your name on my phone. I even love your name, how pathetic is that? I feel pathetic, drawn toward you even though I know you want nothing more than the physical touch of someone that desires you. I know this, and it hurts a little, and yet I'm excited that you would even consider me over others. So no, my mind doesn't control me as I message you back, my heart does. And within thirty minutes, I'm knocking on your hotel room door. I try to be confident, but I think I come off as shy, or possibly aloof. You don't mind though, as you throw a simple smile at me. I smile back of course, but not softly or delicately. When I see your eyes, your expression, only inches in front of me, I can't help but grin from ear to ear. Damn it, you have such an effect on me. I both hate and love it.

"Hey," you say, quietly.

"Hey," I say back, trying to consciously still my body from fidgeting.

"Come in." You gesture for me to enter your hotel room. As you close the door behind me, the concept of us alone in a room together does not go unnoticed. I feel nervous, excited, eager. I want to know what you have in mind, even though I think I have a good idea.

"You want a drink?" You walk over to the mini bar and pull out a bottle of wine. You open it before I actually respond with a nod. In seconds, you're back in front of me with two glasses in your hand.

"Thanks," I mutter, glancing down to grip the glass. Suddenly, I don't know how to look you in the eye, to make this more comfortable. But you don't seem nervous at all. You're extremely at ease.

"Leah, I'm sorry about today. I was harsh."

"You were honest," I respond, taking a drink of the wine.

"I was blunt, and I shouldn't have been. I apologize." You dip your head to catch my gaze and bring it up. "I want something easy between us, uncomplicated." You pause momentarily as you watch my expression turn to curiosity. "If you're interested in that, then I think I can make it worth your while. And I can make up for what I said earlier, my rudeness."

I want to tell you that you weren't being rude, you were just trying to get my attention and explain that you didn't, don't, want a relationship with me. But instead of opening my mouth and speaking the words, I merely look at you. You look back and we're silent for a few seconds. The only thought running through my mind is suddenly front and center. I steady my body and softly lick my lips.

"How, exactly, will you make it up to me?" I ask, wondering if you will respond to me better if I'm this way, flirty and fun.

Immediately, your smile widens and your eyes droop in a heady way. Yeah, I think you like this better. You like flirting and teasing much more than serious and somber. I take note of my realization and commit it to memory. I know this can't be permanent, this thing we're about to engage in, but I can try to hold onto it for as long as possible. If I have to be easygoing and simple for you, then I will. Or in the very least, I'll try to be.

You move in close then and gingerly remove the glass of wine from my hand. You set both of our glasses down on a nearby surface before swiftly returning to face me. You step into my body, your right hand resting on my hip and your left hand moving up toward my cheek. You trail the tip of your finger down my skin to rest lightly on my hairline. I watch as your eyes move to my neck. I lose any train of thought as I see you bend down slightly, intent on bringing your mouth into contact with my sensitive skin. The idea of you, of who you are and what your life has consisted of… the idea of how strong and intoxicating you are in every situation I've ever seen you in… makes my mind go blank. My body takes over, sending goose bumps up and down my limbs. Arizona Robbins is about to kiss my neck. I couldn't form a reasonable thought if I wanted to.

I feel your excruciatingly soft lips touch the hot skin of my neck, and I practically swoon. I drop my head back, and you take advantage of the movement. You grip my hip with your one hand as you push our bodies together. Your tongue slides sensually below my ear. I vaguely take in the sound of my gasp hitting the air of the hotel room. You're soft and slow for a moment, and I relish every second, before your mouth becomes suddenly quick and rushed. You place a flurry of kisses along my jaw as your hands push under my shirt. I get the hint. I raise my arms and you make quick work of removing the material.

In the instant before your lips crush against mine, I'm hopeful, anticipating the feeling of your mouth actually on mine. Once more, the concept alone is daunting in the most delicious way. But when we finally kiss, I want to savor it while you only want to push past it. I can tell, because you aren't gentle or tender. You're not looking for the fireworks to explode above us as we connect in such an intimate way, like I am. You're looking for the heat that comes with two people consuming one another. You're looking for the feeling of desire and lust coming alive. I can feel that very desire and lust emanating from your body, which is sexy as hell, but it does nothing for my internally conflicting emotions. I know that I'm interested in you so much more than you're interested in me. I know this without a doubt, but it doesn't stop me from falling deeply into you while you merely move with my form in a rushed, detached sort of way. It stings, but I ignore it, wanting to take advantage of every second I have with you before I know you'll want to push me to the side.

You nudge me backwards until the back of my knees hit the bed. Your mouth switches from kissing me to yet again gliding your tongue along my neck. I wonder if you have a thing for necks, or if you just want to avoid connecting in such a way that only kisses allow.

Your fingers skillfully remove my bra and I realize that I've hardly even touched you yet. My God, how I want to touch you. But will you let me? Is this supposed to be a one-sided thing? I don't know, but I'll only find out if I try. So I do just that, bringing my hands to the hem of your blue tank top. Your skin is hot, so hot. When I move my fingers alongside your stomach and against your hip, you moan into my neck. It is by far the sexiest thing I've heard in my entire life. I guess this isn't a one-sided thing then, if the sensation of my hands on your skin causes such a reaction. Not to mention, the thought that my hands, my untalented, feeble hands, are causing you to moan, sends desire shooting down my legs. All I know is that I want to hear you moan again, and so much louder.

I swiftly remove your top with your help. I see your lust-filled eyes take in my naked breasts as I gaze down at your clothed ones. They aren't clothed for long. Keeping in mind how badly I want to hear you moan again, I change our positions so that it's me facing the bed. I try to convey an air of confidence as I push down your thin shorts and panties together in one motion. I briefly glance at your prosthetic as you step out of them. I stand back up and urge you to lie down on the white bed. You do so. I very quickly shed my remaining clothes before straddling your hips. The sight of you under me, naked, blonde curls sprawled about on the plush pillow, causes wetness to gather in between my thighs. Never could I have imagined this scenario, but I'm so grateful to be in it, even temporarily.

I lean close to you and place my hands on either side of your head. I glance down at your lips. You notice, and run your tongue along them. I could get used to seeing that.

"Um, Leah," you say just above a whisper, causing me to look away from your seductive lips.

"Yeah?"

"As much as I like you being there, on top of me, I just need you to slide off for a second so I can remove my prosthetic."

"Oh, shit! I'm sorry. Did I sit too hard on you or something?" Damn it, I was trying to be smooth. I jump to the side and you sit up. You chuckle as you begin to remove the plastic limb.

"No, you're fine. It'll just be easier." Once removed, you lean it against the nightstand and turn on your side to look at me. "Now come back here."

I don't hesitate to do as I'm told. Back on top of you, I take a moment to simply admire how goddamn beautiful you are. I must stare for a little too long, because you speak up.

"You okay?" You ask, raising an eyebrow. I don't actually respond with my voice; I simply nod my head and bring my lips to yours. I want to kiss you for as long as you'll have me.

In seconds, you once again change our kiss from soft and gentle to fast and rough. Your tongue hits mine, which causes my head to spin, and suddenly, I feel your nimble hand slide down my stomach to land in between my legs. You don't waste time in pushing against me, which causes my mouth to break away from yours and gasp for air. Damn, what happened to foreplay? I guess you're not interested in that right now.

Your fingers push against my clit. My mouth drops down to your exposed breasts. Your move in circles against me and I mimic the motion against your nipples. With each passing second, your nipples harden and my clit becomes more swollen. Your skillful fingers eventually move down to explore how wet I am. The sensation causes my heartbeat to increase. Your spare hand wraps around my neck and you bring your lips to my ear.

"I want you to ride me," you whisper erotically.

Your words throw me off. I remove my lips from your breast and look at your currently dark blue eyes.

"I want to watch you Leah. I want to watch you ride my fingers. Are you into that?"

Are you kidding? I'm into just about everything that involves you, including riding your exquisite fingers.

I barely manage to nod my head in agreement before you promptly push inside me. I throw my head back and groan loudly into the air. When I manage to glance back down, I see you smirking. You must enjoy having such an influence over me.

You propel your fingers inside me with a rhythm that I easily match. My hips jerk forward and back, wanting to feel every inch of you within me. It's your hand moving against me, inside me. It's you staring up at me with an expression of barely restrained yearning. It's you, the woman I've had stuck in my head for weeks. It's you, the woman who kissed me that night outside of Joe's bar, who text me in the middle of the night craving sex. It's you, and the notion drives me wild.

Your thumb moves up so as to hit my clit with every thrust. My hands clench your hips, turning the skin white from the pressure. When you unexpectedly add another finger inside me, my nails dig into you. Your eyes flutter closed and I hear exactly what I wanted, your moan. The sound is so sensual and yet so raw at the same time. That describes you actually, right now. Your eyes are hooded with desire. Your skin is flushed. Your right hand is plunging into me in the most delightful way. Your left hand is grasping my thigh, helping to pull me forward with each jerk of my hips. You know what you're doing. You already know so well how to bring my body into the surreal realm of ecstasy and pleasure. You scrape the nails of your left hand down my thigh and it causes my body to shove just a little harder against you. In mere moments, I know I'm close to hitting my orgasm. I don't want it to be here so fast. I don't want this to end, this intensity we've created. Nonetheless, I don't stop my hips from flying forward and back, from allowing your fingers to fuck me in such an amazing way.

And then, there it is, that sensation of muscles tightening and nerves coming to life with unbelievable electricity and power. I want to watch you as I come undone, as my body convulses because of your fingers moving rapidly inside me, but I can't. I just can't keep my eyes open. So I clench them closed and instead of losing myself in the strength of your eyes, I lose myself in the feeling of your thumb hitting my clit, of the pads of your fingers hitting that spot within me. I lose myself in the sound of your heavy breathing, in knowing that I'm the one causing you to breathe that heavily, even while barely touching you. I simply lose myself in all that there is of you in this moment.

My orgasm tears through my body in the most divine way. I want to feel it forever, the orgasm that you caused, that you created. My legs shake and my thighs tighten. The walls around your fingers spasm and I whimper out loud. I want so terribly to say your name, to moan your name along my tongue. But I don't. I don't think you would want to hear me crying out your name in this moment, because no matter how exceptional this may be for me, to you, this is probably no more than a quick exchange in the night. So I keep my sounds to a minimum, allowing my few whimpers to turn into groans before I eventually stop the movements of my hips.

I keep my eyes closed for the longest time. And you, you keep your fingers inside me, unmoving. I savor the ethereal waves that continue to make their way from my thighs to my stomach, until slowly, eventually, they subside. My orgasm has ended, and I'm scared to open my eyes. I don't want you to kick me out of this room. I don't want to see the look of regret in your eyes that I somehow think I will when I glance down at you. I just don't want to see it. But I have to, right? I have to force myself back into the reality of this hotel room, where I know you're looking at me, probably wanting me to silently gather myself and move on.

Gradually, as calmly as I can manage, I peer down and take in the sight of you. You're not smiling, but you're not unhappy either. You look, satisfied. I haven't even touched you, and you look sated. How is that possible? Are you the type of person that gets off on simply getting someone else off? Or is it more than that? Are you craving some sort of control, and now that you have that control over me, you're content? I could be wrong, but I think that's it.

We're both quiet until you leisurely pull your fingers from within me. This causes me to sigh briefly. And then, showing that you have no intention for this night to come to a close, you say the most fascinating thing.

"Do you want room service?"