I Hear Your Name in Certain Circles: Part 1

A light touch at my elbow startles me upright.

"I'm so sorry to disturb you, Dr. Cormier," murmurs the hotel clerk, who politely ignores my slow, muzzy response and what I strongly suspect is a trail of drool at the corner of my mouth. "But there's a Dyad courier at the front desk with a rather urgent message."

"What is it?"

"She said it was confidential and that she was authorized to deliver it only to you and only in person."

"All right. Thank you."

The clerk nods and leaves. I briefly debate with myself about returning but the heaviness in my limbs and the fog in my brain decide me: I desperately need a nap. Making a mental apology to the lecturer, whose work I have followed for years, I gather my things as unobtrusively as possible and slip out the side door of the meeting room.

My head clears a little as I make my way downstairs and through the long corridor toward the hotel's dramatic wood-paneled, high-ceilinged lobby. As usual, there is a small crowd taking pictures in front of the ornate antique brass mailbox near the bank of elevators. Reaching the front desk but seeing no sign of the courier, I wait my turn in line.

"Oh, Dr. Cormier. Paging Dr. Cormier," says a throaty voice behind me.

I'm already smiling as I turn around. "Cosima!" She beams, looking extremely pleased with herself. "What are you doing here?"

"Delivering a very personal message. In person." Draping her arms around my neck, she kisses me deeply. "Besides, I missed you."

Hugging her by the waist, I pull her close and rest my forehead against hers. I am vaguely aware that we are attracting an audience but I don't care. The scent of her, the warmth and the feeling of her body leaning into mine, the wiry strength of her slender limbs are much too sweet to bother worrying about what anyone else thinks. "I missed you, too, chérie. But I've been gone for only two days."

"Two very long days," she murmurs against my lips. "Two very long, very hard days."

For emphasis she presses the considerable distension at her crotch against my leg. I suck in a rough breath. Reflexively my thighs rub together. "I hope you didn't wear that on the flight."

"Nah, the skirt I've got on wouldn't cover it if I were sitting down. Besides, imagine the field day the CATSA agents would have had if they'd seen this bad boy lighting up the scanner. Probably be a shitty career move to get arrested for attempting to smuggle a weapon of ass destruction."

All her teeth are bared as she laughs at her terrible joke. I swat her on her rear end, leaving my hand in place to caress the firm curve through the thick wool of her red coat.

She nibbles at my lower lip, tugging playfully. "I, um, got dressed in a coat check closet down the hall that the desk clerk told me about." Dropping her voice into its lowest register, she burrs into my ear. "That closet's for overflow, so this time of year it's barely used. Nice and quiet. Lots of handy bars to grab onto. Wanna go add to our list?"

The list — called, at her insistence, Places We Have Done It — is rigorously maintained on a spreadsheet app on her phone. For a moment I indulge myself in the fantasy, imagining the faint sounds from the corridor just outside the reach of our hearing as we give in to the frantic desire that dictates the rhythm of our coupling whenever we have been apart for even a brief while. The ramifications of being discovered (...pinned to the wall held up only by the bulky spear of Cosima's cock buried in my cunt...) by hotel staff or one of my colleagues are not exactly something I want to contemplate, though.

Suppressing a shudder at the promise implicit in her voice, body and touch, I nip at her tongue, which she flickers out of the way. "Why would we want to fumble around in a dusty, airless closet and risk getting caught when there is a perfectly good, very spacious and much more private suite upstairs?"

"Because getting almost-caught is hot. And it's fun. Bet it's way more fun than," she peruses the printout of the notes from the lecture I'd just left, reading upside down, "'Exosomes and Communications Between Tumors and the Immune System.' Jeez, who says immunologists don't know how to party?"

"It's a fascinating topic, for your information. And the speaker is the leading researcher in the field."

"Yeah, so fascinating that you brought out all your stuff with you. Admit it, you were gonna bail, anyway."

I can never resist that naughty gleam in her eyes, or the lopsided grin that tugs at one corner of her mouth. Shrugging, I tilt my head in reluctant assent.

"Uh huh. 's what I thought." Cosima kisses me softly. "Come on, Dr. Cormier. Drag me off to your secret lair and have your evil way with me."

Laughing, I take her hand and twine our fingers together. "Where is your luggage?"

She pats her oversized ancient jute canvas tote bag; the fabric at its strap is somewhat frayed, giving it the appearance of some long limbed arboreal creature clinging to her shoulder. "You're looking at it. This was kind of a last-minute thing. Besides," she smirks, "I wasn't planning on needing a lot of clothing for the weekend."

Making sure she can see me rolling my eyes, I lead her to the elevator that whisks us silently and smoothly upwards.

"The Suite Van Horne?" she says, raising her eyebrows at the wall plaque next to the door.

"It wasn't my idea." I swipe my keycard, then hold open the door for her. "Apparently this is where Dyad always puts its director at this hotel. Even an interim one."

"Dude, take it when you can get it." After tossing her coat over a chair in the long entryway, she wanders through the suite. On entering each room, she opens and flings wide the connecting French doors, which makes the stuffily formal space feel immediately more comfortable. In the dining room, she inspects the chandelier and the rather forbidding portrait of William Cornelius Van Horne over the fireplace and whistles. "Nothing exceeds like excess, eh?"

In the living area I wrap my arms around her from behind and brush aside her dreads so I can nuzzle the tender fragrant skin of her neck; together we admire the nearly 180° view of the Fleuve St.-Laurent through the windows in the curved wall. "It's a little ridiculous, isn't it? I haven't spent enough time in it to appreciate it properly. Now that you're here, though..."

Turning in the circle of my embrace, Cosima slowly grinds the heavy bulk of her cock against my crotch. "As you can tell," she murmurs into my ear, "I'm very happy to see you." She tugs the tails of my shirt free so that her hands can stroke up and down the curve of my lower back. Her mouth finds mine once again.

Eagerly I welcome her, lazily tangling our tongues, drinking in the familiar tastes and scents. My hips rock in time with the movement of hers, seemingly of their own volition. "I'm always happy to see you, but I'm especially happy after two days of having to make small talk with every pharma rep, biomedical engineer and overeager job seeker within a kilometer radius."

"Bummer. I do not miss that shit about grad school. Pretty sure I flunked out of Schmoozing 101."

"You? I would have thought you'd have been the networking champion."

Soft kisses trail over my cheek, the warmth of her breath making the tiny hairs there stand on end. "I was the queen, chairperson and CEO of unstructured hanging out. But corporate sponsored events that force you to pretend to be a grownup and socialize with potential employers or contacts who can 'further your career opportunities'? Nuh unh."

"I suppose you skipped the events, smoked a joint in the back of an empty conference room and made out with the hottest girl or boy present."

I have missed the deep husky burble of her laughter, the starburst crinkling of tiny lines beside her eyes and nose. Somehow Skype never quite manages to capture the nuances of what makes her so unique, so alive. Undulating against her touch, I slide my hands beneath the hem of her sweater and let them settle at their favorite spots at her waist. "That would not be an inaccurate supposition." A little kitteny sound of contentment coos into my ear as I play my thumbs over soft skin.

I kiss the tip of her nose, making her eyes cross briefly. "I am glad that you're here. It's been quite a while since I've had to sit through eight hours of lecture and I'm exhausted."

"Poor baby." Clever lips nibble their way along my jaw to nuzzle at the shivery spot below my ear.

"At least today I managed to escape to Bistro Le Sam for lunch. We should go have drinks on the terrace at sunset — there's a gorgeous stained glass conservatory that overlooks the river." A hand sneaks around under my shirt and rubs slow kneading circles over my belly. The deep muscles contract at her touch, roiling pleasantly. My heart beats faster, an electric current of arousal humming through my body as the hand slips lower. "Perhaps later," I croak.

Letting my fingers drift over the graceful curve of the small of her back, I slip them beneath the waistband of her skirt and tease the top of her cleft. I smile at the catlike arching of her hips as my fingers delve, circling and pressing at the very base of her spine.

"Way later." A smirk curls the corner of her mouth. She escapes the reach of my fingers and deftly unfastens my trousers, pushing them down past my hips until they slump to the floor. I manage to slip out of my shoes and socks, then kick aside the fabric puddled around my ankles. "Thought you were tired," she teases.

In answer I grasp the hem of her sleeveless sweater and tug upwards. Obligingly she lifts her arms so I can slide the knit fabric up and off, then trail the very tips of my fingers back down, tracing well defined muscle beneath velvet skin. My breath catches at the sight of the proud line of her shoulders, the slender taper of her waist. I reach around behind her to undo the fastening of her black floral-printed bra and slip it off. With a happy internal sigh I cup the soft warm weight of her breasts in my hands, teasing her hardening nipples with tiny circles of my thumbs and just barely stroking the sensitive under-curves and sides.

I kiss a meandering line down her neck and over the tops of her breasts. While I nibble at the bounding pulse at the hollow of her throat, I undo the button and zip fastening her elegantly short skirt... and discover that she is wearing nothing beneath it other than her impressive appendage. "Oh, my, chérie." Grasping the thick heavy length of her cock, I rhythmically squeeze the shaft and grind the base against her clit, making her shudder and groan.

Cosima pulls me closer, her thigh pressing none too gently between my legs. Willingly I part for her, exhaling on a sigh as firm muscle flexes against the weeping pour of my sex. "Turn around."

The furrowing of my brows no doubt conveys my confusion, but the gentle tug of her hands on my arms reassures me. "Can't wait," she confesses roughly, spinning me swiftly so that her hips curve against my ass, the thick bulk of her cock nudging between my thighs. "Up against the window. Want to be inside you." Pausing for my "Ohfuckyes" assent, she lets me brace my hands on the narrow windowsill as I widen my stance and drop my belly. "Nice cow position, babe," she snickers, gathering my wetness with the head of her cock and playing it over my thrumming clit until I am almost humping it, seeking more friction, more contact, more anything.

Just when it seems as though she is going to be content to tease me to madness, she unerringly finds the waiting desire of my cunt and presses her cock home.

The delicious invasion seems to push the breath out of my lungs, inexorably parting my swelling, weeping walls until at last I am impaled to the hilt. Skin burns against skin. I arch back into her, panting raggedly, pressing against her questing hips, offering myself to the greedy exploration of her hands. Her arms wrap around me, one about my waist, the other banding across my chest so that her fingers can torment my breasts.

We move easily together, almost languidly at first, but hunger never remains far from our touch and neither of us is in any sort of mood for gentleness or patience. Still wearing her chunky heeled boots, she is at the perfect height to drive the thick length of her cock into me, filling me utterly and lingering to pulse hard against the front wall of my cunt with the deepest part of each stroke. With her fingers she captures my achingly swollen clit, letting the motion of my hips dictate the pressure against it. Wet heat bathes the pistoning of her cock and the purposeful immobility of her fingers, dripping down my legs. The room echoes with the high pitched keening of my cries, the rhythmic slap of her hips against my buttocks and thighs.

The quaking spasms begin deep inside me. Frantically grinding against her fingers, I suck in the last of the oxygen in the room as my clit bursts and my cunt clenches around her. I feel the increasing urgency in her hips, hear the rasping of her breath, even as I keep coming helplessly, bucking and twisting into her thrusts. Sweat runnels off our flanks, mingling with the heaver slide of come. With a choking gasp she shudders and jerks, again and again, her arms tightening around me until at last her body sags atop mine, her mouth scattering random kisses over my back.

Her head rests heavy on my shoulder. Careful with the hypersensitive throb of my clit, she cups her hand protectively over my mound. I am grateful for the support of her other arm because I'm not sure how much longer my legs can hold me up. "I knew there was a reason I loved you," I manage to mumble.

Warm breath puffs across my skin; she shakes with laughter. I whimper as she pulls out, imagining the heavy length of her cock slicked with my come and rubbing against her thigh.

Turning me around so I can lean braced against the windowsill, Cosima kneels on the carpet in front of me and encourages my trembling legs to spread wider apart. Peeling the turgid lips of my still palpitating sex open with her thumbs, she gives me a wickedly gleeful smile. "Let's see if I can remind you of a few more."

To be continued...