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She barely had time to drop her luggage to the floor before he wanted to undress her. He had been waiting in the hotel lobby for her fifty bucks taxi ride from the airport to reach the city, reading a magazine, distracted by every new arrival. As she ignored the doorman and ran towards him, he smiled broadly. She embraced him, squeezed him against her, and all the pain and anguish of yesterday’s disaster faded away in an instant.
They called the lift, and although not alone in it, she felt his hand caressing her arse through the thin white linen skirt she was wearing.
‘I want to see you. All of you,’ he said as he took a step back from her once they entered the fuchsia-coloured room.
She quickly slipped out of the skirt and he pulled the Strangers in Paradise tee-shirt over her head. She was bra-less. Had never really needed one. He sighed as he saw those nipples again whose shade he could never quite capture in words, an ever so subtle variation between pale brown and pink he had never witnessed on any other woman he had seen naked before.
His breath caught in his throat.
She laughed and approached him. Pushed him back onto the bed and straddled him.
Outside, the cold February sun illuminated the recently refurbished arch, like a stone rainbow at the southern extremity of 5th Avenue, towering above Washington Square while dogs ran loose across the park and small children laughed and shrieked on their swings and hardy squirrels scampered over the sparse grass and the chess players in the South East corner of the park pondered and ruminated on and on and all was well with the world.