"Swept" Chapter 3

Wiping sleep from her eyes, Michelle climbed out of bed, and sauntered to the other side of the hotel suite. Sunlight streamed in through the window, and outside, the crashing Atlantic Ocean caught the twinkle of its midday rays.

Okay, she thought. Hangover—not too bad. Nothing a bite of room service couldn’t fix, anyway. She glanced at the clock. 11:30. Hadn’t Jason placed the order the night before? Should be here any minute. Thank God. Straightening herself up, she gave a courtesy stretch. She could practically taste the coffee. 

So much for getting up early, she thought as she took a long look at her lover, still asleep on the sheets. She thought of the night before: the lavish, six course dinner; the spread of delectable desserts he had waiting for them in the suite. Feeding each other into the wee hours as they polished off more than a few bottles of Champagne. Interrupting the indulgence, from time to time, by exploring each others’ bodies. Not bad for a one-month anniversary.

“A girl could get used to this,” she said aloud, to nobody in particular. 

She’d might as well look halfway decent, the thought. Didn’t want to make the poor room service guy feel awkward as he wheeled in the cart with her standing there, clad only in her striped panties. She found a bra draped over the desk chair. 

She liked this bra. Jason had given it to her at the beginning of the weekend. With delicate stitching and silky, soft fabric, it just felt expensive. It was just a little too small, but that wasn’t his fault. She had told him that she was a 34DD, which at the time, was true. But as she eased the clasped band upward, spinning the cups to face the front of her, she was reminded of exactly how small it was. This was definitely one of those pieces that would garner a lot more stares than going without an undergarment at all. 

Oh, well. So long as the stares came from Jason. 

She fiddled with the cups, tugging and jostling her soft flesh as best she could, trying to get her breasts to cooperate. But try as she might, there simply wasn’t enough room for all of her to fit as the manufacturer intended. Over the swell of her breast, she could see a defiant nipple poking free from the top of the left cup. Somehow, the garment felt a little bit smaller, even more so than it was at the start of the weekend. For that matter, most of her clothing had been feeling a little on the small side, lately...

But she wasn’t naïve. She knew. She and Jason had been living the high life at every possible turn, and this was the cost, her overflowing bra an acknowledgement of her hubris as of late. Life over the last several weeks had certainly been a stark deviation from her usual, sensible diet and regular exercise schedule. Between working her desk job and staying out all night with Jason, she just hadn’t had the time to take care of herself like she usually did. She would have to carve out some time for her spin classes again. 

She gave one more poke at her soft flesh in an attempt to get her nipple it hide. It refused.. All things in moderation… But, that could wait until their trip to the shore was over. She was, after all, having fun. Giving up hope on not spilling out, she gave a soft sigh. “Ah, that’ll do.”

Indulgence. That had been the theme over the last several weeks of their relationship. From time to time, she wondered if they were moving too fast. Lord knows they had been spending enough time together: long, luscious dinners at some of the city’s best restaurants during the weekdays; impromptu excursions to some vacation hotspot on the weekends; bouts of incredible sex that lasted long into the night at his place; the gifts; the attention… Who cares. Fast was fine. 

Giving one more look at her sleeping mate, she thought about the rest of their day. She had a feeling there would be very little need to leave the hotel room.

There was a sharp knock at the door. Michelle snapped out of her lusty haze. “Why is it,” she said to herself, “that when you eat like a pig the night before…” she found a crumpled up T-shirt on the floor, and bent over to pick it up, holding herself in with her other hand, “…you always get ravenous the next morning?” 

Or, maybe it was the hangover causing the hunger pangs. Maybe the marathon sex. Whatever the case, she thought she could smell the food wafting under the crack in the door. Putting on the tight T, a garment that did little (but enough) to hide her bulging chest, she crossed to the door, and unlatched the deadbolt.