Tina looked down at her watch and noted her breathing was less than steady. She’d just checked in what she assumed would be her last guest of the night. The hotel was dead, as usual, and part of her was still stuck trying to believe that a woman like Bette had walked into the place tonight, looking all glamorous and gorgeous and hot, and then focused on her. Tina closed her eyes, and thought back to just a couple of hours before, when she’d felt those lips against hers, that tongue against her mouth. Momentarily, yes, but god, how she’d felt it. This was so not happening to her!

And now what? It was 12:20 a.m., she was sitting rumpled in her clothes for another 40 minutes, and then Dean was going to arrive to relieve her, at which point, ostensibly, she was going to fix her makeup, her hair, take the elevator upstairs, knock on door 305, shed the aforementioned rumpled clothes and crawl all over Bette Porter. For, like, hours. Was this possible?

It was. There was no denying that look on Bette’s face. She was so not backing out of it. Tina could feel it like she was prey. And yet thinking of Bette as predator, however ***** it was (and it was!), was a bit unnerving when she thought of the predator having her for a late meal and then casting her aside in the light of day-supposing they made it that far.  Tina’s every interaction with Bette to this point had been laden with tension. The thought of that tension dissipating, or worse yet, disappearing altogether, tugged at her insides. This is why you’re not a one-night stand kind of girl, Tina. You don’t have the constitution for it.

She sighed. She wanted Bette, she did. But she also wanted Bette to want her, the feeling of which was the most delicious she’d had in a long while. And yes, she wanted Bette all over her, but not if that consummation (so devoutly to be wished) was also going to be the end of the wanting. Why would she want that?

God, couldn’t she just hear “ahem” again and look up into those eyes and just stop ***** thinking? Just go to Bette’s room, touch her because she was dying to, slip her fingers inside her shirt, down her pantsTina imagined taking one long lick against a panty-clad mound, with Bette’s eyes staring down at her, and gulped before exhaling loudly again. It was all making her so horny and turned on that she didn’t trust her ability to be nonchalant about the whole thing.

I mean, she didn’t want to be fucked and left. She felt that too, along with the insane arousal. But she did want to be fucked. Ugh, she groaned, twisting in her chair again, and looking again at her watch. 12:30 a.m. Half an hour to decide whether she could think straight enough (right!) to decide at all.

She wished Bette would sashay back into the lobby in those jeansGod, the jeans! She’d blocked those out, and the ***** inside of them, thinking she’d consider them again once she was inside of them. Inside of them and inside of Bette. And wouldn’t that be delicious? Yuuum. And really, who cares if she flies away afterwards? Love ‘em, let ‘em leave, cherish the memory, right? Could she do it?

Tina closed her eyes tightly and tried to slow, mentally, the throbbing between her legs. The pure want. A night in heaven with Bette Porter, in a hotel in snowy Detroit, in a space snuggled between the actuality of her life and of Bette’s. What kind of ***** wouldn’t jump at that chance? Tina laughed, feeling hers jumping already!

Ok, she thought, let’s try to evaluate. She leaned forward, balancing her forehead against her thumb, before cutting her eyes to the side and staring at the desk phone. She couldn’t not take this chance, she knew it. But she couldn’t go blindly into this desire either; it was too overwhelming. She needed some clue what Bette was thinking, some idea not only of where this was going to lead-which she was rather sure of-but where it was going to end. And yet she knew she couldn’t ask Bette something so deadly serious without potentially blowing her chance altogether.

It was a hookup, with a hot woman, and she had to stay in the present moment without projecting herself into a place absent Bette, who she barely knew and likely wouldn’t know any better. Stay cool, Tina, stay calm, she thought to herself. And for god’s sake, stay flirty.

She sighed again, gathered her courage, and reached for the phone.