Warmth in the Snow Pt. 01

Live up North and there are snow tires and sand trucks to keep the interstate clear. A few inches is no problem at all. Down South however, it is a full-fledged disaster, for there are no snowplows. And the frozen stuff quickly turns to ice. And ice is several orders worse.

It was still drivable for Diane and I as we picked our way home from our business trip. We stared at the white curtain past the wipers as the Range Rover ground its way up the freeway. The snow was fun at first, with my employee swooning at its beauty. An hour later, and the novelty had melted away. Another hour and we passed yet another car that had skid off that shoulder, a Jeep of all things. I slowed long enough on the deserted highway to look.

"You see anyone in there?" Diane craned an elegant neck towards the window, then rolled it down a few inches to see better.

"No. Hope they're okay." With that, she rolled the window back up. "Glad you brought the Range Rover, by the way."

"Yeah, me too." I patted the dashboard, thankful for the four-wheel drive and the heated seats. Before our three-day client visit on the Gulf, Carla wanted the BMW, something about showing houses to new clients, some out-of-towners. It was warm when we left town. But, a few days later, the winter storm caught almost everyone by surprise. Carla called that morning, worried about the forecast, and we wrapped the client planning session as quickly as possible. But now, a good two hundred miles from home, it was obvious we left too late in the day. Diane looked back over her shoulder at the abandoned Jeep, and noted its fresh skid marks.

"Whoever was in that car might have gone to the exit up here. Keep an eye out. If they're still walking, maybe we can give them a lift." She laughed. "Don't expect me to walk in these heels." She lifted her foot to make a point, a welcome flash of leg. A woman of thirty-three in good shape is a wonder of nature. Not that I'd ever tried anything with her. Or for any other woman during my marriage for that matter. But a man can look.

The exit was a mile away, but the McDonald's sign could be seen dimly through the snow shower. Creeping along, it would take several minutes to arrive. Home? Much longer. It was already six, getting dark, and would only get worse. We passed a billboard and I had an idea. But Diane beat me to it.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Five years working together meant she could read my thoughts. I was no longer surprised when it happened.

"I'm thinking, yeah, this might be our best bet. Want to call Mark?"

"No. He's in Chicago at some church conference. Mom has Nathan. I'll call her instead." As she made arrangements, we neared to the exit. I decided to not call Carla until we were settled. Otherwise, she would just fret if I were still on the road. In fact, she had already called twice in a panic over the past hour, but my wife could wait. I wasn't going to drive and talk in these conditions. My shoulders were already sore from the tension. No need to add more.

"Hope you like the Hampton Inn." Diane shrugged as she dug through her purse for a Kleenex.

"Sounds perfect. Might want to hit that McDonalds first. Don't know when we'll eat again." Twenty minutes and two Quarter Pounders later, we pulled into a full hotel parking lot. I sighed, knowing the odds were against a room, giving it the potential of a long night.

"Doesn't look good. Wait here." With that I unbuckled and opened my door, shutting it quickly behind me. The cold was a rude shock, given how warm it had been in Destin when we left.

The lobby was packed with travelers, fidgeting, tapping messages into their phones, or quieting whining children. Overhearing the desk clerk, the hotel was making arrangements for guests to sleep in the hallways, the conference rooms, wherever. Not for me.

"That was fast."

"No room at the inn." Diane just shrugged. Always a step or two ahead. She was already calling other options.

"The Holiday Inn and Ramada are full, too. I already checked."

"Shit." She flinched a little at that. A good Baptist girl, a preacher's wife, she never got completely used to my language.

"Cussing doesn't help. Let me try one more place." She dialed another number as I pulled into an Exxon. If I were going to get through the night, I needed gas and beer, not necessarily in that order. Returning a few minutes later, I was greeted with a grin. A triumphant one.

"Who do you love?"

"You got a room."

"Two rooms."

"Where?"

"A bed and breakfast. Turn right, one mile on the left. According to her, you can't miss it."

"That's it. You're getting a raise."

Well, not quite. The sweet older lady who owned the Victorian housed greeted us with regret as we struggled in with our suitcases.

"I bet you're the woman who just called."

"Yes. Diane Kelley."

"Well. I have bad news."

"Oh, no."

"I didn't realize that my husband had already given up one of the two last rooms. He never writes anything down." I stepped in.

"Do you have a sofa in the room?"

"Well, yes."

"We'll still take it." Diane looked at me, back at the owner, and nodded. I merely shrugged. It was likely the last vacant hotel room in this part of Alabama. My Visa was swiped, the room keys handed over the counter.

"Breakfast is served at 8 am." The owner had an official air. "Fireplace and TV are in there. Extra blankets and towels if you need them. Hopefully the roads will be clear tomorrow. But I can't make promises."

We carried our suitcases up the stairs. The room was decorated in early American country. Frilly lampshades. A picture of Jesus on the wall. Wallpaper that didn't match anything. In truth, it was the box where they keep the bed.

"It's not bad. A little cozy. But, um, that sofa." Diane laughed at her own joke. It was a loveseat, a sofa in the technical sense of the word. But I am six foot three. "Is that a pullout?"

I lifted a cushion to check.

"Nope. I'm not going to fit." A phone call to the desk. No foldaways. We both looked at the Queen-sized bed.

"You'll have to behave."

"Duh. But what do we tell Mark and Carla?" She absently flipped the controls to the TV. No reception. At least I brought a book to read.

"That the sofa was longer, of course. This room is a little cozy. I think there's a TV down in the main room. What's in the bag, by the way?"

"Beer." She wrinkled her nose as I offered a bottle. "Good beer." With that, she opened the door and I followed her out into the hallway.

"I don't drink, you know that. Of course, after the day we've had, I might make an exception."

The fire was perfect. The satellite reception was not. So I read while Diane pawed through some magazines and looked around the room at the fox hunting prints on the wall. Other patrons breezed in and out, made polite conversations about the weather, and left. I gently eased my beer onto the side table.

"Did you call Carla?"

"Oh, shit. I forgot."

"You cussed again. Another quarter in the jar when we get back. "

"Damn right." Carla picked up on the first ring, annoyed that I hadn't called earlier. She and the kids had a fire going. Chili was on the stove. Friends were dropping by. I could hear loud conversations in the background. Jack, our neighbor's raucous laugh burst from somewhere nearby. A snowstorm in the South is an occasion for a party, a moveable feast as long as the power holds out.

"So where are you staying?"

"A bed and breakfast." I started to mention that Diane and I were sharing a room, but thought better of it.

"Well, that's nice. By the looks of the weather report, you might have to stay there for more than one night." A pause, then Carla trying to sound casual. "So where's Diane staying?"

"In her room." With that, Diane shot a knowing look and waved an index finger at me. Naughty, naughty.

"Okay. Well, drive safely. We'll see you tomorrow. Maybe."

"Depends on how clear the road is. Love you." A burst of laughter on the other end. Jack telling a funny story in our kitchen. Or Vance next door. Whoever it was, they were likely wearing plaid pants. I never cared for our neighbors very much, the husbands of my wife's friends.

"Love you too." With that, I hung up while Diane chuckled.

"You are such a liar."

"You know. I'd just rather not have to explain anything. Not that I'd ever do anything with you."

"Well, thanks a lot."

"What?"

"Not that I'd wouldn't turn you down cold, but I'd like to think I still got it." With that, she swept back her long, coppery hair and smirked. The firelight danced in her green eyes.

"Oh, you've still got it."

"Well, thank God. I've still got it. Still. Like I won't have it much longer. First rule of holes. When you're in one, stop digging."

"Fine. You're totally hot." With that, she looked around. No one else in the room. The thought occurred to me. She's checking for spies. She flashed a brilliant smile.

"You think?"

"Oh, yeah."

"How many beers you got in there?" I stared down into the bag.

"Four left."

"Hand me one."

"I thought you didn't drink."

"I told you I might make an exception. It's been a long week." I opened the bottle and watched her tilt her head back for a long swallow, admittedly transfixed by her. The first time I met her, I thought she was beautiful, and my opinion had never changed. I was tired, and the alcohol was having its effect.

The conversation continued over the next hour as we slowly talked away the stress of the week. Occasionally, the owner or her husband would quietly enter, put another log on the fire, and depart. We talked about the job, our lives before meeting, and our lives since. Mostly familiar, for we had become good friends over time. She reached into my bag for her second beer.

"Wow. Breaking rules by the minute."

"Well, I could hold my own before I got married. Then my husband turned uptight."

"Oh, sorry."

"No, it's fine. That's what I get for marrying a minister. Life in the fishbowl. You look surprised."

"Well, you spend a lot of time disapproving of my swearing." At that, she slapped my forearm and giggled.

"Well, that doesn't mean anything. I have to put you in your place. Anyway, what about you and Carla. Did you give up anything when you got married?"

"Nope. Not really."

"Not really." Spoken skeptically.

"Well, okay. I used to sow my wild oats."

"Do tell." I arched an eyebrow at Diana. "Don't worry. This won't come up in staff meeting. I've worked for you how long?"

"Five years."

"I haven't thrown you under the bus yet. You're my work husband, after all." I laughed at that.

"What?"

"You know. A guy on the job you're really friendly with."

"Huh. I guess I'm your work husband."

"And I'm your work wife." She took another swig of her beer. "Okay. Another question. Might as well ask."

"Shoot."

"You might not like this one."

"I can take it."

"Did you know that there's gossip about us?" I thought about it.

"No. But I'm not surprised. I can guess what it is." Diane and I traveled together on business and often lunched together.

"Well, Sue in bookkeeping asked outright last month if we were fooling around. She was looking over the travel receipts for the trip to Charlotte. She acted as if it were some kind of joke, but I could tell she wasn't joking at all."

"What you say?"

"I couldn't stop laughing."

"Wow. Now it's my turn to get my feelings hurt."

"Whoa. I didn't say you weren't really good looking. And desirable." With that, another swig of her beer. "It's just that...well, the question kind of took me by surprise."

"Okay. I'll let you off the hook this once."

"But, hey. If I were going to have an affair, you'd be it." That was completely unexpected. I'll admit to having a daydream or two about my unattainable, sweet little Baptist colleague, what with her winsome smile and magnificent bustline. In the break room, in staff meetings, and when she leaned over my desk to show me some numbers, her blouse opening a bit more than she intended, revealing a glimpse of lace and something ample and yielding underneath.

"Wow."

"What?"

"Well, if I were going to have an affair, you'd be it, too." That met with a smirk from Diane.

"Then I guess we really need to behave then tonight. You might need that sofa after all. Okay. I'm beat. Let's head up."

As we crossed the lobby, there was a sharp report in the distance. The lights flickered, then the room was only lit by the fireplace.

"Transformer." Diane nodded in agreement.

A moment later, the owner came out to investigate. Seeing us there, she returned with a flashlight, apologizing that she only had one to spare, and saying goodnight as we headed for the stairs.

"This is creepy," Diane offered as I led the way. "Haunted mansion stuff." Then she stumbled on a step. "Ouch."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. Just can't see."

"Then hold my hand. Immediately, hers found mine. It was warm and supple. Her grip was gentle but firm. And when we reached the top of the stairs, she didn't let go.

Inside the room, I opened my suitcase while she opened hers.

"You change in the bathroom, while I change in here."

"Dave, I can't see."

"You take the flashlight then. I've already brushed my teeth. I can change in the dark." The flannel pajama bottoms came on. My undershirt remained. From behind me, the door opened a fraction.

"No peeking."

"Okay."

"I'm serious."

"I'm a man of my word." I stared out the window, squinting at the swirl of flakes silhouetted against the lights of a distant Wal-Mart. Behind me, the rustle of covers, then an apology.

"Sorry. I just didn't expect you'd see me in my nightie. Well, it's a big t-shirt. And grab an extra blanket. Look in the closet." I looked. There was one. A thin, insufficient one that I spread over the bed. Our bed. I eased under the covers.

"Stay on your side."

"Okay." We were both exhausted. Sleep came easily.

Another transformer blew, this time further away, a bluish white flash in the distance. But it was enough to wake me. Carla shifted a little in my arms, pushing more deeply into me before letting out a deep sigh. She stretched out beside me, pushing her ass into my now stony erection. Almost by reflex, I ran my palm along her abdomen, admiring the tone of her skin and how her trips to the gym were beginning to pay off. Her long t-shirt was soft to my touch as I slowly gathered it, pulling the hem upwards until I felt the warmth and smoothness of her skin. She snuggled more deeply into my arousal while I breathed in the aroma of her hair. Almost automatically, my hand slowly slid up Carla's ribs.

Except, I slowly realized, this was not my bedroom. And this was not Carla.

My eyes shot open and I slowly raised my head from the pillow to scan the unfamiliar room. My right arm was still draped around Diane's midsection. And my hard-on was pressed into the cleft of my employee's ass. As I lay in the darkness, wondering what to do next, I slowly extricated my arm from around her.

"Put it back. I'm cold," came the murmur from beside me in the dark, not quite wide awake, but still alert.

I obeyed, my hand resting softly on her once again. Diane exhaled and held put her hand over mine. Before realizing my mistake, I had pulled her up almost to the bottom of her breasts. In the darkness, we lay there together, listening to the wind and the sound our breathing, a new oneness, surprisingly natural. The eternity that passed between us, hearts beating, minds feverishly working making a lie of the silence. Until Diane spoke.

"No one can know, right?"

"Are you kidding? That would be a disaster."

"Good. Just wanted to make sure." With that, Diane pulled the t-shirt over her head. As she did, I moved my hand up and down her side, testing the boundaries. I felt the bikini thong, and pulled it down her hips. She lifted them to help me, then turned to me. Now it was her hands on me, the splay of fingertips on my chest.

"No fair."

"What?"

"You're dressed, and I am not." The kiss was soft and warm, tender and knowing. Something new and comfortingly familiar at the same time. Sweet and innocent, despite the circumstances. It was a cautious exploration at first, the opening of mouths, the entwining of touches. Then came the white-hot explosion of senses, two souls fusing. A moan of pleasure, the thrum of adrenaline. The thrill of finally satisfying long-held desire.

"You kiss beautifully. I've always wondered." She said it in short exhales, as if between gasps, while lifting my shirt. Up it went, until I sat up in bed and pulled it over my shoulders. Now it was her turn to touch me, only she traced my abdomen with her fingernails.

"No marks."

"Whoops. Sorry." Off the shirt was flung in the darkness and chill of the room.

"Oh. It's cold. Brrr. Get back under the blankets." Laying back down, I felt a hand trace the waistband of my pajamas until it found the drawstring. A tug at first, then an insistent yank. A loosening of my pants, a hand plunging in. A sharp intake of breath, my own.

"Your hand is cold," I said to the ceiling, feeling more kisses along my neck and alive to the gentle pressure on my cock.

"You're warming it up. Do you mind?"

"No. Don't stop."

We were both naked now under the covers, careful to not let the blanket slip. Soft, trusting kisses, unhurried. Her thighs opened, welcoming my touch. She trembled when I touched her sex, burying her head deep into the pillow, arching her breasts upwards to meet my mouth.

"Oh, God. Oh, shit." I laughed at that. "What's so funny?"

"You cussed."

"First for everything. Don't stop now. Okay, wait. Hang on." I stopped. Was this it? Would we come to our senses? "I'm not using any protection. Mark wants another."

"Oh."

"'Oh' is right." A pause. "Can you be careful?"

"I have before."

"What? Cheat?"

"No. This is the first."

"Good, I would be disappointed in you otherwise." Another kiss. Deep and slow, her nursing my erection with her free hand. Another minute. "I'm ready to be made a dishonest woman." I was surprised by her insistence as she pulled me on her. I shifted my hips. I felt her entrance.

"Ready?"

"Go. Before I lose my nerve." Some resistance, then release as I eased deeply into her. It was official, then. Diane, my employee. My friend. Now something more. As I moved with in her, she stretched her arms behind me, tracing my back and wrapping around my buttocks, pulling me deeper into her, more deeply, as I began my strokes.

"Oh, fuck. Fuck. That's so good. Fuck me harder." My cock swelled further, if possible, to the sound of my sweet Baptist goody two-shoes employee, swearing like a stevedore on the Brooklyn docks. There was no more speaking for a while. Only the grunt of pleasure, the sound of moist kisses, the wetness of our thrusts. The cold was forgotten. The blanket had slipped down my back as I raised up above her, it forgotten and unneeded.

"Harder. Oh, God. God forgive me. Harder, harder." Faster and harder, I thrust on, the entire world reduced to our mouths seeking each other out in the darkness, the tightness of her, the warmth of both of us. Her legs curled around mine, hips angling upward to better meet mine.

"Oh, fuck, that feels so good. Holy shit. Don't stop." As my pumping continued, as I fulfilled her need, Diane's head thrashed from side to side, her long hair whipping in the air. Her fingers dug into my ass, urging me on. Faster, harder. Faster, harder. Until I felt the familiar tingle in me, the sign that release was close.

"Diane," I gasped, never breaking stride.

"What? What?" She replied between kisses.

"I'm getting close."

"Oh. God. Don't stop. I'm so close." The thrusting continued. Sweat dripped from my forehead. Our bodies were locked in fierce, defiant coupling. It was coming. I could feel it in my balls.