Back to the desk

Different week. A man who had been kind at check-in, which is the type I pick when I pick. No cruelty. Speed, and a hallway that isn't a bedroom.

He fucked me standing, one heel off for balance, his hand over my mouth because a housekeeper was on the other side of the wall. I came with a stupid little jerk and he laughed into my hair, fond, and I almost liked him, which I do not have time for. He pulled out and came on the front of my blouse, low, where the blazer would cover it. I looked at the stain. Leave it. He looked worried. I buttoned the blazer. That's the part I came back for.

I walked the long way so the air would hit it. The cum dried stiff against my stomach. Every time I reached for the printer it cracked. At six I handed the shift over, changed into a clean shirt in the car, and drove to my mother's. The night stays at the hotel. I kissed my kid on the head in clothes that had not been in a corridor. I'm practical about the filth and I'm practical about the door between them. Both locks work. I check them every morning.