Lunch Hour

11:45. I’m on level D of the parking garage. I’m sure he knows this is it. 11:46. My stomach is in knots. It sounded so good on the phone. But here, now, I’m nervous. The elevator pings, echoing in the concrete structure. My heart stops; I see the familiar mop of hair before anything. His eyes are burning, even in the dim light of the underground structure. He strides to the car, lithe, cat-like. I can feel the tingle, the wetness start now.

He greets me with a small hug, kiss on the cheek. A social gesture to the casual observer, oblivious to the “let’s go” he whispers in my ear. I fumble with the keys, and slide behind the wheel; he slides in the passenger seat, looking at me knowingly. I start the car, and drive, anxious to look at him. Knowing he is staring at me intently. I slide the card over the scanner and wave at the attendant. He chooses that moment to slide his hand up my skirt. My smile falters, but the attendant waves, without noticing.

I pull out into the wet, rainy day, oblivious to things around me. Only conscious of his hand on my thigh. I focus on the traffic, steering with one hand, touching his hand with the other. He pulls his hand away, taking mine with it. Placing it on his erection, warm through his slacks. Another rush of wetness.

Five minutes later, we are parked in a secluded area of the park, no one in sight. He climbs over the seat, into the back of the van. I hike up my skirt, and join him, nervously. “Hungry?” he asks.

“Starving,” I say, and then his mouth crushes mine. Not gentle, not tentative. Too many days and nights thinking about this. Now, here, and the clock ticking. I kiss back, hard, moaning into his mouth. He slides his hand under my sweater, and inside my bra, cupping my breast and pinching my nipple. I gasp, and he forces his tongue further into my mouth.

He reaches up under my skirt, sliding my panties aside, sliding a finger into my wetness, still kissing me. I arch toward him, but he draws his fingers out, tasting me, then kissing me again. I can taste myself on him now. I fumble with his zipper and he lifts his hips for me to slide his pants down. He’s not wearing anything underneath; his erection springs free, daring me to take it in my mouth. I oblige it, and it's his turn to groan, as he leans back in the seat. His one hand is between my legs, his fingers buried inside of me. I can feel his erection expand in my mouth, thinking he is close.

But he pushes me up, his fingers still inside of me. Kissing me again, he pulls me over onto his lap, hiking my skirt up around my hips, his fingers still inside of me. He pulls his fingers free, and I settle on his cock, pausing only a moment. He looks into my eyes, slides his wet fingers into my mouth, and when I take them, sucking on them, he grabs my hips with his other hand and impales me on his cock, jarring me inside. I close my eyes involuntarily, and he groans. When I open my eyes, he is staring at me and I begin to move.

The explosion hits before I know what has happened. I cry out, still staring at him, and he crushes my mouth with a kiss. Silencing me, moaning into my mouth. I can feel him expand inside of me, and he bucks against me. I open my eyes, staring into his, and whisper, “Come with me” and he obeys. His moan is guttural and his hand grip my hips, digging into the flesh. My orgasm rips through me again, and I rock against him, until we both collapse against the seat. I lay against his chest, listening to his heart beat hard, his hair tickling my face.

He reaches up to stroke my hair, and I lift my head. His smile is lazy, and his eyes crinkle, small lines at the corner deepening as his grin spreads. “Lunch tomorrow?”