Ghost

. . . i start to feel a fever from the warm air through the screen you come regular like seasons shadowing my dreams . . .

She lies in bed, tossing and turning. It’s the heat, she thinks; unbearable and stagnant. Not like the fresh mountain breeze in the evening, tinged with the faint traces of wood smoke. She flops onto her belly, hoping to find a cool breeze somewhere to soothe her skin. She can feel the dark pieces of the dream tugging her back down into sleep. It was a dream, right?

A lightning flash illuminates the room, followed by a series of sharp claps of thunder that she feels low in her belly, making her heart race. In that instance, she remembers what woke her. It was a dream. But not just a dream: the dream. The one that makes her feverish, leaving her pulse thundering, the memories of scent fresh in her nostrils: fire, citrus and alcohol, trees and river water, sweat overlaying the clean smell of soap. The moon is still almost full and the rain on the windows creates a haze. Making her think of car windows fogged over in the chill of the night.

She’s haunted by the images again. Can’t sleep as they flicker through her brain. She finds herself holding her breath again. Though in the dark of this night, he’s not there to whisper “breathe” - she has to remind herself, over and over again. While her mind plays out the scenes in the shadows of her memory . . .

. . . and i guess that's how you started like a pinprick to my heart but at this point you rush right through me and i start to drown . . .

She’d been caught off guard before, but never when her mind was clear, like it had been that night. Laying there in the heat of this night, retracing her steps, rethinking every moment, she could see it laid out in small increments before her, leading to the eventual. In the moment, though, she had been oblivious. She remembered pausing a couple times back then, waiting for him to do something obvious, but he was never like anyone else. And so she became comfortable in his space. He was complex in a way, but uncomplicated. Calming and easy-going, finding pleasure in sharing small but important things with her; music, the mountains, work, life, dreams. Like old friends did.

She remembered the instant she became aware that they’d fallen into something that was more than just comfortable. She asked where the bathroom was; he gave her directions, his hand resting on the small of her back. She walked away, the heat signature from his fingers still burning the skin and causing gooseflesh on her neck. She made herself breathe. He was smiling when she returned, and they sat on the barstools facing each other, their knees touching occasionally. Despite the electricity of his touch, she was immediately comfortable again. Until in the middle of conversation, he reached up to stroke a finger down her cheek. She caught her breath again. But smiled, the heat rising in her face. And then he asked a question, smiling tentatively, like a nervous teenager. A simple request – a gentleman’s request: just a kiss on the forehead. She found it hard to breathe, but said yes. He touched her arm, and leaned in to touch his lips to her skin, and she inhaled his scent as he came close, feeling slightly dizzy, a flush spreading across her body. So simple, yet so intimate.

They left soon after, she, still feeling warm, even as the night chill set in more. And for a moment, she thought that was all it might be. Until he kissed her at the gas station, lightly and quickly. But his mouth pressed against hers, for that brief moment, was the next question. She was unsure if she answered it correctly, as they exchanged no words. But when he told the next stranger they saw that this was their first “date”, there was no mistaking how he’d interpreted the answer.

. . . dark and dangerous like a secret that gets whispered in a hush (don't tell a soul) when i wake the things i dreamt about you last night make me blush (don't tell a soul) . . .

Sitting in the truck, the silence soft around them, moonlight outlining trees and bushes and rocks, she felt calm. The moonlight did nothing to dim the stars, and she sat in the front seat, twisting and turning to see them around her. The darkness, illuminated by the moon, made her remember summer nights in childhood staring out at the night skies, a blanket spread on the lawn as she spotted constellations. The music continued to play in the background, and she occasionally would hum or sing, like she’d been doing all evening. She was turned with her back the front window, looking up at the sky above her, marveling at how prominent the stars were when they weren’t competing with the city lights. When she looked down again, he leaned closer to her, and she knew it was coming. His lips touched hers, then parted, their tongues carefully searching each other out, testing. He paused for a second, and she held her breath. She didn’t release it until he spoke. “Breathe.” She let out her breath in a rush, kissing him again. Starting the same cycle over again. “Breathe,” he commanded, gently, but her breathing was erratic. “Breathe into me,” he whispered, and it sounded so easy. She fitted her mouth against his, but found her chest heaving anyway, trying to catch her breath while his kisses lit fires low in her groin, making her squirm in the seat.

She reached a hand up to run through his hair. It was soft and fine at the back of his neck, slipping easily through her hands. Silky against her touch, she slid her hands up to the top of his head, where his hair was longer. His kisses were electric, and the intensity mounted. Without thinking, she slid his hair between her fingers and pulled his mouth tight against hers. He responded immediately, threading his fingers in her long hair and tugging her head back, kissing her forcefully, her breath leaving her lungs in a rush. She felt her body respond, liquefy, and her heart raced faster. He tugged the strap of her tank top down, followed by her bra; his mouth covered a nipple, sucking on it firmly, and she ran her fingers through his hair again, moaning softly.

Gentle turned frantic at one point, and he struggled with her jeans. The movements made her stop; think. She shouldn’t be here, doing this. He paused. “Don’t you want me?” His voice was plaintive. “It’s not a matter of want,” she said. “It’s a matter of ‘should’ . . .” He kissed her more, tugging at her clothes. She hesitated. “Wait, . . .” Panting, torn, wanting this, but feeling disingenuous.

“Your breathing tells me you want me,” he queried, his eyes feverish with desire. His face was raw and honest; it wasn’t a line.

“It’s just that . . .” She had trouble finding the words, her breath coming in shallow gasps “. . . I’m not just going back tomorrow . . . I’m going back . . . to someone.” She emphasized the “someone”. He stared at her, unfazed, stating the obvious. “You don’t wear a ring.” She rubbed her hand against her head, trying to think of how to explain that it wasn’t about precious metal and stones. He leaned in to kiss her. “Then tell me you don’t want me.” She opened her mouth to speak, but melted into his kiss, her resolve evaporating.

. . . i'd walk into the fingers of your fire willingly and dance the edge of sanity i've never been this close . . .

He kissed her harder, and she whimpered into his mouth. His fingers slid inside of her, and she felt another rush of wetness, as he took her closer to that edge. She fought the sensations, trying to collect her thoughts. He tugged at her jeans again, his breathing ragged. “No . . .” she whispered, half-heartedly, wondering if she said it more to herself than to him. He paused, tugging again and she spoke. “I don’t know . . . I . . . if they come off . . . I won’t stop.” He stared at her, his eyes liquid in the moonlight, his lips full, his body tense. He kissed her again, his hand still on her waistband, waiting. She kissed him back, harder, and this time, when he tugged at her jeans, she reached down to help him.

He moved quickly, laying down the passenger seat, and positioned himself over her, kissing her, whispering, words that made no sense to her. Then reality hit her again, and she was acutely aware of his frame above her, stronger than hers, his breathing anxious, his voice strained by passion. He was poised to enter her, and she had a brief moment of logic and remembering, of guilt and obligation. “Wait . . .”

He was aroused, impatient, but he struggled for control. His voice was raw as he whispered. “Please. It’s been so long since I’ve been attracted to someone like this . . . I want to feel you . . . I want to be inside of you . . . Please . . . Just for a bit . . . Please . . . I want to be close.”

She could hardly breathe and her position was awkward, but the combination of the voice in her heart and the tug in her groin was stronger than logic. She found herself sliding her hips down in the seat, tilting them up to meet his, feeling him solid and warm against her. He pushed against her, his thickness parting her wetness. She opened her mind and her heart for a moment, and then opened herself to him. He pushed into her, exhaling, and she welcomed him. And then, like a weakened dam that’s weathered the last ravages of the flood, she could feel the pressure surge, then break, and she groaned into him, writhing, trying to meld to his body. Once it started, she couldn’t stop it, and she moaned, cursed, cried, as wave after wave took her, this time, and each time after.

. . . as i burn up in your presence and i know now how it feels to be weakened like Achilles with you always at my heels . . .

She gave herself to him, again and again. Sometimes in passion shrouded in harsh words. Sometimes, at his gentle urging . . . “I want to make love to you . . .” His mouth found her mouth, then moved lower, eventually catching the soft, wet flesh between his lips and rolling it in his mouth, causing spasm after spasm. The CD playing cycled over and over, like their personal soundtrack, burning itself into her brain. In a moment of passion, as she rode him to yet another climax, staring down at him, he reached up and held her face. “Listen,” he commanded. She heard the words “. . . when you kiss me like a lover . . .” Found herself singing them under her breath with him, as he pushed up inside of her, watching his face, intense. Deeper inside of her, inside her head, inside her heart. The words tattooed on the memory of this moment.

And finally, her body flushed and aching, her heart exhausted and beating hard against her ribs, she lay against him, listening to his heart, his breathing. Tracing his face, memorizing every line and angle. “Sleep,” he murmured, closing his eyes. Laying his hand on her bare hip, one arm around her body curled in his lap. She smiled, mostly to herself. Not sure if it was the ecstasy, or the simple pleasure of his genuineness. She closed her eyes for a moment, her heart giving into visions of stretching out next to him every night, naked, waking with the room chilled by the morning mountain air, her skin warm where it touched his. Thinking about tracing patterns on his fair skin, the hairs soft on his arms and chest, his hair tousled, his eyes crinkling in a sleepy smile.

When she opened her eyes, she realized the sun was casting its first light in the morning sky. The realization that she was leaving later that day hit, and she roused him. He stretched, kissing her. He fumbled with his clothes; she did the same, quietly, reluctant to talk. His words finally came in a rush. “Please tell me you won’t forget this, forget me, regret this. You can change your mind.” Her heart started breaking, making her quiet, making her pull away, some. “Never say never,” she managed to say, without crying. He kissed her; she kissed him back. “Never say never.” But she couldn’t find more words, couldn’t make promises. It was better this way, she thought.

He looked stunned, innocent. “You’re saying goodbye,” he said, with a mix of incredulity and defeat. She could only smile, gently. If she spoke, she’d sob.

. . . now i see your face before me i would launch a thousand ships to bring your heart back to my island as the sand beneath me slips . . .

Hundreds of miles away, the morning air is cool, like she remembers, but heavier, with a hint of moisture and evergreens, the smell of the city not far behind. Designer heels click on the concrete, her skirt wrapping around her curves and hugging her knees, strands of her necklace clinking together softly in rhythm with her step. She opens the door of the sedan, throws her briefcase in the back seat, pulls her long legs in behind her and slips on sunglasses. The leather is cool against her legs and she turns on the heat. She opens the sunroof for some fresh air, turns on the sound system, and puts the car in gear. She’s concentrating on getting onto the road when the CD sound kicks on, and she’s hit by a wave of memory. Remembering this CD cycling. As if he’d made sure she wouldn’t forget, even here. She’d taken all the CD’s out prior to the trip when she’d taken the car to get it serviced . . . All but this one. She drove in a haze, replaying the sounds, over and over, seeing his face, hearing his voice, tasting his mouth, feeling his body. And when she stepped into the blond wood and glass of her office, overlooking the city, the mountains far away on the horizon, her heart ached for the memory, ached for him, ached for another time. She put her face in her hands and tried to breathe. Remembered him whispering “Breathe . . .,” realizing she was still holding her breath. The words played in her head again. His words. Their words.

… unknowing captor you'll never know how much you pierce my spirit . . .

. . . i am no worse at most in love with your ghost . . .


* Excerpted lyrics to "Ghost" copyright of the Indigo Girls, 1992

Business

His face showed that he wasn’t expecting her like this, and if he was trying to keep his surprise and his pleasure hidden, his body betrayed him. She stood in the doorway, clad only in a tiny pair of panties and his white button-down dress shirt. He was prepared for his normal nightly routine; her stance said she clearly had an agenda.

The shirt fell away, exposing her right breast as she stood with her hand on one hip. Her dark nipples were hard, and stood out against her pale flesh, casting shadows on her skin in the dim light of the lamp. She moved cat-like, meeting him halfway, and he moved to kiss her. She smiled a wicked, knowing smile, and said “I need”. Not “I need you,” or “I need this” – just “I need.”

He hesitated, coming to a slow realization that she was very different tonight, and rather than kissing her lips, which were already parted with anticipation, he snaked a hand up in the back of her hair, tugging downward. Her head snapped back, exposing her neck, and he bent and kissed it quickly, letting his teeth graze her skin. She shuddered, and arched toward him, her breasts jutting out from the crisp white fabric, brushing his chest. He bit her shoulder in response and she groaned, pressing into him again. So this is how it would be.

He pulled her to the bed and she stretched out, snaking a leg out and underneath his, letting the shirt fall completely away from her torso and off her shoulders. He reached down and peeled her panties off, leaving her in just the shirt, noticing she’d shaved herself, leaving only a thin strip of hair at the juncture of her legs, exposing how swollen she already was. He slid back up, nipping at her collarbone, feeling her squirm beneath him, working his way down to her breasts. She arched her back again, feeding him the soft flesh and the hard nipple, groaning and writhing as he sucked hard. He tugged her hair back, again, kissing her neck hard and she hissed “fuck” in response. He knew he owned her now.

He worked his way down again, covering her breasts again, kissing her stomach, biting the flesh over her hip bones, breathing between her legs but not tasting yet. He watched her, as she waited, and he pushed her legs farther apart. Admiring how pink and slick she looked, the smell heady and tinged with some pent up frustration and desire that she intended to work out here and now. He couldn’t resist biting the inside of her thigh and she moved her hips toward his mouth.

He finally acceded, capturing her swollen clit between his lips, and rolling it around, sucking gently on it, then more firmly. She was vocal; she slid one leg over his back, urging him on, and thrashed her upper body as the feeling mounted. He could feel and taste her getting more aroused, the flesh a silky wetness that he knew would welcome his cock after he took her to that edge a time or two. “Yes,” she hissed again, her teeth clenched, jaw muscles flexing. “Suck on it, sweetie . . . that’s it . . . oh my god, right there.”

Her hand was on the back of his head, pressing him closer and closer, and she’d raised her hips off the bed as she neared her first climax, wanting to keep maximum contact. His jaw ached but he sucked as hard as he could and was rewarded with her primal cry, telling him he’d hit the sweet spot. She murmured incomprehensibly, twisting her head from side to side. It caught her again and again, and each time he thought he’d pause, she was whimpering and moaning and thrashing again, urging him on.

He felt her legs go slack moments later, knowing that she’d gotten some resolution, and he lay back, his mouth exhausted. He smiled up at her, noticing her face looked anything but resolved. She sat up, pushing him flat on his back, her eyes glazed with a far away look. His shirt still hung askew on her as she swung a leg over him, straddling him briefly, until she slammed herself down on his cock. He was hard and ready, but her hip bones jarred his when she hit, and they both grunted; he at the force, she as the tip of his cock hit her inside. She arched back, closing her eyes and ground her clit against his pubic bone, and he reached up to squeeze her breasts, tugging at a nipple. She folded over on top of him, eyes squeezed shut, and put her forehead in the crook of his neck, biting his collarbone as she did.

He didn’t ask where she was in her mind when she did that; he was content that she was physically here. She stayed like that, her face tucked in his shoulder, writhing against him, shuddering when her orgasm would hit, crying out incoherently, and he grabbed her ass, helping her rock against him. Finally, he could feel her tense more, and she rose up, still with her eyes closed, jaw clenched, hissing between her teeth, her pace quickening. He could feel her muscles under his hand twitch and she paused for a second, then began to ride him hard. Her eyes flew open at the last moment, registering him for that brief second before she cried out, and he felt the muscles inside of her flex and squeeze his cock, and he reached up to feel her heartbeat thud against her chest as the red flush spread out against her skin.

She smiled down at him, with a sly look, and gave him a nod that was a signal. He slid out from underneath him, and she crouched on all fours, her head on the pillow, her chest pressed to the bed, her ass raised in the air. He knelt behind her, tracing his hand over her swollen lips, placing his cock at her opening and watching it part the soft flesh. He put both hands on her hips, and she motioned him forward with her hands. He slammed her hard, and her hands clenched the sheets, and she managed to groan “fuck” into the pillow again. Now he rode her, so close to his own release. He murmured “god, I love when you act like whore, so hot, so dirty” and she bucked against him, another orgasm underway.

He couldn’t hold back any more. He pushed the tail of his shirt up over her back, looking at the way her waist tapered and her hips flared and his hands made faint indentations in the soft curves of her ass, vibrating beneath his hands as he pounded her repeatedly. He groaned and thrust one last time, feeling himself flood her, the hot liquid seeping out of her as he stroked to his finish.

He pulled back, still slick with their combined juices, and she rolled to her side, to stare at him. He lay down beside her, and she smiled, and he knew she was back with him, content. But just for good measure, he reached up, pulled her hair back hard, and bit her neck. She closed her eyes briefly and shuddered again.

Personal heaven

He smiles and looks like he’s in his own personal heaven. I have a distorted view from between my legs, made more distorted by the raw spasms he creates each time he rolls my clit between his lips. Alternately licking it, then sucking it, moving down to taste my wetness, then up, to capture it in his mouth again. He’s making it hard to focus, to watch, to learn.

He kisses the insides of my thighs, holding my hips in place. I find myself involuntarily moving them anyway, in the direction of the heat of his mouth. Part of me doesn’t want to stop the gentle butterfly kisses on the soft skin of my legs, my ass, the insides of my thighs. Those, too, bring me to a certain edge; heighten the sensitivity of everything else.

He’s drinking me; sucking in every last drop of moisture, then replacing my wetness with moisture from his tongue. His mouth has mapped me, knows my reaction before I do. I can feel it building, predictably, and I’m ready for the surge. He shifts, his mouth still leaving trails of heat and moisture and whispers of air, dancing around my most sensitive parts, and I groan in frustration. His fingers supplement his tongue, now, dipping inside of me, while he rains kisses on the silky, wet skin. His fingers probe deeper, as he sucks my clit, and I moan again, reaching down to run my fingers through his hair. His fingers are pressing downward, creating a pressure inside of me, trying to reach through me; touching those nerves in my ass that seem to be linked directly to my clit. Whether it’s the pressure or the sensation, I find myself closer and closer, thrashing about under his touch and his tongue.

Then his fingers shift, and he presses upwards, toward my stomach. And he reaches a spot that feels like I’ve been electrocuted. It jolts me, and I twist, pulling myself up to a sitting position, almost, as he still has some control over my ability to move. His mouth follows, never letting go of my clit, sucking as hard as he can, and still his fingers probe, high and deep inside of me. Again, a second jolt, jarring my senses. I don’t know whether to climb away, or press myself further onto his fingers. I take the second option, bearing down on his mouth and his fingers, the sensation alternately unbearable and addicting. But what I do doesn’t matter . . . His mouth is relentless, his fingers unforgiving. No matter which direction I twist or move, he moves with me . . .

The eruption inside rocks me, catches me by surprise. As if all the sensation in my body is drawn to one pin point of pleasure, almost painful . . . until the release. Shattering nerves in my brain, in my groin; the heat radiates to the tips of my fingers and toes, comes out of my mouth in an inhuman cry.

Between frantic gasps, still shaky from the aftershocks, I manage a hoarse “What was that? What did you do?”

He smiles, and looks like he’s in his own personal heaven. He shakes his head, starts to crawl up beside me, his cock hard against my leg. He kisses me hard, letting me taste myself on his mouth. He spreads my legs with his knees, and then I know it’s only beginning . . .

First

It’s chemistry and biology meets mysticism. The unexplainable. Yet predictable, in its unpredictability.

The moment of recognition. Maybe it’s a request. Maybe a subtle movement. Lowered eyes. Tilt of the head. Lips parting imperceptibly. Except your body perceives every hint. Telegraphs your intent to respond, whether you will it or not. Responds of its own accord, as if magnetized. Its polar opposite buried inside of him, somewhere, pulling at your core. Whispering to you. Insisting. Commanding.

The space closes, until you can feel the heat from his face, radiating, causing small eddies in the air currents left in the dissipating space between your mouths. Tickling your face gently, the air currents seeming to pull you in as well.

Then your lips make contact, his mouth fitting against yours, and you take one last breath, as if you are about to be submerged, and you hold it. And your nerves come alive and you feel the softness of the inside of his lips, inhale the smell of soap and gum and skin, taste his tongue as it flicks against yours, exploring carefully, testing. Hear yourself moan, gasp, sigh quietly into his mouth, breathing his breath with him. Your hand reaches up - to his face, his hair, the soft skin at his neck - anywhere to ground yourself. And you feel the surge in your body, as if electric current had been turned on suddenly, and your chest constricts as the blood rushes between your head and your groin. And you know you should exhale, but it feels like your chest is bound tighter and you inhale again, trying to expand your lungs, until your lungs feel like bursting as his lips slide against yours, his tongue stroking your teeth and your tongue, his mouth accepting you, tasting you, consuming everything you give him in that first moment.

You break only for air, gasping, and he presses his hand against your neck, feeling you pulse race and the thudding of your heart reverberate through your body. He furrows his brow in concern and you realize your face has flushed and your pupils have dilated as your body processes the sensations for the first time. This time. The wonder. The intensity. The unrepeatable.

First kiss.

Dichotomy

He takes my hand; my right hand, in his left.
Mine over his, fingers linked.
A partnership, intertwined, together.
Still our fingers move independently.

You take my hand; my right hand, in your left.
Mine under yours, you cover mine.
Protective, possessive, in control.
Unmoving, gently in your grasp.

He puts an arm around me, loosely.
A link, resting light on my back.
Guiding me, telegraphing movement.
Our strides adjusting to each other.

You put your arm around me, firmly.
Support, wrapped tight around my waist.
A signal, telegraphing intention to others.
My stride slows to yours.

He kisses me, easy and familiar.
He smiles, his eyes crinkling.
Lips melded together, warming me.
Comfortable, like my own skin.

You kiss me, electric and alive.
You hypnotize, your eyes smoldering.
Lips searching, exploring, giving me chills.
Breathtaking, like the first time.

He touches me; fingers tender on my skin.
Tracing old patterns from memory.
Calming, soothing, caressing.
A gentle path to satisfaction.

You touch me; fingers firm on my skin.
Revisiting, and making new.
Searching, probing, insistent.
Pleasing, but leaving me hungry for more.

He tastes me; tongue gentle and inquisitive.
Sweet, concentrated pleasure.
Circling, teasing, tempting.
A preparation for the rest of his attentions.

You taste me; your mouth possessing.
Exploring all, even places untasted.
Consuming, devouring, inhaling me.
A wet, silky explosion of confused nerves.

I am a temple; he enters me with reverence.
His worship scripted, remembered.
Careful, controlled, precision.
Beckoning, coaxing each gentle wave.

I am a wilderness; you enter me bent on conquest.
Your journey savage and unpredictable.
Desperate, dominant, persistent.
Demanding every shudder, every aftershock.

Spent, he lays beside me, stroking my arm.
Watching for approval, satisfaction, release.
He cleans me, restores me, taking away the traces of himself.
Cradling me in the position I chose.

Spent, you lay beside me, stroking my hip.
Absorbing me, smiling at the wet traces of our passion.
Wanting to smell, touch, and taste yourself on me again and again.
You gather me possessively against your chest.

Pleasure and love.
In different forms.
Distinct, unique, individual.
In one way or another,
Both mine.

Testing

It was routine now. Something sparked the conversation. She would drop an innuendo; he would catch it immediately and extend the thought. She always followed the logical extension of that thought, and they would spend the next hour dancing around the fringes of forbidden thoughts in a wordplay that only the two of them could master.

Then the conversation would drift further, and she would become acutely aware of non-verbal cues. The blonde hairs on his arm would tickle her arm as he pointed out key parts of the document. His aftershave would drift to her nose as he read over her shoulder. His blue eyes, lit with some unspoken thoughts, would catch hers in the middle of a discussion; her mouth could continue talking while her mind went elsewhere. All the while, she would feel that tingle low in her groin, and wonder how she would relieve things this night in the privacy of her home.

Then, it would expand to direct contact. Sometimes, the contact came in the form of a casual neck massage. Acceptable social contact, even though she could feel more behind it. Sometimes, it was something silly, like reenacting a dance move, or that childish wrestling you did when you were nine and liked someone. Sometimes, like tonight, it was more of a dare. They would find themselves, standing face to face, daring each other to test the boundaries of personal space, challenging to see if one of them would make the first move. Neither of them ever did. She had a vivid memory of almost . . . a moment of watching is face come closer, seeing his lips part, a flash of teeth, finding her own lips parting almost involuntarily . . . and then both pulling away from it.

So here they stood, now, toe to toe. Her nipples were hard, her breathing irregular, the moisture between her legs unmistakable. She could see the flush on his neck. He was probably hard; she didn’t dare look. He was so close she could feel the heat of his face, smell the mint on his breath, feel him breathe against her. They didn’t touch, but moved, as if they might kiss, their faces moving in, tilting . . . But neither breached that last few centimeters. After what seemed like forever, they pulled apart, reluctantly, both obviously aroused.

One of them would then deliver the next standard line. “We should get going.” And they would pack up in silent frustration, turn off the lights, and head out. They would walk to their cars, stand reluctantly, talk some more, stare at each other, and then he would laughingly say “we could go back in right now.” It was her turn to act like she would take him up on the offer, and then put her things in the car. Then he would say “Really, we could.” Normally, this was her cue to slip behind the wheel of her car, and head out.

Tonight, she decided to test him. She dropped her soft briefcase on the seat, then closed the door, still standing outside the car. She turned and looked meaningfully at him, then walked back toward the office. She didn’t look back, but heard the soft soles of his shoes in the parking lot. “Hey,” he said, catching up with her, touching her arm. She didn’t look back as she fumbled for the key card to the locked building. She scanned the card, and the door unlocked. She held it open and looked back at him, open invitation in her eyes. “Coming?” she asked.

He looked at her, uncertain of how far she would go. He reached out to grab her arm; she let him hold it for a second, then pulled away. Her fingers trailed down his arm deliberately, catching his fingers before she dropped contact, and then she turned to head into the dark recesses of the office. She heard him follow, and she kept her eyes straight ahead on the door to their office suite. She pushed the door open with a soft click, walking further into the room. He was right behind her. She didn‘t look back until he was fully inside, then she turned and quickly shut the door. The lights were off, but the small window to the hall cast light inside.

She stood toe to toe again with him. Same position. Same distance. Although this time, she closed those last few centimeters. Her lips barely touched his; she could feel his part beneath hers. Their tongues reached out in unison, testing each other tentatively, exploring. She didn‘t realize she was holding her breath until it escaped in a hiss between kisses. Her body leaned forward, until it made contact with him. They stepped backwards in slow unison, until his back was against the door itself and she straddled his leg. She could feel his heart hammering away against her chest and his arousal against her hip. As his tongue became braver, challenging her mouth, she pressed her hips into his, and he responded without hesitation. She pulled back for a moment, looking into his liquid blue eyes, letting him see how many times she’d wanted this. They kissed, harder now, his tongue reaching for hers, drawing it into his mouth where she could feel his perfect teeth and taste the gum on his breath. Still kissing, she reached out and caught both of his hands, interlocking her fingers with his. He squeezed her hands hard, powerfully, giving her an indication of the restraint he exercised. She responded by grinding her hips into him more forcefully.

Hard as it was to do, she pulled away. His face was flushed, making his blue eyes luminous, even in the faint light. His chest heaved; his khakis did little to hide his arousal. He watched her as she ran a hand across her neck, down over her breasts, her nipples poking through the fabric of her sweater, across her stomach, and between her legs, pressing her hand against her own arousal. He swallowed hard and opened his mouth as if to speak. She placed her other hand against his mouth, feeling his full lips, parted slightly, moist on the inside of his lips.

She spoke. “We should get going?” It was deliberately formed as a question.

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?”