Midday. Thursday. It was the third week they had sat like this.
The first time she’d been vaguely amused about the fact that they matched: her red shoes – his red tie – her black dress, his black suit. She’d been intrigued by the contrast between his sharp suit, polished expensive shoes, and his big rough hands unwrapping the sandwich he’d just bought inside the cafe.
When he had uncrossed his legs she had seen how lean and muscular the thigh closest to her was. She had found herself longing to touch it – to stroke her hand over it and grab it to see just how hard the muscles were. She’d struggled to take her eyes off him and had wondered what that body did when it wasn’t dressed in a business suit.
Her eyes had flicked to his when he’d stood up to leave. She’d managed a small smile; in return he’d nodded his head. She had dropped her gaze first. His had felt far too direct, nothing like she was used to in her experience of brief encounters in London.
The second week she’d found herself reaching for the same outfit with a little thrill of excitement. She’d known the chances of him being there were slim, but what the hell – right? If he was there, in their spot, she’d thought she might feel brave enough to sit a little closer. Maybe even say hello.
He wasn’t there when she arrived. She had dealt with her irrational disappointment as she had bought her coffee and sat down on the same bench outside the cafe. She’d ruefully admitted to herself that it had been a long shot and that she really needed to get a life. She had just got to the point where she was rethinking her OkCupid subscription when he sat down. He hadn’t just sat down either, he had closed the distance by at least half.
Her eyes had immediately latched onto his thigh and she had realised her heart rate had increased. It had been a rapid pulse through her body, a drum beat of arousal that she’d barely recognised. It had been so long and now it felt out of control and too intense, thick and heavy in her body.
She hadn’t known what to do with herself. Suddenly self-conscious, she had wrapped her arms around her middle and dragged her eyes away from him. It hadn’t made any difference. She’d felt his body like a magnetic pull. Crossing her legs she’d known he was looking at her red suede high heels.
An immediate image of them wrapped around his waist as he fucked her had swept through her mind and her cheeks had burned.
She had been the first to leave that week. Too jittery to sit still, she had placed her unfinished coffee on the bench and stood up. Unable to resist, she had looked at him to find him eying her full cup before his dark gaze had lifted to hers.
“Yes… I…I need to go.”
He’d seemed to understand. She wasn’t wholly comfortable with that.
“Till next week then.” He’d said quietly.
As she’d turned to leave she’d noticed a flash of red silk around his neck and she’d known that he’d watched her as she walked away.
So now it’s next week and he has just sat down. She has spent the whole week wavering between regretting leaving and wondering what the fuck she was doing. Right now every muscle in her body is tense and doesn’t know if it’s preparing to run or to jump on him.
The gap between them is even smaller now. She can feel the heat from his leg penetrating her black skirt. Her toes curl in her red shoes and she is trying hard to maintain a steady breathing pattern. As her heart thumps an erratic rhythm in her chest, she watches his hand move to rest on the top of his thigh, matching her own.
Their little fingers are so close, she knows if they stretch them both out they will touch. Her fingers twitch and she holds her breath.
The first spot of rain lands on the back of her hand and it takes her a moment to realise what’s happening. They look at each other; he stands and holds out his hand to her. The heavy rain takes away her chance to think this through. She lets the water wash her doubts away and lifts her hand to his.
His rough palm envelopes hers and his skin is hot and dry sending a shot of sensation up her arm. She is still trying to process this when he pulls her to her feet and leads her into the cafe. They don’t stop moving until they have moved through the main room and entered the small, dark corridor in the far corner. She vaguely registers the staff sign on the door as he pulls her in and locks it behind them.
His dark eyes search her face. She knows she cannot mask her uncertainty but she knows her arousal is also clear to see. Her cheeks are hot and she can feel her nipples hard and tight against the damp material of her black dress.
Her hands are pressed flat against the door as he cups her face.
“Tell me you want this.” His voice is rough and deep, an intimate abrasion of her senses.
“Yes.” She whispers.
She doesn’t hesitate. This is a kind of madness but she wants to embrace it; she wants to live it.
His thumb gently strokes across her lips and his eyes follow it intently. They flash wide when her tongue darts out to lick it. She moves forward slightly and takes it into her mouth. She takes it all in and slowly pulls back running her tongue underneath, feeling every rough texture of his skin. He tastes a little salty but good; good enough to suck him again – hard. His eyes close and the low moan he lets out strokes over her body like a soft palm.
“Fuck!” He mutters. His hips jerk forward of their own accord and she feels his hard cock in the juncture of her thighs where she aches. Her need for friction is beginning to consume her when she feels his hand pull up her skirt.
“Are you wet for me?” He asks as his hands tug her silk knickers down to her knees.
She can’t take her eyes from his, she only nods and moans when his fingers find the answer for themselves.
Oh god, she is a wet mess. She can feel how easily he slides over her folds, how effortlessly they slide into her.
He places his free hand on the wall beside her head. She widens her stance, her knickers pulling tight across her legs.
Her hands are on his shoulders, gripping hard as he thrusts his fingers inside her. He sets a demanding rhythm, but she wants it, she drops into it, bending her knees and circling her hips, pressing her clit onto the palm of his hand. It is a perfect dance.
She feels her orgasm begin to form. As her abdomen pulls tight she squeezes her eyes shut. It is suddenly too much, a small seed of panic takes root and she begins to shake her head.
“Look at me.” He says quietly.
She opens her eyes. She see his arousal, it is plain to see, but there is no tension in his face. A sense of calm replaces the panic. She breathes deeply and embraces every movement of her body: the bounce of her breasts, the tension in her thighs. His head falls forward and she feels his hot, humid breath on her cheek. She rolls her head towards him, their lips just touching.
She is panting now – so close. She needs it and he seems to know it.
He thrusts harder, faster.
She is grinding down onto his hand. It hits her quickly then. Her hand goes to the back of his neck and she pulls him towards her as she moans her orgasm into his beautiful mouth.
She clenches around his fingers as they slow down, but he doesn’t stop. Not until she pulls back and their eyes meet.
Now it is his turn.
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