Lunch In The Park

Something sharp was sticking the skin of her side, just under her ribs. Her calf was stinging from the scratch she'd sustained as he'd dragged her through the undergrowth. She wanted to whimper but she didn't dare. His hand was clamped tightly over her mouth. His breath was hoarse in her ear. Her eyes wide, she listened intently as the voices approached their location, hoping, hoping... They passed by and she shut her eyes tightly, exhaling almost in a sob.

Thank God! She'd been certain they would be discovered. She wondered again what the hell she was doing here, but the question seemed to lose its importance as his lips replaced his hand over her mouth, and his hips resumed their bucking and grinding.

She moaned. He seemed to be touching her in all the right places; in ways she hadn't really been aware she could be touched. A dog barked fairly close by and she involuntarily contracted her muscles, as if to pull away from him.

"Shhh," he whispered, his tongue teasing her earlobe and his hot breath making her push her mound against his lower belly. "No one can see us here."

She knew that wasn't entirely true. Yes, it was a weeping willow, but it wasn't one of those with a thick cascading curtain. She had been able to see the trunk herself as they'd approached it, so she felt certain that anyone who ventured to the shoreline would spy them beneath it. Still, she found that rather exciting. It was like being a teenager again: the uncontrollable urgency of immediate desire, the furious fumbling in the undergrowth, the delicious danger of being caught.

Those thoughts seemed to focus the mounting pressure deep within her body, sending it rushing upwards like water in a geyser. She bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. As the waves continued to roll over her, lessening as they went, she experienced a kind of out-of-body moment, seeing the pair of them under that tree, on the shore of the river, in the park where they lunched every Friday during the summer months (bar rain). As colleagues and friends. Not lovers. Hell, she'd never even kissed him chastely under the mistletoe at Christmas.

Today, like any other Friday, they'd strolled the few minutes to the park on the river shore, spreading a picnic blanket, and sitting down to share their lunch and some conversation. They'd worked together for some three years now, and had got on like the proverbial house on fire from the first day she'd started her job. Of course she'd noticed he was good-looking – how could she have missed it? But it had always been a sort of aesthetic appreciation, like you'd find a work of art beautiful, not an adrenalin-inducing, panty-wetting realisation.

Something had happened today, though. They'd finished their lunch, had been chatting idly about current affairs, and something had been sparked in him. She had watched, fascinated, as the passion mounted within him, as he drew on what was obviously an extensive knowledge of the subject matter, stating his point of view, backed up with objective examples, radiating an ardour she'd never suspected in him. As she watched, she had found herself starting to tingle, as if his excitement was contagious. And all of a sudden, she had felt an overwhelming urge to kiss him. No, not kiss him; pin him to the ground and shove her tongue down his throat.

She had controlled herself. Instead, she'd raised two fingers to his lips to stop him from talking. He'd looked surprised at her action but hadn't had time to react further before she'd planted a sensual kiss on his mouth. She'd looked him in the eyes then and it had been her turn to be startled, by the intensity of his gaze.

Suddenly their arms had found their way around each other, their lips crushing against each other, their tongues daring to explore each other. And just as suddenly she had broken away, the full realisation of what they were doing finally dawning on her. They were both married, for God's sake! They worked together!

She had felt her heart beating quickly inside her chest as if counting the seconds till the window of opportunity closed. Their faces were inches apart. She could see only his eyes, dark from the widened pupils. She could hear his breathing, faster than usual. Within her crotch, a pulsating beat counter-time to her heart.

She had opened her mouth to say that this was a mistake and had found herself murmuring, "I want you."

Her eyes had widened and her hand had simultaneously clapped over her mouth. He had taken her wrist gently in his hand, folding her fingers into her palm, and had kissed her fist tenderly.

"Let's pack up," he had whispered, beginning to stand. As he had risen, her hand still in his, she had been pulled up, still dazed at her audacity – or perhaps it was stupidity?

He had folded the picnic blanket quickly and grabbed their lunchboxes. She had picked up her bag and slid her feet into her flipflops. He had led her down to the river's shore, through the long grass and thistles, to a rock where people sometimes fish.

The few minutes that had passed had left them both unsure again of why they were here. She had sat on the rock, scooting to the middle to make room for him to sit next to her. She had watched him look at her again, then look around, perhaps assessing how safe they were, and then make his decision. Perching a buttock on the side of the rock, he had leaned in and pressed his lips to hers – the kind of kiss that leaves you to squeeze your lips together or run your tongue over them, trying to taste more. The kind that leaves you yearning so strongly that, before you know it, your arms reach out for an encore.

They had spent several minutes with their mouths locked together, their tongues discovering every contour of each other, their heads moving from side to side, unconsciously relieving stress in their neck muscles. When they'd finally come up for air, they'd giggled. Neither of them had done anything like this for over 25 years.

But they were bolder now. He'd lain back on the rock and pulled her half on top of him, his hand stealing beneath the flap of her wrap-around skirt. She'd remarked to herself that she couldn't have planned it better if she'd tried. Breathing hard into his neck, she had shivered as his fingers had tickled her wet, sticky folds. She'd trembled as her fingers had traced the shape of his cock through his pants, the solidity of his erection exciting her every bit as much as his deft manipulation of her sensitive areas.

Just as the tip of his middle finger had slipped inside her opening, a chorus of quacks had rung out from not five feet away, making them both jump and then giggle nervously. They'd craned their necks to look at the water where a dozen ducks were looking at them expectantly.

"Perhaps this isn't such a good idea," she'd suggested, a little anxious.

"Don't bail on me now," he'd pleaded. "Look," he'd said, kissing her gently, "let's find somewhere," his lips had brushed hers teasingly, "a little more secluded," his tongue had traced her upper lip, "because...," he'd sucked that same lip between his, "I so...," and nipped it lightly, "want to...," the tip of his tongue had touched hers, "fuck you." His tongue had delved into her mouth, the movement and his words making her take short, sharp breaths.

So here they were, beneath the weeping willow, her body temperature rising, her breathing a sigh with every thrust of his cock against the roof her vagina. Every shock was ecstatic; she didn't know exactly what he was doing but he was moving his hips like he was dancing, setting off sparks in different bundles of nerves deep inside her.

The bark of a dog brought her consciousness back from the depths of her body to the front of her mind again, her body retracting towards the trunk of the tree.

"Shhh," he whispered reassuringly, teasing her earlobe with his tongue and breathing into her ear, encouraging her to relax her body and melt into him. "No one can see us here."

A smile played across her lips. She hoped he was right but she wasn't entirely convinced. The ducks, the people walking on the path just behind them, the dog – they all seemed like close calls to her. But it excited her, made her heart beat faster and the blood circulate quicker, set her nerves to tingling. Oh yes! Tingling nerves – she could feel the chain reaction starting, each event bigger than the last, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes. The final explosion consumed her, making her want to cry out, but she didn't dare. He was clutching her tightly as he pushed himself deeper into her, his breath rasping.

A minute or so later, as they emerged from under the willow's canopy, a jet ski passed them slowly at only a few feet from the shore, and two teenage girls came strolling along the water's edge. She looked at him conspiratorially and they burst into childish giggles.