On a cool night, as the water rushes by and the breeze rustles the leaves, he pushes me up against the rough stone wall.
My hands are behind his head, pulling him down, crushing his lips against mine. One of his hands is making its way up the inside of my thigh. Anyone could spot us from the far bank of the river, from an upstairs window, or even walk by, it’s a common enough route for dog walkers. The moon picks us out perfectly, and yet we don’t care. Maybe it even urges us on?I reach up behind me with one hand, knowing I’ll find iron grills covering a window, and I hoist myself up, perching on the sill, an arm wrapped around the bars.
He takes a step back, watching, as with my free hand I shrug off my dress and bra, baring my body to the moon, to him, and to anyone that might pass. It is liberating and powerful, intoxicating, and as I wind my free arm against the iron too, and invite him between my now parted legs, I have never felt more alive, more daring, more wet.
His eyes roam, from my lips down my neck, taking in my arms wrapped around the grills, my breasts, perfectly rounded and pert, my exposed navel above the bunched fabric of my dress, and then down to where my legs open for him, to the shadows between them he cannot decipher at such a distance beneath the clothing. It is the first time he has seen my body, and his eyes when they return to meet mine share my lust, but also a challenge.
He starts forward, his hands first reaching my knees, and gradually exploring further up the insides of my thighs, his eyes never leaving mine. When he reaches the apex, he prevaricates. Stroking and lightly scratching my flesh rather than advancing, watching me squirm, enjoying how I can barely control myself. The cool of the iron behind my back, and inside my fists helps me focus, but the cool air keeps my nipples pert to a degree that distracts even me.
I brush my foot against his body, discerning his hardness, using the side of my foot to tease up and down his shaft through his jeans. A sound half libidinous giggle, half moan escapes my lips meets with his low growl, as he finally touches me, feeling for himself the wetness that has gathered in his honour.
Roughly pushing my legs farther apart, he bends down to kiss me there, to play with me with his tongue, softly biting my skin, breathing gently on my skin, his beard ticking slightly all the while. His grip on my thighs remains firm, his body wedged between my legs, pinning me to the rough stone, absorbing my writing. I work one of my hands free, running it through his hair, tugging it, not enough to break his contact, not until I wanted more than anything to kiss him again, his lips still so new to me. I finally pull up his head, my hand now beneath his chin, and draw his head towards me, leaning forward so far as I can with an arm still grasping the bar behind me.
I can see droplets in his beard, his lips glistening, and as I kiss him I can taste myself too. I run my tongue across his lower lip, slowly, before entering his mouth with a flick, and withdrawing. His tongue follows mine back, exploring my lips, my tongue, syncing his entrance perfectly with that of his finger into me, mimicking the tentative, curious explorations of his tongue.
A twig snaps nearby and we break apart. A dog and walker pass by on the other side of the temple. It is impossible to know if they have seen us. As I shrug my dress back over my shoulders the spell of the moonlight is broken, but desire still rages in us both. Returning home we fall upon each other, the bed-breaking culmination of a long-anticipated event.