It was the night of her anniversary, sort of. Her wedding anniversary wasn't until the fall, but this was the night they had first fallen in love five years ago. She thought of him, sleeping in the tent down the hill. They were both tired, tired of each other. She couldn't remember the last time they had had sex. He was asleep -- but she was awake.
Standing next to Jake at the fire, beer in one hand, joint in the other, Lily could feel how awake she was becoming. Jake could do that to her; he made her feel so much, so fuckable. Maybe that was why she stood just a little too close to Jake when they all got together.
Lily wasn't concerned with being discrete -- her provocative playfulness was tossed up to being a tomboy, being aggressive, playing rough. In fact, she could tackle Jake right now in front of everyone, straddle his hips, and make him beg to get up -- all without raising any suspicion about her intentions (or without spilling her beer). She loved this freedom, this power.
Jake could feel it too, an intensity that surrounded Lily tonight, made him think of how she felt straddling his hips, how she would feel straddling them if things were different.
As they passed the joint back and forth neither spoke. Fingers brushed, lingering. Shoulders, thighs, fingers, hands -- all briefly touching, apparently casual, eyes darting quickly from the dying embers of the once grand fire to the reflected flames in the others' pupils.
Who cares what they talked about, it was all a charade, a game they played with each other and the others at the fire. Between bits of boring or annoying conversation, Jake and Lily became increasingly aware of the current ripping through them both. Sitting closer, her on his lap, sharing his cigarettes, sipping from her beer. The air snapped with their sexual energy. The others at the fire felt it too, clearing out before they became witnesses to Lily's adultery.
"Her husband's in the tent, for Christ's sake," they heard as the last of the voyeurs departed.
Lily could not hold back -- all the almost touching, bodies grazing, watching as Jake took strong drag, after sexy strong drag of his cigarette, feeling his hot, solid body next to hers was too much.
Before the last had made it into the house she was on him, pinning him against a car. Chest to chest, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. She had hold of his belt loops. Grinding her hips closer, letting her intentions be known, she pulled him in for a kiss.
It was hot. It was smokey. Teeth knocked, blood flowed from her lip. He tried to back up, couldn't. He tried to subdue her, couldn't, wouldn't. She was so hot. Her hips moved slightly, enough to create white noise in Jake's mind where thoughts of her husband had been forming. His tongue probed, her tongue received, while her hands explored. He had to stop, to think, to breathe, but her tongue, her mouth, her hands...
He managed to break free, pinning her hands behind her back with one strong hand, holding her away from his body. With her back arched, and shoulders pulled back, her breasts strained at her t-shirt. The heat from the fire was to her back, so Jake could see the sharp outline of her nipples, made hard from the cold night air and the anticipation of his touch.
She could see the straining of his jeans over his erection, see the blood on his lip. She tasted her own swollen lips, tasted the blood. She tongued the rip caused by his teeth with her tongue as he tried to talk sense into her.
