We are hiking up Cherry Creek Falls. It's dark, and there are no lights except the moon, the stars, and our flashlights. We reach the Falls, not worn out, but pleasantly tired. As I lay out the star-watching blanket, I comment that it's really too bad we didn't bring swimwear. You smirk, and agree, an impish light kindling in your eyes. We lie down together on the blanket, gazing up at the sea of lights together. I start to steal glances at you when I think you aren't looking, and get the feeling you are doing the same. I grin mischievously and mutter to you that swimwear isn't REALLY necessary. You leap to your feet, feigned outrage in your features. Rising to my knees swiftly, I snatch your hand before you can get away, and turn it palm up. Staring into your eyes, I smile and kiss your wrist at the pulse, gently flickering my tongue to set your nerves crackling with electricity. I pull, gently but firmly, and we lie back together on the blanket.
I slowly roll on top of you, pressing your gently protesting body to the ground. My hand clutches your wrist, digging my fingertips in and bringing my nails to bear. I scratch my way up your arm, not hard enough to leave obvious marks, but only just. My other hand is tracing up your side, over your ribs, and to the hollow under your throat. I press gently for a bare moment, then continue up the curve of your neck. After nuzzling into your breasts and nipping them through your clothing, my mouth follows.
Clawing gently upwards, my fingers have journeyed up your arm by now, and I push my palm into your chest, just below your collarbone. Holding you down, allowing me to explore your body at my leisure.
I am rock-hard for you now, my vision shaking from need, and I begin to twist my hips against yours, gradually rocking your thighs open for better access. You squeeze them against me, but my ministrations to your collarbone and excessively clothed upper body are persuasive. I grind into you, bringing a faint moan from deep within you.
Smiling, I move my palm, sliding it up behind your head, and pinning you with my forearm instead. I scratch at your scalp and hairline, gathering your hair in my hand as I do so.
I am pinning you by your hair, your chest, and your pelvis now, and as you try to move, you can feel my form against yours, heavy and secure on top of you.
My non hair-pulling hand has been exploring your frustratingly clothed torso, and begins to tease your breasts through your clothing.
I make a claw of it, and run it down your body to the edge of your shirt, reaching under with fingertips.
Gazing into your eyes under the stars, waterfall in our ears, pinning your body with mine, I whisper "may I?"
You are at a loss for words, as I have teased you to incoherence. Instead, as you writhe and groan, you jerk a nod out to me.