The slate sky was streaked with rose, butter, and lilac, and the still air was pregnant with moisture. A storm was building to the south. The river was quiet as it slid between the banks, shaded by willows and speckled with dragonflies. She sat beside him, feeling suddenly awkward as his shoulder pressed up against hers. Seeing him again was impulsive on her part, but necessary. Necessary? she asked herself. Yes, necessary. Their first meeting had left her wondering what could be. She had agreed to a second meeting because, well, quite simply, there was no other option. She felt compelled to see him again. Staying away was unthinkable.
She shyly met his eyes, her gaze dropping and lingering on his lips as he tilted his head toward hers. She met him halfway, her mouth drawn to his by some invisible force. His lips were soft, his kisses tender and teasing. She leaned into him, wanting his mouth on hers as he held his lips just out of reach. His breath was warm, and they breathed in tandem. His hand caressed hers, his fingers tracing a path along her palm before he laced his fingers with hers, pulling her hand to his as his mouth found hers again. He squeezed her hand before releasing it to wrap one arm around her back, holding her close to him. Her hand lifted to cup his cheek, then slowly slid around to the back of his head, her fingers tangling in his blond hair as he made love to her with his mouth.
She moaned against his lips, wanting something she couldn't quite put a name to, trusting that he would take her there when the time was right. It was so hard to think when he kissed her like that, alternating between light and teasing and hard and insistent. He kept her guessing, and with each kiss her desire grew. She needed to feel him...she needed to know if he was as turned on as she, if his need was as great as hers... Her hand moved to find him through his jeans, and he pulled away, telling her no. She could hardly believe what she was hearing; how could he not want her to touch him? He continued to kiss her, and she tried to keep her hands to herself, but they had a mind of their own and caressed his chest, his back, around his waist...
Kissing him was like sliding under a feather comforter and discovering satin sheets, comfortable and familiar yet sexy and sensual and surprising all at the same time. She let her mind float as her lips played with his of their own accord. She was beyond coherent thought now, time ceasing to exist as his tongue explored her mouth, laying claim to it as a prospector to a stream. His kisses were dreamlike, quiet and soft, then increasing in intensity, his mouth growing more insistent, pushing her desire to another level, then becoming light as a whisper, tasting, teasing, caressing. These kisses translated feelings without words, and she lost herself in the feel of his lips on hers, the taste of his tongue, the touch of his hands on her face, warm and firm, holding her captive to his kisses.
How could something so wrong feel so unbelievably right? Five and a half years younger than she, and one of them was promised to another. Yet here she was, sitting on the floor of a gazebo overlooking the river, mosquitoes competing for her flesh, not only kissing this man she had only seen twice, but kissing him with a passion she hadn't felt in at least ten years. "I'm going to hell," she thought, as her hands spanned his back. She moaned her surrender as his lips found that sweetly sensitive spot on the curve of her neck just below her ear. "I've got a one-way ticket and my bags are packed."
