My boots clacked down the stairs to the almost deserted seating area. Just as I turned the corner there he was − standing, waiting, eyes sharp and bright with lust. For me. Breathless from the cold wind outside and the gaze that somehow bore through my many layers to the naked flesh beneath, I tried to control the impulse to run the few short paces into his strong arms.

Within moments I was enveloped, his kiss hard, eager and overwhelmingly passionate, my gloved hands around his nape, his arms wound around my waist, our bodies desperately fusing together as our tongues and lips searched and devoured. At last I broke away, stripping off as many socially acceptable layers I could while his eyes swept along to take in the skin-tight jeans and snug charcoal top he had so very nicely demanded I wear.

Comfortably seated on the sofa, our backs to the only two other people in the room, we tried our hand at conversation as we drank from the steaming mugs before us. We tried to talk of anything other than the current coursing between us, the sheer magnetic pull that led my body to his and his back to mine. Needless to say we failed, in such a deliciously miserable way. As soon as he swung his body towards me, his one leg tucked under the other creating a cosy little me-sized nook, I was his. Leaning in, his hands just short of lifting me onto his lap, we kissed and kissed and kissed and kissed, hands feverishly roaming, exploring, mapping soft skin, fiery flesh, the light stubble on his face leaving traces on my fair skin, my lips and tongue on his neck working their way along its strong line, breathing in his sweet yet manly scent, my fingers finding the gorgeous hair on his chest through the tiny gaps between the shirt buttons, my delicate hand rubbing his thigh, my fingers finding the straining bulge in his trousers, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing his rock-hard cock, feeling his heat and a slight dampness, rubbing, rubbing, rubbing, feeling him pulse and throb under me, his hands, oh his hands, still a little cold, finding their way under my top to my breasts, caressing, feeling, massaging on the surface and then inside my bra, fondling, playing, pinching my nipples, trailing over my tummy, down to the waistband of my jeans, caressing my denim covered pussy as he whispered into my mouth how he would fuck me the following day, how he wanted to lick and eat me until I screamed, how he would lift me up and impale me on his achingly hard cock while he played with my clit and I would come clutching and clenching and splashing and flooding over and over and over again.

It was more than I could take, more than I could stand. A minute more and I would have lost all control right then and there in full view. Again I moved away, reluctantly, while at the same time a little surprised at the force of our mutual need. Our bodies now side by side, the conversation a blend of the prosaic and the salacious covering the weather and the cold and the heat we were feeling and relationships and lust and writing and words and how very much we needed one another at that very moment as he hooked my legs over his and we plunged once more into each other and his hand travelled along my thighs and between my legs and tried to manoeuvre its way beyond the waistband as the other found my breasts yet again and I whimpered and moaned softly into his ear the various ways his dirty little girl needed to be taken by him.

Time, however, was not on our side, and we finally needed to part for the day. We stood, locked together, me on tip-toes with hands once more around his nape, him bending slightly, hands around my arse and thick erection pressed teasingly into my belly, the two of us still desperate for more as I took his hand and slid it down the front of my jeans to my achingly hot wet pussy. Gasping into each other, his two fingers inside my dripping cunt, we kissed and kissed and kissed our goodbye until the next time we would meet.