Rampant

He barely touched her, and yet her skin hummed beneath the thin barrier of her clothing. It was the most tantalizing contact, and it tugged on something deep inside her. Then he circled his fingers in the air right above her breast, above her heart, before returning his hand to the wall.

It made her feel light-headed.

There was a hungry, possessive look in his eyes. “I hope I get the chance.”

“Yes,” she replied breathlessly, her body responding to his proximity. The aggressive male stance and the come-on were too divine.

“I was just about to call by and ask you out, tomorrow night.” He continued to eye her up, all the while, as if he was about to eat her. “When I saw you drive off you looked upset. I had to be sure you’re okay.”

She wondered vaguely why he hadn’t caught up with her when she was sitting on the side of the road, and how on earth he had found her, but she supposed he’d had to go off and get his car. How lucky that he had caught up with her at all. “Ask me out?”

He nodded. “There’s a do, a dance of sorts, it’s held once a month in the hall at the back of the Silver Birch. There’s a mixture of disco and traditional Scottish dance…that’s mostly for the tourists from the caravan site.” He said the last with a wry smile. “It’s a bit of a laugh, and the food and ale are good. Would you like to go with me?”

It sounded good, and it sounded like something normal.

Why not? “I’d love to.”

“Good. I’ll look forward to it.” He touched her then, one finger stroking slowly along the waistband of her jeans.

Minimal contact, but it seemed to connect with her libido, electrifying her.

“That place isn’t getting to you, is it?” he added, but he didn’t wait for her answer. “Some of the people hereabouts tell tall tales about Her Haven, about ghosts and all that. It’s just a game for them, trying to scare off the tourists. If you hear any of that old rubbish, just ignore them.”

His thoughtful words mellowed her. “Thank you.”

“You’re a very sexy lady,” he whispered, his voice low. “Just standing here with you looking so good is giving me a hard-on.”

Her eyes flashed shut, her head resting back against the wall for a moment. Clenching inside, she reached out and gripped at his sweater with one hand, her hips moving side to side, inches away from his.

“You don’t mind me telling you that, do you?” He was whispering against her ear now, and she felt the firm pressure of his chest brushing against hers, making her nipples as hard as if he’d pulled on them.

“No,” she responded, her hand resting against his hip to steady herself. How hard was he? She wanted to put her hand on the front of his jeans to find out. Biting her lip and opening her eyes, she slid her hands around his hips and pulled him close, gripping his tight buttocks so that she could feel his cock pressed against her belly. There it was, the hard outline making itself felt right through their clothing. She was swamped in lust, her senses swimming.

His face was millimeters from hers, and she knew he was about to kiss her. Everything else melted away, the gloomy alleyway and the voices and sounds of the city streets beyond. Her head dropped back.

Hungry and forceful, he wasted no time in possessing her mouth, his tongue thrashing against hers. She felt him move his hand against her forehead, and he stoked his thumb over it, firmly. As he did, a series of images flashed into life in her mind. Him and her on a bed, naked bodies slicked with sweat and bucking wildly.

She tore her mouth from his, her hips nudging into his as desperation took hold. “Oh, God.”

He shoved one hand down the front of her jeans. She heard the button pop, then the teeth on the zipper plucking apart as he roughly demanded entry. When he found his way inside her underwear he locked his long, strong fingers around the curve of her mons. Her clit burned, and she rocked against him, squirming for contact, needy for relief. As she did, one of his callused fingers slid firmly against her clit.

“Oh, oh, right there,” she urged, her hips moving against him.

He grinned, nodding. Bracing herself with her hands on his shoulders, she smiled. With his free hand he plucked open the buttons on her shirt, then squeezed her breasts through her bra. Her head went back against the wall, her lips parting on a long moan. He pulled down the cups of her bra and tweaked her nipples between thumb and forefinger.

“Oh, fuck,” she said, when he pulled hard on her nipple and stroked her pussy at the same time.

“Turn around,” he instructed, pulling his hand free.

Breathless, confused, she did as he instructed.

He pushed her up against the wall roughly, and shoved his hand back down the front of her jeans, rocking his groin against her bottom.

Through two layers of denim she could feel the rigidity of his cock. It pressed hard against the crease of her bottom. She pushed back against him, and he locked his free arm around her torso, holding her against him. Her back was melded to his chest, her hips spooned inside his. His long, deft, boat-builder’s fingers stroked over her clit. Back and forth they went, in an almost lazy movement.

It wasn’t a lazy response that she was experiencing. With her hands flat against the wall, she squirmed against him, crazy for it, crazy for it as if she could crawl up the wall on her hands and knees while she begged him to give her relief.

Again he brushed a finger over her forehead. She saw herself crawling on hands and knees, naked, hips swaying, with him kneeling down behind her.