Not In Public (Exactly)

It takes an instant for him to unsnap my jeans and lower the zipper. Then he guides my legs down his sides, until I'm standing on tiptoe, my back pressed hard against the tree. Slowly, inch by inch, his rough hands slide my clothes down. His thumb hooks through my panties, dragging them with my jeans.

Down my thighs.

Over my knees.

And he tosses my shoes and clothes off to the side.

I'd protest, but I'm too busy staring somewhere indecent to give a shit. Memories of our first encounter are fresh in my mind, playing on repeat.

Yes. I want more of that.

He steps forward, hands against my hips as he leans forward to press a gentle peck against my lips.

I glare at him, trying to summon some semblance of indignation and failing miserably. "You know exactly what you're doing."

His lips barely brush against mine as he speaks. "I have no idea what you're talking about, sweetheart. Care to enlighten me?"