It’s the little things I love: the warmth of your hand on the small of my back, your thigh gently bumping mine as we walk, the twinkle in your eyes when you look at me. I adore your laugh and the way your smile creases your entire face. If I nuzzle against you, your enticing scent fills my nostrils, and I love the way I quiver when your hand clasps mine.
We entwine fingers now, linked together as we walk side-by-side through sunlight dappled by the dense beech canopy. Stooping, you pluck a bluebell from a clump beside the path. You present it to me and, stirred, I break my stride to cup your face in my palms. Rising on tiptoe, I kiss your lips, my stomach tightening, fluttering – as it does whenever I’m with you. You smile and trail a hand slowly down my arm. Then you gently kiss my neck before placing both hands daringly on my buttocks. You squeeze teasingly… but I pull away as a jogger runs past, nodding a greeting as he goes.
I throw you a look which says, put your hands back where they were, and I think you might until I spot two dog walkers heading our way. Easing further apart, we continue our walk: hands touching, hearts thumping, shallow breath betraying our need.
We round a corner, taking care not to trip on the sturdy tree roots crisscrossing the narrow, earthen path. The trees are thicker here, the chorus of woodland bird calls louder than the distant human voices. Here, the ground is carpeted with bluebells, their delicate nodding heads a mecca for butterflies and bees. Spring is everywhere; in the freshness of the air, the new green leaves and abundance of flowers. And it’s peaceful. The undergrowth rustles with the busy activities of secretive wildlife, not yapping, snuffling dogs, and the breeze whispers secrets only we can hear.
You hesitate, caress my face… I lean in for a kiss then instinctively glance around. No-one. Good. There’s a thicket ahead, close to the path but dense enough to conceal us. Craving intimacy, I think about guiding you off the path to that secluded dell. I want our kisses to be undisturbed, blossoming into prolonged passion, our hands wandering at will. I want to run fingertips over your flesh, feel your heat, your taut muscles, your hot breath on my neck. I want to fall under your spell as you lay me down among the bluebells and slide your hands along my inner thighs, parting them.
Still no-one here. I take your hand, my breath escaping as a moan. I want you, want crushed bluebells sticking to my sweating skin as I writhe on the ground with your fingers inside me – probing, stroking, making my body pulsate.
A jogger appears out of nowhere running fast and almost slamming into us as we sidestep out of his way. He shouts an apology but the moment’s ruined and behind him come two more runners, panting and red-faced. They smile as they pass and, hiding my irritation, I nod politely back.
Dipping your head, you kiss my neck and whisper, “I love you.” Those words send shivers rippling through me, converging as heat in the pit of my stomach. It pools then trickles down into my loins. My pussy throbs and warm moisture dampens my panties but we stroll on past the thicket and move deeper into the wood.
We hold hands, your thumb tracing circles at the base of mine. I love your touch. I need it. I need all of you. As we pass a sturdy oak, I fight the urge to push you behind it, drop to my knees and tear at your trousers. I long to unzip you, hold your cock in both hands then sink my lips over your smooth purple tip. I want to suck you until pre-cum floods my tongue, then rake my fingernails over your firm buttocks while I suck and lick you to climax. To hell with joggers, dog walkers, ramblers; I want to taste you, I want—
A large collie scampers from the undergrowth and sniffs around my legs. The owner, appearing from the same direction, calls it and apologises as she marches away. It seems everybody is in this wood today and, in spite of my yearning, I’m not brazen enough to make love to you with people around.
Frustrated, I continue walking and, hearing you sigh, know the same pent up need’s in you. We need a room, a bed, but that’s wishful thinking. Our only option is this wood and we’re nearing the end of the path. It’ll fork left and right soon, both branches leading us back from where we came, back to the café, the carpark, our cars… back to separate lives, a parting of ways that never gets easier.
I slow the pace, willing time to stand still. It’s beautiful here and when the breeze plays with my hair, you tuck a stray strand behind my ear. I sigh contentedly. Yes, it’s the little things… Hooking my arm through yours, I saunter on, enjoying the time we have.
But time with you is always too short.
We take the right branch and, our pace slowing, I notice how quiet it’s become. Almost silent. There’s no-one on our path or in the vicinity. I can’t hear any voices. Even the woodland creatures are hushed. Have I got my wish? Has time stopped? There’s another thicket on our left; interwoven, leaf-laden branches with a dense bluebell carpet. One glance and I see in your eyes you’re thinking the same as me. Your smile cracks your face and, squeezing your hand, my excitement grows as we leave the path.
*
With thanks to JWren for his editing and inspiration
