All night long, your hand has been pushed against my thigh. The fact that you want to touch me in public, at all, is fascinating. Displays of public affection are prevalent. However, the proximity of your touch to my inner thigh may be off-putting to certain people. It makes no difference to me at all. Your touch is very soothing. When you put your hands on me, it is the best sensation in the world. You know I cannot and will not object, therefore it is a power move. I lean back in my chair and bring my cup near to my mouth to avoid looking at you. 

“Is something wrong?”

“Nope.” The rim of the glass is tracing the outline of my bottom lip.

“Then why won’t you look at me?” You ask with a curl of a smirk in your words. 

“I’m just...” I shudder “Sipping my drink, that’s all.”

Although we have met before, this is our first actual date. The sort where I agonized for hours over my outfit and yet still felt unsatisfied with the result. At this moment, I am dissecting every component of my body. There is no way I belong in the same room as you, and I have no idea why you are sitting next to me. But despite all those thoughts, your hand is resting on my thigh. How could I not get swept away by the sensation of your fingers sliding closer and closer to an impending destination?

While my attention is on the gleam in your eye, the sky suddenly bursts with lightning and the whole eatery becomes dark. At that moment, I should be focusing on where my wallet is, but your initiative in seizing the moment has left me speechless. You slide your middle finger between my wetness under the cover of the night. My loud gasp is lost in the frantic scurrying of the wait staff. The lightning strikes again, and, for a split second, I can see your face in the dimly lit restaurant. Your expression has me enamored with your overwhelming sense of passion and need.

Time seems to have stopped, and with each in and out motion of your finger, my desire for you grows. You kiss me on the most sensitive part of my neck because you know that is my point of weakness. Not wishing to draw unwanted attention to our dinner, I must repress the natural noises that would otherwise escape my lips. The longer the power outage continues, though, the more difficult it is for me to exercise self-control. I am left with an unfathomable urge to fuck you and I do not care where. A second generator starts up and the emergency power supply comes on just as I am about to lose it. Swiftly you take your hand away, your lips release my skin, and you simply sit there, smiling at me. After leaving the appropriate amount of cash for our drinks, I seize your hand and we quickly exit the building. 

As we hurry toward the waiting automobile, the rain is pouring down in sheets. In a matter of seconds, we are soaked through and through. I rush around furiously, trying to open the doors. We hop in the backseat. We are both heavily breathing as the rain slams down on the exterior of the car. There are no words. There is no need for them. Your expression tells me everything. We are both certain that neither of us will be leaving this parking lot for the foreseeable future. The reason would be "safety" and the ability to drive if anybody were to inquire.

It is time for me to take hold of the reins now, although I get the impression that you are not totally against it. I maneuver myself until I am straddling you against the backseat, placing one leg on each side of your lap. Time is of the essence, as we quickly close the gap between our lips. Furiously opening my mouth for you, hands having no sense of direction, they discover your fasteners and open your zipper. You glide your hips down against me, pressing your hips into me just so, and you free your pent-up erection. In a flash of lightning, I pull my panties to the side and descend myself upon you. My soaking cunt allows you to push in deep at first and I pull away from our kiss to moan audibly.

“Ah, fuck…” Pours from my lips as every solid inch expands inside of me.

My hands tighten on the back cushion behind you, giving me leverage as I grind my hips against your pelvis. It does not take long for me to find a groove. Slow and sensual will not do at this moment. We both have a ravenous appetite and an urgent desire to satisfy it. As I pick up the pace, there are groans and whimpers everywhere as I intensify my speed. When I fall, I can feel your powerful hands pressing on the low of my back. With each swerve of my hips, the thrust upward intensifies and becomes stronger with every repetition. With the increased body heat that we are creating, the windows begin to steam up. Which works in our favor due to the nature of our current state. 

Thunder and lightning crashed around us. With each heavy thrust, I gripped onto the fabric of the seat and moved my body in ways I never thought possible. I needed to feel you pull me down with a force that could shake the car. I was hungry and deprived for so long that each moment was not enough. I needed more. Loud grunts and growls filled the cabin surrounding us and my hand pressed against the glass for all the stability. 

“You are fucking mine.” The sound of your voice was so low that it bellowed from your belly.

I am not sure which made me cum more: the friction between our bodies or the sound of your voice. My legs were twitching beneath me as I could feel the pressure building inside and I knew my orgasm was quickly approaching. In all our conversations, via text or phone call, it was clearly stated that I was to abide by certain rules put into place. I was not allowed to cum until you gave the word. Not in a nonconsensual or abusive way, but to draw out that satisfaction. To bring me to a point of sheer bliss and to experience an earth-shattering climax. But, with all the buildup before meeting and at dinner, I did not have it in me to withstand waiting. I had been waiting ever so patiently for this moment and it was in my hands. As if by magic or some mystical man with a sword up above, a crash of a bolt was perfectly timed with my orgasm. I gasped out loud as my body succumbed to every hit of passion. 

In the blink of an eye, I am home. Soft, jersey fabric wraps around my frame. Laying on my side, I can see through the slits of my blinds that the rain has subsided, and the moonlight is peaking in. Holding onto the sheet, I swing my legs over the edge and come to my feet. The distance from the bed to the window is small, only a step or two. Twisting the tilt wand in my fingers, the light was now illuminating the pitch-black space. I can hear the rustling of the bed sheets behind me; I am not alone. My eyes flit closed as fingertips slowly glide up the sides of my arms. Finally, resting on my shoulders, my breath is stolen by the caress of a pair of lips at the base of my neck, trailing their way upward to the area just behind my ear. The hand that was clutching the sheet drops to my side, letting it descend to my feet. No words are spoken. None are needed because I can feel it in the touch. You are ready to take me, again.