You asked me to meet you at the weeping beech tree.
The evening was growing dark, and I walked alone through the empty streets, into the park. Where had we seen it?
You startled me, jumping out like that onto the path, my heart racing first from the surprise, then from your hot breath on my neck, the evening chill, the moon behind us, so close, your hand grasping mine.
We ran. I pulled you to stop, then slipped off my shoes and took off barefoot with you through the high wet grass. And there it was, the beech tree, its branches low to hide us when we climbed beneath, shadows in moonlight, my breath short, reduced to gasps, delighted murmers in the night. You grabbed me tight, unaware perhaps yourself of anything but the most urgent, the kiss, my nipples stiff as you stroked the cashmere, my perfumed hair falling across your face. You, your fingers bewitched me here, the heat of your skin beneath the buttons, the glow, the scent of your lust, your cock eager as I reached your belt and pulled it tight to unbuckle you, unzip you, reveal you, your fingers beneath my sweater pulling at the hooks, the zipper to my skirt, the silk of my panties. This was it, this craving, your naked cock plunging deep into my plump cunt, the slick heat, my fingernails digging into your back as you cried out, the long awaited passion.
When I awoke, I reached for you, sun streaming onto the wood floor, the dust in the light, the day, your skin glowing still, here, reigniting.