Sparks Fly

Our next few meetings were much in the same vein as our second.  We would meet somewhere for lunch, make lust-filled googly eyes at each other over our sandwiches and share a completely hot kiss in the parking lot before we headed back to work.  We chatted constantly, texting when we weren't on messenger.

One brutally cold December afternoon, we met for a backseat picnic - his idea.  He wanted to be away from other people, from the constraints of being in public  We snuggled in my backseat, heat blasting, nibbling on the snacks he had brought.  We laughed a lot that day, teasing each other incessantly, stealing kisses and touches almost shyly.

As our time grew short, Patrick gathered up the remains of our lunch and packed them away. When he turned back to me he was still smiling but his eyes were dead serious.  I could feel my bones go watery with the impact of that gaze.  He slid his hand to the back of my neck and drew me close, his eyes locked on mine. 

By then I was almost accustomed to the jolt I got whenever he touched me; but his mouth on mine unleashed such a flurry of sensation that I almost went limp against his broad chest - only his hand on my neck kept my upright. This kiss was a giant leap beyond anything we'd ever shared.  I lost track of where I left off and he began, we melted together, we were lost in each other's touch.    When I came to myself I was half in his lap, his face in my hands, his palm hot on my breast, our breath coming in gasping pants as we rested our foreheads together.

This would become our spot. In moments of quiet we would find ourselves cuddled close together, our foreheads touching, our hands clasped, our eyes locked.  Even now, that spot holds power for both of us.  It's one of our favourite places.

But I digress...

Clearly, after this meeting, we were ready to take this thing to the next level. We needed to find somewhere to be alone... and soon.