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The art of sharing on the banks of the Thames.
But if I knew, I'd not say a word, to tempting the promise of a snap of leather.
"I don't know." I feel the slight breeze tugging at my tee as if daring me to take it off.
Slapping the end of the belt against the palm of his hand, he says, "Sommer, you're a bad girl."
Occasionally I am, because he loves it.
"Hands against the tree," he says. "And let's see those cheeks."
I step closer to the tree, digging my toes into the blanket. Placing the open palms of my hands against the tree, I lean over.
He steps behind me, kisses my neck, just below the knot of my ponytail.
"I'll pull down your panties," he whispers against my ear, his hands sliding under my tee, cupping my boobs.
Then he moves his hands into my panties. I wiggle against him as he pulls them down. They slide down my legs. The touch of warm air against my bare butt is lovely and I spread my legs.
"Lovely, lovely ass," he says. "Too pale though."
The first sweet snap of leather meeting my bare ass makes me catch my breath. The second one across both of my cheeks makes my eyes water. I moan out loud, couldn't help it. Then his hand is there, touching me, rubbing my butt. The stinging subsides and a sharp sensation of pleasure spreads across my butt, tingling up and down my spine. His hand slips between my legs.
"Bad Sommer," he says, rubbing my pussy, his fingers sliding smoothly over me. "How could you forget our anniversary? How could you think I wouldn't want to celebrate?"
It's hard to think when his fingers leisurely circle my clit. But even so, I know it isn't our anniversary.
"It's not," I say, and rub myself against his hand. "We first met in June last year, not September."
"But I first fucked you last year to the day in September," he says. "You were so damn wet that night, so tight around me. I will never forget how happy I was to finally hold you naked in my arms. No more just-friends bullshit."
His fingers circle me faster as my mind drifts back to the night when we first had sex.
It was a night not unlike tonight, when we first got down to it. A lush early summer's night and we came back to his place after what must have been our tenth date. We laughed about something silly and he turned on his air conditioning, dimmed the lights. And I saw in his eyes that he wanted me so badly. He grabbed me by the nape of my neck and kissed me hard and deep until I had no breath left. We didn't make it to the bed.
Our heads bumped together, and I kneed him in the groin when we made out right there, on the floor. I ripped his shirt trying to get it off of him. When we were finally naked, he all but threw me onto my back to pin me down. He wasn't sophisticated, the first time. He made me come with his tongue. When I screamed out my climax, he shoved himself into me, one deep thrust. He fucked me hard that night, as if showing me who's boss.
We became more experienced with each other, since that night.
"I remember," I say, looking up at him. "You were a beast."
He laughs, and then makes me lie down on the blanket.
The blanket feels slightly rough beneath my bare butt, but I enjoy the view of the three gazillion or so stars.
He kicks off his pants. Naked, he moves to the ice-box, comes back with a small bowl. I can't decide what interests me more, his hard cock resting against his stomach or the clinking sound of ice-cubes inside the bowl.
Despite the warm summer air, I involuntarily shiver as I imagine a cube sliding wetly, icily against my skin.
He puts one in my mouth. Coldness erupts on my tongue, numbingly so. I bite down on it, swallow the icy water. He kneels between my legs, one hand on my knee, his other hand reaching for an ice-cube.
"And here's your punishment for bitching about the heat constantly," he says with a grin. "Let's cool you down a bit."
He pushes up my tee, reveals my stomach, my breasts.