We settle into a rhythm. I work her with both hands, pressing inside of her pussy with three fingers, pinching her nipple with two others. Jourdan strokes my dick with one hand, her hold tightening when she realizes that my breath hitches the harder she squeezes. She licks her palm, and then she’s working me over with both hands, her grip tight around my shaft. She rubs her palm over the head, and it feels perfect. I know that tonight when I’m balls-deep in my wife, I’m going to be thinking about our hands on each other and imagine the tight heat of her pussy gripping my dick the way she’s holding onto my fingers for dear life.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I breathe, trying not to come too soon.

I speed up the pace of my fingers, and Jourdan follows my lead. We also stop being quiet. This small copse of trees filled with the sounds of the stream and birds becomes the safe haven for Jourdan’s and my moans. My grunts. Her crying curses. And then the sound of our lips mashing together, muffling her screaming release and my barrel-chested yell as I come inside her palms.

“You made a mess,” she says, showing me her hands filled with my come. There’s a brilliant smile on her face.

I trail a finger through the crack of her ass. She shudders when I graze her puckered entrance. “So did you.”

I pull my hands from her shorts, and she dumps my come into the leaves beneath us. I use my shirt to clean her hands, and then I tuck my dick back inside my shorts.

Jourdan sags against my chest. I wrap my arms around her, and we hold each other as we catch our breath. “What a great way to start the day,” she breathes. “I hope I don’t fall asleep on the bus.”

“Bus?” I screech.

I swear some bird flees from its nest.

boundaries

“I think you’re overreacting,” Jourdan says as soon as she comes out of the bathroom.

“I disagree.”

“We live in a city with great public transportation.”

“Maybe. If you’re going to work or to hang out with friends, that’s fine, but not when you’re going to meet up with a complete stranger to… In…” I’m so frustrated I can’t even pull these sentences together.

“To what? In what?

I press my lips shut and breathe through my nose for a few beats. “If I’d known you were taking the bus to meet up with me, I would have…”

“Would have what?”

“I would have come get you, at least. Or, I don’t know, met you closer to wherever you live.”

“You don’t know where I live,” she says and moves in front of me again.

I have to skid to a halt before I run her over. Again. This time, however, is so much less exciting.