He climbed the steps effortlessly, two by two, and stopped directly in front of her.
His bag dropped to the wooden deck with a thud, and he stood, staring at her. Her red hair billowed in the night breeze, glowing with warmth, unexpected in the harsh street lighting. It was a warm summer evening, and she was dressed for it. A short, thin cotton skirt, swaying with the wind, and a summer blouse, almost lime green in the light, nearly transparent it was so thin, unbuttoned enough to hint at breasts, encased delightfully in her laciest bra.
Her hair, as noted, was entrancing. Her smile was a delight, and her eyes glittered with happiness. And need.
She wasn't the only one. As his hands reached for hers, he knew the two of them would never make it inside.
She pulled him close, her back against the cool stone wall, her arms around his waist, her hands flat against the small of his back. Her head was tipped back, her eyes deep and desperate.
He looked down at her, feeling her lips on his, her breasts pressing against his shirt, her hands on his back, and his hands moved of their own accord, lifting the blouse to slide his fingers up her ribs, exploring her skin until he could feel the strap of her bra. She pulled herself away from the wall slightly, giving mute approval, and he unsnapped it, releasing her breasts from their confinement. Sliding his hands around to her chest, under the straps, he took both breasts into his hands, remembering the pale freckled skin, and the large dark nipples that he could feel hardening under his fingertips.
A groan escaped her throat then, and she lifted her hands higher on his back, and pulled him toward her, hard, delighting in the feel of him crushing his own hands against her breasts, of the impact of his hard bulge against her navel.
Their tongues both escaped at the same time, twirling in the shared space of their joined mouths, pulling and sliding across each other, tasting each other, delighting in the texture, the feel, the slight friction of tongue on tongue.
After eliciting another groan, he slid the palms of his hands slowly down the front of her breasts, knowing how she both loved and hated the friction of it, the raw feel of skin on skin. She didn't pull away though, continuing to crush him against herself, her hands pulling at his skin, scraping her fingernails up to his shoulders and down his spine again.
As his hands cleared the bottom of her breasts, he had a little more space, and slid them as delicately as he could down over her stomach and navel, until he reached the hem of her skirt. He paused for a moment to decide on the best course of action, and then bent his legs a little, sliding his hands down the outside of the short skirt, until he felt her skin again, on her upper legs.
She wriggled with delight as he touched her then, goosebumps appearing briefly on her skin, only to disappear as they pulled each other close again. His hands slid, staying on her skin, and lifting the loose skirt up her legs, her thighs. He stopped again for a moment, searching for her eyes in the dim light, and she blinked approvingly, so he continued. Lifting his hands further, he could feel the thin band of her panties now, and his hands slid around over her butt, pulling her out from the wall just a little again, and sliding his hands carefully over her small cheeks, caressing happily the tightly delightful mounds of skin, sliding his hands up past the top of her panties, and back again, over the mounds, his fingers sliding delicately down the crease between them, down between her legs, and under, until she jumped, and he could feel the dampness on his fingers, along with the heat.
He held still there for a moment again, listening to her breathe, and feeling her move, just a little, against his fingers, encouraging more pressure, more exploration. He had other plans though, and moved his hands back, much the way they had come, skimming lightly over her puckered ass, enjoying the shiver that resulted. His hands eventually fondled her bum again, applying just the right kind of pressure to the silky smooth covering, and slid back to her hips, thumbs hooked in the waistband, and he pushed the panties down, off her thighs, and her ass, off her soaked mound, and down her legs. He dropped them as soon as they were down enough to fall of their own accord, and they wriggled down to rest at her ankles. But not for long.
His hands returned to her butt now, partly retracing the path he'd taken before, revelling in the direct feel of her skin on his, the difference between this and the silky panties.
.... There is more of this story ...