I had been seeking a secret sexual partner, who would exist outside of my marriage - someone with whom to share latent passion. A thousand profiles later, I met someone. We had had a chat in person. She had green eyes and a narrow chin; her sexual confidence lay incendiary, and revealed itself at times - flames licked up at the inside corners of her green eyes nearly each time she laughed.
We exchanged seedy sex meeting scenarios, some porn and had text conversations about birth control, our marriages, our families, our age gap, fucking. Hooking up was inevitable.
Days later, we met at my workplace, because I had offered to help her with a document she wished to have copied. It was not unusual for my car to be parked in its assigned spot, as I often worked on weekends. I led her in, holding the stack of pages in front of me. I wanted the security cameras to clearly identify my business there.
We both knew something important was going to happen. Our conversation was clipped and whispered. She turned to me inside of the office (which I share with two other men), after I closed the door. Without another word, both of my arms darted around her - hands behind her feeling fully her round ass through her tightly fitting jeans. I wanted to pry my fingers down under her jeans. I didn't - just kneaded, rubbed, held and traced the waistline of them while our lips locked and tongues searched. And our breath quickened.
