Sommers Outdoor Delight

"Meet me outside," he says, sticking his disheveled dark-haired head through the half-open door.

There's a spark in his eye I can't quite place. Is he trying to prank me?

"Now?" I ask, suppressing a yawn. "I'm about to go to bed."

"No, you're not," he says and gives me an once-over. "And don't change clothes. I want you like this, just the tee and barefoot."

He disappears and I hear the front door open and close.

Then silence.

Well, silence except for the damn crickets. The sound they make drives me nuts at night. Too hot inside the house to keep the windows close, and too loud to fall asleep with windows open—who ever said that the sound of crickets is romantic?

Not me.

I pull my t-shirt away from my boobs. A drop of sweat runs down my spine and I secure my hair into a ponytail.

Too fucking hot to sleep anyhow.

I follow him out the door and over the wooden porch. Outside, the warm breeze touches my bare thighs, makes my skin pebble with delight.

I stretch my arms above my head, loving the feel of the soft summer night. The moon is a sliver of silver and the stars are legion. Is that the Big Dipper? Who knows?

My eyes adjust to the dark as I gaze into the far end of our garden. I think I see his dark outline, next to the tree. If just one cricket jumps at me, this adventure is over.

Carefully, I make my way through ankle high grass. It tickles my calves. He needs to mow it tomorrow, shirtless, glistening with sweat. I lick my lips, taste salt from my own sweaty face.

Not sweaty. He always tells me I'm glowing.

I find him, at the furthest corner of our garden, beneath the plundered cherry tree. He sits on a large blanket, and next to him, our big, red ice-box and two lanterns with candles that smelled lemony.

"Hi," I say, "what's going on, picnic at night?"

"Of sorts," he says, and I'm sure he has that spark in his eye that I can't quite place.

"What's on the picnic menu," I ask.

"You," he says. "Every hot inch of you."

I laugh, and then swallow because he doesn't join in. That spark in his eye... I know what's up, finally. Been some time since he looked at me this way.

He rises to his feet and pulls his shirt over his head.

He crooks his finger at me, and I smile, aware of my short tee barely covering my pantied bottom. My toes meet the soft fabric of the blanket as I step closer to him.

"If you can guess the occasion," he says, "then I'll have mercy on your ass. If not..."

He unbuckles his belt, lets the leather slide through his hands.

Again, I laugh, but less sure this time and with a hitch to my breathing. I gaze up at him, into his dark, stern gaze.

A needy twitch in my pussy makes me shuffle my feet. I lick my bottom lip, having no idea what the occasion is. 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. A drop of ice water hits my nipple first, then the cube touches my skin. I draw in a sharp breath, the coldness almost too painful. Then he moves the cube down to my belly, easing the cold sting. He slides it further down, between my legs. He moves it over my pussy, between my folds. I close my eyes, not caring about the night sky above me. I'm seeing stars just fine, closed eyes and all.

Then his tongue finds me. He is making my cold skin tingle with nerves. He takes long, slow licks. He works my clit with his thumb and I can feel myself getting tighter, drawing closer to release. When I push my hips up against his face, he stops.

"Not quite yet," he says, and moves up my body to find my mouth. He kisses me, tasting of my wet pussy and himself. His beard stubble scratches my chin and I lose all my patience.

I close my hand around his cock and stroke him. I hear a strangled sound from his throat. He wraps his arms around me, flips me over and on top of him.

His hands come around my hips, lifting me. "Ride me, Sommer. One hot, wet ride."

I cry out when he slides hard up into my pussy. Clenching him tighter, I rock against him, welcoming him with slick heat. I keep my gaze on his face as I move my hips up and slowly down, and his low groan almost sends me over the edge.

I tip my head back, riding him faster. Yes... The heat inside me coils tighter and I hear my own breath quicken. Yes...almost. I move with purpose, feeling beads of sweat form between my breasts. I shut my eyes, giving myself up to the friction. I ride him faster, his hands around my ass, and I come so hard, I scream. I clap my hand over my mouth, giggling from the surge of pleasure, happy.

l lean down, sliding against the full length of his naked body. I cling to his shoulders, riding my orgasm, and I come again in in a smaller surge. He flips me over as I weakly protest. On my stomach, I feel him push my thighs apart.

Kneeling behind me, he pushes himself in my still throbbing pussy. His cock feels different from behind, thicker and his thrusts deeper. He pumps into me, focused on his own pleasure. His fingers dig into my hips as he pulls me to my knees. He fucks me in earnest now, deep hard strokes. He swears under his breath, calls me his bad girl. His thrusts grew ragged. With a rough shout, he comes and I feel his cock jerking inside me. He collapses on me, his weight deliciously heavy.

He kisses my shoulder, slides off me to the side, and warm air caresses our hot, sweaty bodies. His arm settles around me, pulling me closer to him, and I lean back against his chest. For a moment, I listen to our breathing.

"Is that the Big Dipper," I ask, pointing.

"Who knows," he says sleepily. "There's strawberries in the ice-box for you."

Then I hear them, haven't noticed them while I was busy making out under the starry summer sky.

Those crickets.

And somehow, I don't mind them anymore.