They stood in a tight embrace, his arms wrapped around her waist and her fingers pressing into the small of his back. They slowly broke away from their passionate kiss, opening their eyes and gazing at each other. They whispered their goodbyes and stared to move apart.
He hailed the approaching bus, turned back for one last stolen kiss as it pulled up. He climbed onto the bus, waving his pass at the driver for that briefest of seconds it took for him to turn his head, flick his eyes towards the date printed on it, then turn back to look forwards out of the bus windscreen, nodding silently. She walked down the pavement alongside him as he moved down to find a seat. Their eyes locked one last time through the window as he pulled away. They waved and smiled at each other, content with the memories of what the weekend had held but very conscious now of how quickly the time had passed.
He looked over his shoulder as the bus picked up speed but he quickly lost sight of her. She stood and watched, first him, then his window, then the side of his bus, then the back, then it's brake lights glowing in the queue of buses, losing track of which one he was on as it meandered down the street through the throng. She closed her eyes, took a slow deep breath and smiled as she exhaled. Neither knew it, but at that moment they were both doing exactly the same thing.
---
The bus pulled up, It's doors folded open and the small crowd of people around the exit doors disembarked. He walked the few paces down the street to the Underground station, the familiar smell wafting over him as he went through the tickets barriers. Normally he'd walk down the left of the escalator, hurrying to catch a train, but this time he stood on right, relaxing, letting the mechanical stairs do all the work for him as others pounded past.
He glanced across the broad, 45-degree shaft, remembering Friday evening as they'd rode up on that very escalator together. She'd stood on the step above him, turned to face him eye-to-eye. Unashamedly, they'd kissed and giggled in full view of the hundreds of other travellers, unabashed by the constant looks of envy, lust and disapproval their public display of affection garnered.
They'd gone to a family-run Italian restaurant in Soho. The grinning head waiter had seated then at a small round table by the window, the ornate lace edging of the table cloth reaching almost to the floor. They sat opposite each other, rubbing hands and gazing into each other's eyes, laughing and joking, smiling.
She watched as he took in the sight of her again, her silky three-quarter length rose-red dress, tiny straps over her freckled shoulders, tight at the waist and bust to show off her slim figure, dark hair in large ringlets arrayed down to her firm bosom, her sparkling eyes and her smile, seeing reflected in his hungry eyes that all her effort was truly appreciated.
She turned her head and pretended scratched her neck, sneaking a furtive glance around the room to make sure no-one was paying them any attention. He was smiling with the kind of contented glow only a good meal and two glasses of wine in exquisite company can bring. She gently rubbed the tips of his fingers with hers.
It was as though an unconscious decision had been made in the back of her mind. A tiny gush of warmth ran through her entire body as she realised what she was considering, quickly turning to intrepidation and determination. The waiter had just put their deserts on the table. She waited until he retreated back to the kitchen before gently easing off one of her slip-on low heels, careful not to make any visible movements above the table.
He was regaling her with the story of his first music festival as they began to eat again. She slowly reached her bare foot out under the table, hidden in the folds of the long table cloth, the thrill of her intimate intentions in such a public place sent shivers along the length of her leg, up her back, her audacity and daring so soon in their relationship making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, making her crave even more the physical sensation brought about by attempting such illicit contact. She searched blindly but carefully and patiently, inching across the floor between them, bumping against the toe of his shoe. He paused as he spoke, looking straight into her eyes and smiling for a moment, before looking back down as he reloaded his spoon and continued to talk.
He was a little suprised as he felt her foot start to make it's way up, gently hooking under the hem of his trouser leg and rubbing against his ankle. He realised she was barefoot as her toenails gently scratched his skin. He looked back up; she was pulling her spoon out of her mouth. She ran her tongue over it's surface as she did, knowing only he would see and appreciate what it meant. Her eyes sparkled with her hidden message.
She let his trouser leg fall back down and began to slowly trace up the inside of his calf with the edge of her big toe. He was no longer eating dessert and his story was starting to become confused, his breathing slightly faster and shallower. As she passed his knee and changed direction, his eyes flicked briefly closed before he slowly and deliberately looked around, over each shoulder. The other customers were all engrossed in each other. His eyes lingered on the steady flow of foot traffic along the street outside, passing the floor-to-ceiling window; some of the hurrying faces glanced in.
He quickly glanced down, checking the elaborate lace of the table cloth was obscuring their intimate moment from public view. She had hitched the cloth over her foot, hiding in it's deep blue billows. Satisfied that no-one could see, and also that there wasn't about to be an accident that would be awkward to explain, he steadied his nerve and looked back across at her.
