Ashes dropped from your cigarette, flickering over the sidewalk. I glance at your face as a darkness crosses your eyes, great inkwells of depth and fury expressing your desires. I felt full but light, after a meal long-awaited, pondered, effusively deemed one of the best burgers in Portland: a succulent tower of beef, manchego and pancetta, colliding with greens, pickled zucchini, and a smattering of intensely flavored Romesco. It was a mouthful of heaven, a glorious smokiness of the burger that set my palate on fire.

We stood there in semi-comas, my stare darting between the curls of your lips, eye lashes, and cheekbones, a breathy haze of smoke surrounding our heads, as I nodded and dove into your aura, a nostalgic passion of complex thoughts and angry kisses. Our tongues danced against each other, the wet warmth tingling against my ear, your hot moist words echoing against the caverns of my ear drum, like a rhythmic sonnet setting instruments alight. Interlocked we walked, your hand across my waist, pulled tightly and warmly against your torso. A bit of laughter, nervous laughter distracting me from the palpitations erupting in my loins, a brief explosion of hot juices, a wistful glance at your hands, your fingertips, wishing you’d grab me from behind, take the pads of those beautiful fingertips, and saturate them between my lips.

You caught my glance, and bit at my earlobe, as your middle finger cupped under my ass and against my labia. In a few seconds you felt me gasp as you slid your finger under the lacy edge of my panties, and plunged down to your knuckle into my wet pussy. It was dusk. We stopped and again interlocked face-to-face, the beats of your heart accelerating against my chest, your stubble grazing my cheek as I let out the tiniest moan with each movement of your fingertip. My tongue flirted against your neck, letting bites of flesh tickle your skin, your probing finger surrounded by the wet, warm folds of my insides.

Three steps backward, and you pressed me against a sign post. You balanced so artfully as you unzipped and pulled your finger aside. With legs astride, I mounted you tightly, calves pressed deep into your hips, my arms grasping the sign behind me as you pulsed up and down. Your long, soft, luscious kisses kept me quiet and relaxed, so we could hide in the night as the city emerged onto the streets, and we were saying good night. You felt so good inside me, so hard yet sensitive, the musky smell of your scalp teasing me, my chin massaging the top of your head, your tongue taking deep licks between my clavicles. We shared moist, long thrusts until we came with maddening yelps of glee, a bit of sweat clinging against your brow pasted like a warm print against my jawbone. You let me down and buried yourself into my hair, a mane of fragrant oil where we escaped for a moment.

“Good night,” you whispered. “Good night,” I said.