By Elizabeth Amber
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Forth. Just when she thought she might be driven mad by the stimulation, it ceased and the hand folded in on itself. Its ﬁngers brushed her intimate creases as it gathered itself into something resembling a ﬁst. At the very same moment, the man’s hips drew back from his partner’s. She gulped as the ﬁst aligned itself with her slit, its knuckles putting an upward, driving pressure on that vulnerable entrance to her channel. The man in the park! Somehow, she’d become connected to him. To what he was doing to that other woman.
His body was massive, completely obscuring every other part of her with the exception of her long hair spread out on the grass like some dark peacock’s fan. For the briefest of moments, he angled his head in such a way that her pale cheek peeked from below him. Then his head moved again and she disappeared from view. Juliette’s eyes rounded. Could they really be doing what it appeared they were doing? Right there in the open? And if so, why did no one object? Her gaze made a sweep of the park and of those nearby on the bridge who still pinned her.
The well-deﬁned muscles of his back, shoulders, and arms ﬂexed and relaxed in ﬂuid harmony. As she watched, his hips lifted slightly and his hand slipped between his body and the one under him. She should look away. She should . . . Yet she didn’t. And slowly, so slowly, a touch came to her. As soft as a whisper, it caressed and comforted so tenderly that she hardly noticed it as something apart from her own body at ﬁrst. It was as though a warm, knowing hand had worked its way high be- 32 / Elizabeth Amber tween her legs to gently cup her, offering to heal the hurt of her need.