First Touch

Chris pushes through the exit doors of the baggage claim, his heart hammering against his ribs as he scans the crowd of waiting faces. And then he sees her... Millie, standing beside a pillar, more beautiful than any photograph could capture. Her dark hair catches the harsh fluorescent light of the terminal, and when their eyes meet across the space between them, the World seems to slow and sharpen all at once.

She moves first, breaking into a run that sends her bag sliding off her shoulder. He drops his trolley where he stands, and then they're colliding in the middle of the concourse, her body fitting against his as if they've done this dance a thousand times before.

"You're real," she breathes against his neck, her voice trembling with something between laughter and tears.

"So are you," he whispers back, his hands finding her face, thumbs tracing the curve of her cheekbones. "God, Millie, you're so much more than..."

But words fail him as she rises on her toes, and their lips meet for the first time. What begins as tentative, wondering contact, the careful exploration of two people who have known each other's minds but never their bodies, transforms in an instant into something urgent, electric. The months of messages and photographs, of longing separated by continents and time zones, distill into this moment of finally, finally touching.

Her fingers tangle in his hair, and he can taste the sweetness of her mouth, feel the rapid flutter of her pulse where his hand rests against her throat. The kiss deepens, becomes something raw and desperate, charged with all the wanting they've carried between them across an ocean of distance.

"Christ," Millie gasps against his mouth, "I can't... we can't... not here."

But even as she speaks, she's pulling back to look at him with eyes dark with want, her cheeks flushed, lips swollen from their kiss. The airport bustles around them, announcements echoing overhead, suitcases rattling past, but Chris sees only her, feels only the electric current running between their joined hands.

"Come with me," she says suddenly, decisively, and before he can ask where, she's leading him through the crowd, weaving between travellers and queues. He drags his trolly clumsily along as he follows, helpless to do anything but trust her urgency, her need that mirrors his own so perfectly.

"Millie, what..." Chris protests without much conviction while she leads him down a quieter corridor until she abruptly stops outside the ladies' toilets.

"Wait here," Millie says, disappearing inside for a moment before emerging with a mischievous grin. "Empty," she announces, grabbing his hand and pulling him through the door.

They fly into the first cubicle and Millie locks the door behind them with hands that shake slightly. In the harsh strip lighting, Chris can see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her eyes have gone wide and dark with wanting.

"This is mad," she whispers, but she's already reaching for him, her palms pressing flat against the straining bulge in his trousers.

"Completely mad," he agrees, and then they're kissing again, hungrier this time, desperate with months of pent-up longing finally finding release. His hands map the reality of her body, from the rich curves of her breasts, the warmth of her skin beneath the thin fabric of her dress, the way she arches into his touch as if she's been waiting her whole life for exactly this.

Her mouth crashes against his, all lips and desperation, while she fumbles with his belt, her breath coming in ragged bursts against his neck.

"Need you," she gasps, hiking up her dress. "Now.

 

No underwear. The realisation punches the air from Chris's lungs. She's bare and deliciously hairy under his palm when he reaches between her thighs. Her back thuds against the wall as she lowers herself onto the toilet seat and he slides two fingers inside. 

 

"God, you're drenched!"

 

"Three months." She claws at his shoulders, dragging him closer. "Three fucking months of video calls and... oh god..."

 

Her words dissolve into a moan as Chris sinks to his knees. The first lick makes her knees buckle. He catches her hips, holding her upright as his tongue finds her clit in between her dark fur. She tastes of frenzied arousal, bitter and electric. Her thighs tremble against his ears as she grinds against his mouth.

 

"Not enough," she pants, hauling him up by the hair. "Need you inside me. Now!" 

 

Millie's back slides further down the cold tile wall as Chris pushes his body onto hers. Her legs hook over his forearms before he even asks, thighs spread wide in invitation. No preamble. He drives his throbbing cock into her with a single, brutal thrust that makes the cubicle rattle.

 

"God, yes," she hisses, throwing her head back. "Just like that..." 

 

He fucks her in short, savage strokes, her hips jerking up to meet each snap of his pelvis. The angle is obscene... her cunt stretched wide around  him, glistening lips clinging to his cock with every withdrawal. Her dress falls from her shoulders, rucked up around her waist, the thin fabric soaked with sweat where their bodies meet.

 

"Look at you," Chris grinds out, watching her breasts bounce with each impact. "Desperate little thing. Couldn't even wait till we got home."

 

Her only answer is a choked moan as he slams deeper. The toilet seat creaks dangerously beneath them, plastic groaning under the force of their joining. She reaches between them, her fingers frantic on her clit.

 

"Come for me," Chris snarls, biting her earlobe. "Let me feel you shatter."

 

The stall echoes with wet slaps of flesh as he rides her, her nails raking down his chest hard enough to draw blood. 

 

"Harder," she hisses, slamming her hips up. "Fucking ruin me, Chris!" 

 

The outer door creaks. 

 

They freeze mid-thrust. Millie's inner muscles clamp around him like a vice as footsteps click across the tiles. The stall next to theirs rattles open.

 

"Oh fuck..."

 

Chris feels Millie's body go rigid against his, her breath catching in her throat. Their eyes meet in the harsh light, and he sees his own mixture of panic and wild excitement reflected there. Millie buries her face in Chris's neck, her breath scalding his skin. He can feel her heartbeat thundering against his chest, matching the frantic pulse in his cock.

 

The woman next door sighs as she settles onto the seat. A thin stream of pee hits water, its hissing sound echoing through the tiled room.

 

Millie's hips give an involuntary twitch. Chris's hands lock on her ass, holding her still as the sound continues, an agonising, intimate trickle. Her teeth sink into his shoulder to stifle a whimper. The pain sparks through him, white-hot. They sit locked together, trembling, as the woman in the next cubicle seems to take an eternity. They hear the rustle of clothing, the sound of shifting legs, the pee, the waiting. Chris presses his forehead against Millie's, both of them breathing as quietly as possible, acutely aware of every sound, every movement. Millie's pupils are dilated, her lips parted, and even frozen in this moment of suspended terror he's never wanted her more. Her climax hits silently, violently. Her cunt milks him in rhythmic spasms, tears leaking from her squeezed-shut eyes. Chris bites his own lip bloody trying not to roar as his release is tearing through him. 

 

The woman next door finishes with a contented sigh.

 

The flush is deafening. 

 

Millie's fingernails dig crescent moons into Chris's biceps as the woman washes her hands. The tap runs. Paper towels rustle. The door swings shut.

 

They don't move a hair until the echo of heels fades completely. 

 

"Fuck," Millie breathes at last, her voice shattered.

 

They look at each other for a heartbeat, two heartbeats, and then Millie dissolves into giggles that she tries desperately to muffle against his shoulder. The sound is infectious, and soon Chris is laughing too, quiet, breathless laughter born of relief and shared madness and the pure joy of being together at last.

"That was..." Millie begins, but she's laughing too hard to finish.

"Terrifying," Chris supplies.

"Exhilarating," she counters.

"Both," they say together, and dissolve into fresh waves of mirth.

They straighten their clothes with hands that are still shaking slightly from adrenaline and suppressed laughter, stealing kisses between adjustments, grinning at each other like conspirators who've just pulled off the heist of the century.

"Come on," Millie says, checking her reflection in the mirror and attempting to tame her thoroughly disheveled hair. "Before someone else comes in."

They burst out of the toilet hand in hand, Millie checking the main door while Chris retrieves his forgotten jacket from the floor. The coast is clear, and they slip out into the corridor like escaped prisoners, breaking into a run the moment they're in the wider terminal.

They don't stop running until they reach the exit, both of them breathless and giddy, faces flushed with laughter and the lingering heat of their stolen moments. Outside, the evening air is cool against their heated skin, and Chris pulls Millie close, spinning her around under the floodlights of the car park while she laughs and clings to his shoulders.

"Welcome to Belfast," she says when he sets her down, her eyes bright with joy and mischief.

"Best welcome I've ever had," Chris replies, kissing her again, softer this time, tender with the promise of all the time they now have together. "Though perhaps next time we could find somewhere a bit more private."

"Next time," Millie grins, "I'm booking us a hotel room before you even land."