We were deeper into the park, and I realized that while I had been busy with my romantic ruminations, Sharon had been checking our back trail often. She glanced over her shoulder again, and as her head turned back to the front, she stopped and gave me a fabulous smile. She reached for my hand and pulled me off the trail into the dense brush and trees. She hurried us along then halted at a tree, pulling me close to her, arms around my neck, kissing me in a rush.
My arms went around her, and I kissed her back, losing myself in the moment. Wow — there was absolutely nothing in the world like being in life-threatening danger to make you horny. Especially when a gorgeous, willing woman threw herself at you.
Between kisses, Sharon panted out the words, “I’m so glad you’re all right, I missed you so much . . .”
I replied, also breathless between kisses, “There’s the Sharon I know and love . . .”
“Love?” she leaned back in my arms, smiling.
“Well . . . it’s just an expression. But I am mighty fond of you. Mighty fond.”
She laughed and kissed me again, then leaned back one more time. “Much as I want to tear your clothes off and make love right here, we probably should get into hiding.”
I started to say “If you want —” but Sharon pushed against me, her arms tight around my neck, her lips open on mine, her tongue darting into my mouth. All around us, the leaves of trees fluttered in the breeze, and I could hear the murmur of unseen people walking along the park’s pathways. Sharon’s breasts pressed against my chest, and her thighs rubbed against mine.
“If you want to go into hiding,” I managed to pant softly, “we’d better go now. In a minute, I won’t be able to stop —”
“So don’t stop,” she said in husky whisper. Her hands dropped to my waist and started to undo my belt buckle.
Still kissing, I said, “Don’t we need to find someplace safe?”
I yanked at her belt, loosened it and dropped her khakis to the ground. She nimbly stepped out of them, all the while maintaining the sweet, kissing contact of our mouths. I knew this was completely nuts — how the hell could I have sex with her in the middle of Central Park with God knew how many FBI agents, U.S. Marshals and Philadelphia mobsters trying to find us? How the hell could I make love with a woman who’d lied to me and set me up to be killed? How could I be ready to roll in the proverbial hay with Sharon when I was less than twenty-four hours from Annie’s bed?
All of this was flashing through my mind as we continued to undress; pants, shoes, sunglasses, and my baseball cap had all been dropped to the soft, moist earth of the park’s woods. Was I letting my penis do my thinking — like most young American males? Was this more post-divorce acting-out? Was this a stress-reaction to everything I’d been through — the ultimate in danger-driven horniness?
Sharon was tugging my sweatshirt off over my head, stopping our kissing for the first moment since we’d run off the pathway and into the trees. She let it flop to the dirt and stood there in nothing but a white T-shirt, her eyes wide with hunger for me. She reached for me, grabbing me by the hips and pulling me close. Her lips closed over my mouth, and she grabbed my penis — she was going to mount me right there against a maple tree deep inside Central Park.
Why was she doing this? I was just a divorced, unthinking, lust-crazed man. But what was going on in her head? I knew that she had been correct when she said that we should get out of the park and hide. Why were we about to consummate in the middle of Manhattan’s little piece of nature when we should have been running for our lives?
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