...The train stops at Tottenham Court Road. Some travellers shuffle off, more squeeze on. She takes half a step back, seemingly to counter the encroaching hoards. Now the whole length of her is aligned with him. He can sense the lightness, the suppleness of her body. He remembers how she looked on camera after he’d persuaded her to slowly undress for him, watching raptly as she gradually unveiled her creamy nakedness to his gaze, and the memories excite him further. The possibility that he will soon see the glorious reality of her up close makes his hands tremble, waters his mouth. He feels so hard. He hasn’t felt this hard with a woman in an eternity.

There’s the lightest of touches against his leg. He glances down, sees her hand resting against the outside of his thigh. For a moment, he wonders if the contact is unintentional, and then her fingers begin to draw random lines up and down his thigh. Her hand slowly tracks inwards, and for a second, he feels her finger trace the outline of his cock. Shivers of pleasure ripple along his spine. Her hand returns to tracing patterns across his thigh. He reaches down and lets his fingers rest against the back of her hand, enjoying the absent movements, the smooth coolness of her skin. As she strokes him, he strokes her, a sensual synergy to their diminutive caresses. He feels a shiver pass through her, and she presses herself even more firmly against him, her arse wriggling deliciously against his aching cock. For a moment, he thinks that he hears her whisper the word “Yes.”

It might just as easily have been a sound made by the train.

The thought reminds him of their surroundings. He glances around the carriage. Have any of their fellow travellers noticed them? He doesn’t think so. But why should they have? After all, they’re just two people, standing together, travelling to one of a hundred destinations. Why should the fact that she’s pressed against him, that their hands are slowly entwining, signify anything? No one here knows that they’re married to different people, that they exist in different words, living disparate lives. No one knows that this is the first time they’ve ever met in the flesh. No one knows anything of the lust and the desire that has drawn them here.

Underground EscalatorsThe train halts at Leicester Square. “Mind the gap,” the recorded voice intones. The escalators will carry them back to the surface. From there, a short walk will take them to St Martins Lane. He walks towards the train’s gaping doorway, trailing his hand behind him for her to take. If she wants. Her fingernails trail across his palm, and then her hand grips his as they step out onto the platform together...

Source: Easily Aroused