Chapter 11
Rita sighed. Memories were disturbing. She thought of Mike waiting at the bus depot, and looked at her wristwatch again. The lapse of time surprised her. It would be different in Frankfurt, she thought. Excitingly different.
Under her coat the cold was getting at her thighs and buttocks through her jeans. She shivered, then moved out into deep snow that crunched crisply underfoot. She walked slowly, with a jaunty hip movement, wagging her provocative arse, high heels punching precise holes in the frozen crust. The red sunset glow promised a fine day, not that it mattered—she would be in Frankfurt before morning.
As she neared the end of the gutted block she saw Mike coming down the street, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his leather jacket, hair blowing in the wind. He saw her about the same time, stopped, then came on slowly.
"I thought I'd find you here," he said. "You picked a fine time to disappear. We'll have to hurry if we're going to catch that bus."
"What's the hurry? There's another in an hour, isn't there? The plane doesn't leave until ten-thirty. I've been reminiscing, remembering how it used to be, when we were kids."
"And what do you think you are now? Ancient? Forget that crap." He jerked her close, kissed her. "Cold?" he asked.
She nodded.
They walked on, toward the white street. Suddenly, laughing, Rita jerked Mike into the bleak doorway of an old machine shed, part of the abandoned warehouse. He stumbled over rubble, swearing, and was hidden in deep shadow. Rita followed, sniggering.
"Are you flipped?" Mike demanded. "We'll miss that fucking bus."
"So what? We've got time for a quick screw."
"Have we hell! I thought you were cold?"
"We'll make time. Warm me, stupid."
"That bus won't wait."
"Neither will this, for God's sake. So stop bleating, and fuck me."
She flipped her coat up, smiling as Mike fumbled to release the zipper fastening her jeans. They slid partly down and he pushed them the rest of the way. His prick was out already, showing white against his dark pants in the gloom.
"There isn't much room to operate, kid," he remarked.
"We'll manage."
She turned her back toward him, held the coat high, away from the pale moons of her arse, and shivered with keen delight when his great stalk unerringly found her avid slit.
Yes, she thought, there was time. There was. always time.