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'Cause it's the first of May, first of May
Outdoor fucking starts today
- Jonathan Coulton, ‘First of May’
Robin smiled as she looked down at her ringing mobile, Strike’s photo - the one she’d taken at the pub when he hadn't been looking, handsome with his full beard and gazing into the distance lost in thought - popping up on her screen. She’d always been happy to receive his calls, even during the times when she’d been annoyed with him - and of those there had been many over the years - but there was a little something more now, an extra flutter in her heart that hadn’t been there before.
“Hiya,” she answered, tucking the phone between her chin and shoulder as she pulled a couple books from her shelf and placed them in the open box which sat on the foot of the bed.
“Hey beautiful, what are you up to?”
“Just packing up some more things I won’t need for the next few weeks,” she said, giddy anticipation in her voice at the thought of her newly purchased flat in Walthamstow, which she was set to move into at the end of the month.
“Any plans for this evening? I’d like to take you out.”
“I thought you had surveillance on Fingers?”
“Not anymore. Client called and said he’s extending his stay in New York until Monday.”
Robin let out a grunt that was a cross between annoyance and satisfaction. As much as she had hoped to finally get something on him and put the case to rest, she couldn’t deny the welcome opportunity for a little reprieve. Truth be told, she was pleased to suddenly find themselves with an unexpected evening off together.
“I was just planning to do laundry and a little more packing, but that can wait,” she said with a small smile, plucking a few more books from the shelf. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well," Strike began, "Today kicks off a series of Friday night concerts in the park, and it’s unseasonably warm for May first. I thought maybe we could go listen to the brass band, and have a picnic?”
Robin’s face lit up with a wide grin. This tender, romantic side of Strike was still unfamiliar territory, and she found herself completely charmed by it.
“Yes,” she replied, without hesitation, “that sounds wonderful.”
“Great. I’ll uh..” Strike paused, and Robin could hear him shuffling around, presumably as he wandered around in his flat. “Try and dig out a blanket, and..” There was the distinct sound of a fridge door creaking open, and closing just as quickly, followed by a muttered, ‘shit’.
Robin smiled softly to herself, her heart swelling with affection as she imagined him digging through his cupboards.
“Let me handle the blankets and food,” she said. “You’re on transportation. Pick me up at…?”
“Half five,” he said. “Concert starts at seven.”
“Perfect, I’ll see you then.”
“Can’t wait.”
~~~~
Robin tugged on her light blue jumper – the one Strike had once offhandedly mentioned he liked on her – and rummaged through the hallway cupboard for a couple of large blankets: one to sit on, the other to snuggle beneath if the evening turned chilly. She grabbed the insulated carrier bag while she was at it, mentally checking off items as she went.
Humming absently to herself, she let her thoughts drift. It was remarkable, really, just how how much of a seismic shift her life had undergone in three short weeks, yet, oddly enough, it felt as if little had actually changed. She was still a partner at the agency, still getting ready to move into her own place for the first time, still working on the Ledwell case (and the multitude of other cases they had on their plates), still driving the old Land Rover, still spending her evenings in the pub with her best friend. However, now the only real difference was that those covert, sidelong glances, those unspoken thoughts she used to keep tucked away, no longer had to be hidden. Now, she was free to look, to comment, to touch.
In the months following her rejection of Strike’s kiss outside the Ritz, they had begun to drift aimlessly apart, the walls she’d felt crumble around them as they’d drank cocktails and laughed, and spent a pleasant evening together, thrown back up in the mere seconds it took for her to back away and for him to bundle her embarrassingly fast into a taxi and flee the scene.
Then they had started working the Ledwell case together, and gradually she felt some of the old vestiges of their friendship - the subtle jokes, the meetings at the pub, a shared, if brief, hug - returning and she’d welcomed, no, craved it.
And then, on a chilly April afternoon, Charlotte Campbell-Ross, one of the last people Strike or Robin had expected, or desired, to see, had breezed into the office and, with just two uttered words that would have made Sarah Shadlock proud, sent Robin’s equilibrium into a complete tailspin.
Corm’s girlfriend.
Her partner, her friend, her best friend, had been seeing someone. And he’d kept it from her.
With this knowledge, Robin had, in turn, fled the office, stating that she needed leave early to meet Ilsa, even though they were not due to meet until much later. Her feet were on the pavement outside before she’d had a chance to fully process what she’d heard. She was barely a few yards from the building when a realization hit her hard enough for her to come to a full stop, much to the chagrin of the man walking behind her, who had to quickly sidestep to avoid a collision.
I’m in love with him.
Of course she was. She’d only been fooling herself to think otherwise. After the briefest hesitation, something had overtaken her, and without thinking she’d spun on her heel. Her feet, seemingly acting of their own volition, had carried her back through the nondescript black door, up the familiar metal staircase, and past a bewildered Pat—who’d just closed the office behind her and had begun making her way down to the street. Robin had barely taken any note of this, until she found herself in front of Strike, who hadn’t moved from where she’d left him, half-smoked cigarette in hand and looking, if possible, even more disgruntled than when she’d left.
“Robin?” he’d said, brow furrowed.
“How long?” she’d started, more sharply than intended, then paused. “Madeline.”
Strike had let out a heaving sigh before running his hand over his face. He hadn’t wanted to discuss this, though one look at Robin and he’d known she wasn’t going to back down.
“Since New Year's Eve. Look, I know I should’ve told you, being partners - friends - and all, I just -”
“I’m sorry,” she’d blurted, causing him to lapse into silence and look at her in confusion and Robin had ploughed on.
“I’m sorry about how I reacted, outside the Ritz. We’d been drinking and I was scared you’d regret it. I wasn’t put off, I wanted to - it’s just, it would mess everything up and I can’t lose this, even if I think, I know, that I - ” the words had tumbled out of her mouth faster than she could control them and she’d managed to stop herself just before uttering the three words that had been hanging precariously on the tip of her tongue.
Strike, for once utterly lost for words, had stared at her, mouth slightly agape and searching for what to say when Robin, with a sudden look of discomfiture, mumbled a quick “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have - ” and left the office as abruptly as she had entered, leaving Strike - sat in his chair, cigarette, now nearly burnt down to the filter, still dangling loosely from his fingers - extremely unsettled.
That evening she’d poured her heart out to Ilsa over drinks, recounting everything that had transpired: from Charlotte’s sudden revelation of Strike’s secret relationship, to her own impulsive return to the office, right up to the moment she’d nearly blurted out how she truly felt for Strike and had nearly professed her love.
Ilsa had found herself absolutely flummoxed, listening in stunned silence, regarding her friend with sympathy as Robin, with her head in her hands, had lamented the fact that there was a very real possibility she had irrevocably and irreparably altered their relationship with a few hastily uttered words.
Ending their dinner with a warm embrace from Ilsa and a promise to call each other with developments on their respective news (Ilsa’s pregnancy announcement had at least offered a short-lived reprieve from her spiralling thoughts), Robin had made her way back to her shared flat, only to pull up short when she saw a large figure perched on the topmost step, broad-shouldered, hunched over, head bowed, staring down at his hands as if they might offer him an answer.
He’d looked up at the sound of her approaching footsteps, apparently having been pulled out of a deep thought, and rose slowly to his feet, heading down to the pavement to meet her.
“I called things off with Madeline,” he’d said without preamble.
“Cormoran, I - ”
“I’m scared too Robin, but I…” he’d paused before reaching out to touch her cheek, and this time, when she hadn’t pulled away, he’d brought his mouth down to hers and kissed her tenderly.
And thus began their, still-fledgling, relationship.
After the first kiss – tentative, charged, and quietly momentous – Strike had insisted they take things slow.
And so they had.
The first few days had not seen a huge shift in their modus operandi - surveillances, meetings, case updates. But now, as they walked to the pub after work, their fingers found each other’s. Only now, whereas once they had turned away, their gazes now lingered. Only now, they could fully enjoy their meals together, the sound of one another’s laughter a balm to each of their fragile hearts as they nervously entered this new phase.
Over the course of the second week, their parting kisses had lasted longer, had become less hesitant, and small romantic gestures (meals, handwritten notes, handheld strolls through the park) became more frequent, and yet they still hadn’t dared to cross that final line, the one that would push them, unequivocally, from friends to lovers.
That was, until one evening, with Max out of town, they’d decided to take advantage of the quiet and privacy of her vacant flat. After a hearty meal, Robin had been lying on the sofa, poking around on Drek’s Game on her laptop, her legs draped across Strike’s lap while he thumbed through the photos he’d taken on his earlier surveillance shift with one hand, absentmindedly caressing her knees with the other. After sitting for a while in companionable silence, Robin had set her laptop on the coffee table and stretched, her loose-fitting jumper riding up and exposing a stretch of pale skin just above the waistband of her leggings. Strike, in a moment of playfulness, put his phone down and leaned forward to kiss her exposed skin, drawing a giggle from Robin, who had felt a flush rise to her cheeks as his stubbled chin rasped against her flesh.
He’d pulled his mouth away to look into her eyes and had seen the same look of burning desire mirrored back at him.
“Stay,” she’d whispered, running a hand through his dense mass of curls.
And he had.
That night, as they slowly undressed one another, Robin had expected nerves—some flicker of self-doubt, perhaps even a pang of insecurity. After all, she’d only ever been with one man before. But, to her quiet surprise, she felt utterly at ease and surprisingly confident. Dating her best friend, it had turned out, had made everything feel remarkably natural, as there was no need for the typical get-to-know-you small talk - they already knew each other better than most, and this intimacy had allowed them to bypass the awkward new relationship phase into something that was simple and carefree.
And as she took him to her bed, and he buried his head between her thighs, she hadn’t felt a shred of the self-consciousness she’d braced for, but had rather been swept up in a tide of pure pleasure and desire.
And as she came, her orgasm intense and leaving her sated and breathless, her mind had been oddly still save for the realisation that she had never, in all her thirty-and-a-half years, experienced pleasure like this.
And as she pulled his body level with hers, and he’d sunk himself into her slowly, inch by inch, their bodies perfectly adjusting to one another, she had marvelled at how close she’d come to missing this entirely.
And after he brought her to orgasm a second time, immediately following her over the edge - when he’d looked deep into her eyes and had whispered ‘I love you’ just before wrapping her tightly in his arms and drifting off to sleep, she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that despite both their fears, this was, and would always be, where she belonged.
After that first night, a fuse had been lit, and they found themselves constantly wanting to be in each other's arms. It made their days more challenging and their nights more satisfying. Sex with Strike had awakened something in Robin that had long lain dormant, an adventurous and passionate side that both startled and excited her. In just one week with him, she’d experienced and experimented more sexually than she had in the whole of her relationship with her ex-husband.
With a fond smile, Robin returned to the present, walking into the kitchen to find Max sitting at the counter reading the paper.
“Hey there, what are you up to?” he asked, gesturing at the insulated bag as she set it on the counter.
“Cormoran is taking me on a date,” she answered, still smiling. “Picnic dinner and brass band concert at the park.”
“Romantic,” he nodded, impressed. “But if he’s taking you out, why are you packing the food?”
Robin raised an eyebrow, prompting a laugh from Max.
“Yes, of course,” he chuckled, before grabbing the bag from the counter and heading toward the fridge. “Why don’t you let me handle this, and you go get ready.”
Robin looked down at her cosy jumper and leggings, wondering what was wrong with what she was wearing, though she supposed she could do something with her hair, which was currently in the messy bun she’d pulled it into earlier that day.
“Thanks Max, that’s sweet, but you don’t have to..”
“I know love, I want to,” he smiled. “You and Cormoran are good for each other, and I love seeing you happy. It’s the least I can do.”
Robin walked over and wrapped Max in a warm embrace. “I’m going to miss you.”
“And I you,” he replied, pulling back to look at her fondly. “But I hope you won’t be a stranger and will come round for dinner every once in a while. Now go,” he shooed her out of the kitchen.
Robin gave him a wide grin and, feeling giddy, left the room to finish getting ready for her anticipated evening.
~~~~
With a punctuality that Robin found endearing, if not surprising, she heard the doorbell ring at precisely half past five, opening the door to reveal her partner, clad in a pair of smart trousers and a dark blue button up shirt, his unruly curls tamed as best they could and his beard neatly trimmed. Robin caught a whiff of his familiar aftershave as he leaned in for a kiss.
“Hi,” he smiled. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah,” she nodded, handing him the carrier bag before scooping up the bundle of blankets and stepping over the threshold, pulling the door closed behind her. “Beautiful evening,” she remarked, glancing up at the dusky sky.
“Even more beautiful now,” he replied without missing a beat, slipping an arm around her waist as they made their way to the car.
“Charmer,” she said with a blush, feeling elated as he loaded the bag and blankets into the boot.
In some ways, she thought, sliding into the passenger's seat, this all felt so surreal - her and Strike dating, a couple, in love. She knew that three weeks wasn't long – far too early to make sweeping predictions about the future, and there was still a lot that could go wrong. But as he got in beside her and turned, smiling, reaching out to squeeze her hand before stealing a quick kiss, then started the engine with a quiet hum, she looked over at his profile, silhouetted against the fading light, and felt something settle deep in her chest. No matter what obstacles stood in their way, she thought, she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to try her best to overcome every single one of them.
~~~~
Strike chose a spot towards the back of the crowd - close enough to enjoy the music but far enough that they might be afforded a little more privacy for their date. Robin spread one of the blankets out and sat, watching as Strike eased himself down beside her with a small grunt.
“How’s your leg?” she inquired gently.
“Alright,” he replied with a nod. “Still more healing to go, but it’s feeling better.”
“Good,” she answered, her eyes wandering over the people around them. She didn't press him. She’d seen the winces he had tried to hide, the barely hidden limp as he walked, the way he rubbed at his knee under the table when he thought no one was looking and the amount of paracetamol he had taken lately.
A few days into their new relationship she’d implored him to see a doctor, and Strike, a lot more willing to do anything she asked of him, had actually listened. Since then, he’d been far more diligent: resting or elevating it when he could, icing it when necessary, using the crutches more often, even cutting back on stubbornly soldiering through the pain. It had made a difference, and he knew he had her to thank for that. He wanted – no, needed – to be better for her as a partner, now in more ways than one. She meant everything to him, and taking care of himself felt like one of the quietest, yet most important, ways to show it.
“So,” he grinned, rubbing his hands together, his eyes widening eagerly like a boy about to unwrap a present. “What treats did you bring for us?”
“Dunno,” Robin shrugged, reaching into the carrier bag and pulling out some disposable plates, forks, plastic cups and napkins. “Max packed it for us. Insisted on it.”
“Really?” Strike chuckled. “That was bloody generous of him.”
“He likes you,” Robin smiled, pulling wrapped containers out of the bag and laying them out between them.
“Not sure why, I didn’t exactly make a good impression the first time we met,” Strike muttered and paused with a slight grimace, chastising himself for having brought up such an unpleasant memory while they were on a date.
Robin, amused, reached over, cupped his cheek and kissed him gently, her expression making it clear it was all in the past. What mattered was that they were here now, together, blissfully happy.
“Well,” she said, eyebrows lifting as she surveyed the spread. “He’s gone all out.”
“I’ll say,” Strike agreed, his mouth already watering as he took in the veritable feast in front of them.
Max had packed them an assortment of finger sandwiches, mini sausage rolls, pork pies, strawberries and grapes, crisps, an extra-large slice of cheesecake and a bottle of chilled wine.
“You just had all this at the flat?” Strike asked in genuine surprise.
“Well, I don’t know if you were aware, but that cold box in your kitchen is designed to hold more than just beer and leftover takeaway,” Robin teased, lips curling into a smirk.
“Ha,” he rolled his eyes good-naturedly and reached out to grab a pork pie.
They dug in, chatting between bites, both in high spirits. The food was delicious – clearly prepared with care – and Strike made no attempt to hide his enjoyment, groaning in delight after nearly every mouthful.
Robin opened the bottle of wine, pouring two generous swigs into each of the plastic cups and handing one to Strike.
“Shall we toast?” he asked, lifting his cup.
“Sure,” she smiled, raising hers in turn. “To Max, for this lovely picnic.”
“To Max,” he echoed, clinking her cup, then added, “And to us - the best partnership in all of London.”
“To us,” she said, smiling, and took a sip of her wine. “Beauty and the Beast.”
“Oi!” he grinned in mock offence, then laughed with her, her joyful laughter the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. He watched her fondly, and when her amused eyes met his, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward to capture her lips with his own.
He started to pull away, but Robin hooked a hand behind his neck, deepening the kiss, not yet ready to let him go.
After a few moments, Strike backed away and looked at her with a smirk. “The beast ends up turning into a handsome prince at the end, yeah?”
“That’s right,” she nodded with a smile.
“So there’s hope for me yet,” he chuckled, tapping the end of her nose before reaching down to start gathering up the leftovers and placing them back in the bag. They had just finished their glasses of wine when they saw the musicians carrying their instruments onto the stage.
Food packed away, Strike sat with his legs out in front of him and spread them slightly apart, patting the now open space between them. Robin smiled and settled between his thighs, her back against his chest. She reached her arm up behind her to thread her fingers through his hair, pulling his head down, tilting her head up and to the side to capture his mouth in a kiss.
He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, revelling in the feel of her body pressed against him and her lips locked against his.
“This is lovely,” she whispered when they finally broke apart.
“Mmm,” he murmured in agreement, stroking her arm gently. “Cold?” he asked, feeling her shiver.
“A little,” she nodded, and he reached for the second blanket she’d brought, fanning it out to cover their legs and wrapping it around both their waists.
“Thank you,” she smiled, leaning further back into him as the band began to play.
They listened quietly for a while, Strike tapping the rhythm out on her thigh. After a while, he bent his head and nuzzled into the curve of her neck, his breath hot against her skin, tickling her ear and making her chuckle. He grinned at the delightful sound and decided he would never tire of hearing it.
As twilight deepened, shadows stretching across the park, and the musicians continued to play on, Strike slipped his hands under the blanket, wrapping them around Robin’s waist, peppering kisses along her neck.
“Cormoran,” she giggled, squirming in his grasp before turning to him with a playful grin.
“Sorry,” he whispered, his mouth still close to her skin. “Can’t help it when you’re this close. You’re intoxicating.”
She leaned in for another kiss before turning her attention back to the music. Strike couldn’t stop watching her. The way she bobbed her head along to the melody, her features glowing in the amber light – it was almost too much to bear. Hugging her tight under the blanket, he released her waist and ran his hands up and down her thighs. He slowly began to caress her leg, edging one hand upwards, thumb brushing just over her centre through the soft fabric of her leggings, hearing her breath hitch at his movement. He paused for a beat waiting if she would ask him to stop, giving her the chance to object, and when nothing was forthcoming he moved his hand further inward and pressed a little firmer, cupping her with slow, deliberate movements.
Robin felt a flush creep into her cheeks as Strike caressed her with one large hand, his other drifting up to graze the soft skin of her stomach just under the hem of her jumper. His movements, though gentle and well concealed from onlookers under the blanket, were hidden more by the distance they'd kept from the crowd than by fabric alone.
Robin’s head lolled back against Strike’s shoulder as he continued to massage her core, spreading her legs a fraction more to give him better access. His fingertips teased along her waistband, and he paused once more in a silent invitation for her to stop him if she wished. Instead she twitched closer and he slid his hand beneath the elastic and into her knickers, drawing a sharp breath from her lungs.
“Okay?” he murmured in her ear, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver of pleasure down her spine.
“Yes,” she whispered softly, her focus narrowing to nothing but the feel of him, the music from the band and buzz of the spectators fading into the background, a distant hum compared to her elevated heart rate and the now steady pulsing between her legs as he began to run his middle finger up and down the length of her folds, unhurried and exploratory.
She tried, feebly, to keep her gaze trained on the stage, willing herself to look as though she were still watching the musicians, in order to not draw attention to the naughty act in which she and her partner were engaging. But it was no use – she found it impossible to concentrate on anything other than the man sitting behind her.
Strike eased his finger inside her and the soft sound that escaped her lips was barely caught by the swell of the music around them.
“Shh,” he breathed and pressed a kiss into her hair. His mouth moved down until she could feel his lips curling against her neck in a smile as he continued to stroke her insides with his finger, her arousal now unmistakable due to the wetness building between her thighs and the subtle movement of her hips. She shifted her body against his, feeling his own arousal pressing into her lower back.
Strike dipped a second finger inside, just as his thumb found her clit, circling it gently, his pace controlled. He was still keeping his movements slow and gentle, and was impressed by her compusure – even from this close, only her shortened breaths and slight tremble gave any indication of the exquisite torture he was putting her through and the immense willpower Robin was using to keep from crying out in pleasure.
“Cormoran,” she whispered, flushed and fluttering, her eyes barely able to stay open. The way his fingers moved inside her—curving, coaxing, stroking—sent waves of heat coursing through her body. Her hands gripped his thighs under the blanket to steady herself, concentrating on the feel of his fingers, her clit throbbing under the steady pressure of his thumb, making her gasp.
He dropped another kiss along her jaw, nipping at her earlobe, his warm breath ghosting against her ear, raising goosebumps on her already sensitive flesh.
Robin gently rocked her hips against his hand as she felt heat pooling in her core, her arousal reaching its peak as her body trembled, her impending orgasm on the horizon yet still slightly out of reach.
A faint whimper escaped her as a warm sensation began to flood her body, her breaths becoming more ragged and shallow.
“Come for me,” Strike murmured against her skin, feeling her insides beginning to clench around his fingers, and knowing she was close.
Just a few more strokes of his finger and Robin broke – legs tingling, her body drawn taut like a bowstring before unravelling in a rush of heat that ran from the base of her skull to the tips of her curled toes. Her orgasm came strong and fast, her back stiffening against his chest, followed by a shallow gasp as her legs shook gently under the blanket and her insides contracted tightly.
He held her through it, murmuring softly, kissing her neck, and caressing her slick folds with tender strokes as the tension slowly ebbed away. A bead of sweat trailed between her breasts and her ears rang faintly. She turned her head to rest more comfortably against his chest, and closed her eyes, the music of the brass band becoming more clear as the ringing in her ears faded and after a few moments she glanced around, suddenly alert and checking to see if anyone was looking at them, but it seemed as if no one was paying them any mind.
A shift behind her reminded her not only of her partner's presence but also of his own heightened state of arousal as his erection insistently pressed into her backside. She rolled her hips, arching back slightly and heard a stifled groan in her ear.
“Don’t,” he growled softly, gently withdrawing his fingers from her and resting his hand on her thigh. “If you keep that up, I’m not walking out of here with a shred of dignity.”
Robin smiled, melting into his arms when suddenly - seemingly possessed by the same strange sensation that had taken over her body that day on the pavement outside the office - she stood, reaching down to help Strike to his feet.
“C’mon,” she said in an urgent whisper, mischief sparkling in her eyes.
He raised a curious brow but took her proffered hand without hesitation, allowing her to pull him up. She led him off the blanket, away from the distant hum of brass and chatter, guiding them onto the park’s winding path. Her pace was brisk, purposeful. Strike followed silently, his hand enclosed in hers. They’d gone a few yards before she glanced around and veered off the path into the shade of the trees.
“Robin, what..?” he began, but stopped short, his grin wicked. He knew exactly what she was up to. Over the past week, as they explored their new physical relationship, Strike had discovered that Robin had an adventurous, daring side. A sexual curiosity that had been stifled by her unimaginative ex-husband; a curiosity that Strike not only encouraged but found extremely arousing.
Robin dragged him deep enough into the treeline so that the path was no longer visible, the sound of the band still faintly audible in the distance, before she stopped and spun on her heel, grabbing his shirt and pulling his mouth to hers for a searing kiss.
He responded instantly, grasping her waist, greedily tasting her lips, his tongue requesting and being granted entrance. He ran his hands up and down her sides, his fingers finding her breast, kneading gently through the soft knit of her jumper.
Robin moaned into his mouth, arching into his touch, and felt Strike press against her hip with his considerable erection in response. His lips broke away to trail hot kisses along her jaw, then down the side of her neck. She tilted her head back, granting him more access, enjoying the rasp of his stubbled chin against her smooth skin, her pulse pounding beneath his mouth as he tugged the collar of her jumper aside to suck at the sensitive skin of her collarbone. Robin opened her eyes and looked over Strike’s shoulder, her mouth pulling into a wicked grin as she got an idea.
Taking his hand, she led him over to a tree stump that looked to be the perfect height for what she had in mind. Robin sat on the edge of the stump with her feet flat on the ground in front of her, then spread her legs apart and pulled Strike to stand between them. With nimble fingers, she unfastened his trousers and reached inside, freeing his thick shaft from the confines of his boxers.
Strike watched her intently, his eyes dark with desire, as she wrapped her hand around his cock and used her thumb to circle the head, spreading his pre-cum with deliberate slowness. She stroked him a few times, twisting her grip and squeezing gently as he rocked his hips forward. He closed his eyes and let out a groan of pleasure before taking a small step closer to her in anticipation, opening his eyes again just in time to see Robin lean forward and take him into her mouth.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his head falling back as her mouth closed around him. He took a deep breath, the cool evening air filling his lungs a striking contrast to the heat of Robin’s mouth.
She pulled back slowly, teasing the head of his cock with the tip of her tongue before taking him in again, deeper this time, eliciting a low throaty moan.
“Christ, that feels good,” his husky baritone wrapped around her as he tangled his fingers into her hair and gently held her there while she worked him with her mouth, up, down and around his sensitive cock.
She reached out to fondle his balls with one hand, the other gripping the base of his shaft with a gentle pressure while her tongue, again, swirled around his tip.
Strike felt an urgent heat creeping up his body and his balls tightened in response. He was so aroused he felt he might lose control any moment, and the last thing he wanted was to have this encounter end prematurely.
“Stop,” he panted, gently pulling himself away from her mouth with reluctance, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark as he looked down on her upturned face.
He took her hands and pulled her to a stand before swapping places to sit on the stump and bringing her to stand between his legs. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her jumper to expose her creamy skin underneath as he pressed his lips to her abdomen, just below her navel.
Robin sighed and ran her hands through his hair as he placed hot, wet kisses to her skin, sliding his fingers down and hooking them into the waistband of her leggings. He slowly dragged them down her thighs and then kissed her through her knickers, the fabric already damp from her earlier orgasm and her arousal.
“Cormoran,” she breathed.
He smiled and tugged her knickers down, pausing to admire her - slick, flushed, perfect. Robin released a shuddering breath as he brought his face closer, his breath hot and teasing against her already swollen clit. She rocked her hips forward, wanting him closer. His fingers held her steady, one hand spreading her folds, the other pressed to her lower back. He could smell and see her arousal, halting for only a moment before flattening his tongue against her, his movements soft at first, then faster, more precise.
Robin clenched her fingers in his hair, pushing his head gently forward and encouraging him on.
Strike slowly ran his tongue up and down her slit, pausing when he reached the top and using the tip of his tongue to put pressure directly on her clit.
Robin gasped and began pressing her hips against his mouth as he started flicking his tongue in rapid succession against her swollen bud, his stubbled chin creating a pleasurable friction against her wet folds while his tongue worked her into a frenzy.
Focused on the pleasure he was giving her with his mouth, Robin gasped in surprise as Strike slid his finger into her and curled against her insides, her legs suddenly feeling weak.
“Cormoran, please…” she whimpered, pulling gently on his hair and rolling her hips.
“Mmm?”
“Please fuck me.”
He didn’t need a second invitation.
He rose to his feet, claiming her mouth in a fevered, hungry kiss, hands gripping her arse and squeezing gently, guiding her closer as his hard cock pressed against her, wet and ready for him. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, nipping at her collarbone before placing a line of searing kisses up her jaw.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he growled, kissing her again and again, before gently turning her in his arms and guiding her to brace herself against a nearby tree.
With a quick motion, he pushed her knickers and leggings down to her knees, before lowering his own trousers and boxers. Robin stretched her arms and dipped her back, feeling Strike press himself against her, using his hands on her hips to adjust her position and lining himself up against her entrance.
He rubbed his cock against her, lubricating the tip with her juices before sliding into her slowly with a groan.
Strike paused to allow her insides to stretch and mould around him, then slowly pulled back, leaving only the tip inside before thrusting forward again, watching her head fall forward as she moaned with pleasure.
He gradually increased in speed until he was pushing himself into her with a steady rhythm. One hand gripping her hip, guiding her along his shaft, Strike slipped the other around her to rub tight circles against her swollen and sensitive clit.
“Yes!” she gasped, pressing back against him as he plunged into her with increasing speed, sweat gathering on his brow as heat began building in his body again.
“Fuck Robin, you feel so good,” he huffed, sliding his hand under her jumper to cup her breast, kneading through lace as he continued his rhythm, his other fingers relentless on her clit, encouraged by the chorus of whimpers and moans escaping her throat.
He felt the heat coil in his spine and his balls beginning to tighten and knew he was getting close, his thrusts more erratic in the face of his impending orgasm. Robin pressed her arse against him and cleched her vaginal muscles.
“Do that again,” he moaned, his tone teasing the edge of begging. She obeyed and, squeezing once more, felt him thrust deeper and press his finger firmly against her clit in response.
Robin felt her legs begin to tremble as a surge of heat flooded her body, tossing her head back and releasing a cry of pleasure as her orgasm blazed through her. Strike thrust twice more and then followed her over the edge, a deep groan escaping his lungs as he jerked and spilled into her, his hands on her breast and clit continuing to stimulate her as they each rode the waves of their orgasm.
They stayed like that for a moment, their breathing slowly calming. In the distance, the music hit its final crescendo, followed by a generous round of applause. Both partners stilled and remained silent for a beat before simultaneously bursting into laughter.
“Well," Strike said, with a breathless chuckle, nuzzling her neck before pulling his softened cock from her body and taking a step back. "I’d say that certainly deserved some applause.”
“Definitely,” she replied, turning around with a grin, pulling her knickers and leggings back into place as Strike tucked himself back into his boxers and buttoned his trousers.
“We missed the concert.”
“Guess we’ll just have to come back next week,” she said with a shrug and a sly smile.
Strike laughed and stepped forward, pulling her into his arms and kissing along her jaw.
“Deal. But for now, what do you say we go gather our things, take that bottle of wine back to yours and have ourselves a little encore?”
Robin turned her head and kissed his mouth, running her tongue along his top lip.
“Now that, Mr. Strike, is music to my ears.”
