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She seemed to have also run out of words. Her hand looped itself into the waist of my belt and she pulled me toward her, catching my face with her lips. I melted into the kiss as my hands finally found her waist. I planted my hands on her ass and I squeezed, feeling the table cloth’s fabric stretch across her skin. Her hands were not idol. They ran down my back, over my taunt stomach, and she plunged into my jeans. I loosened my belt as she wrenched my boxers out of the way and grasped my cock. She stroked it in a hasty and desperate fashion, as if she were trying to beat the cum out of me. Before I could do anything, she had broken the kiss and slipped down to her knees, bringing my jeans with her on the descent. My cock dangled in the air as it celebrated its freedom, but it was short lived. Jessie tracked it as it danced in the air, then, when she saw the perfect moment, she pounced. My head slipping into her mouth. I could feel it resting on her tongue, which she swished back. We were in a different area from the wine bar where we'd met up earlier and I had the fleeting thought that we were unlikely to run into any of our other colleagues there: at the time there were about fifty thousand people working in Canary Wharf.We kissed again and our hands slipped under each other's coats: we were now losing control and not caring where we were. Somebody drunkenly shouted: "Put her down!" at which we briefly again broke apart laughing before we once more found each other's mouths.By now, we were standing under the overhead track of the monorail that serves the Docklands area and, at this point, runs through the central Canary Wharf development several floors up. I was leaning back against the balustrade running along the waterside, Cathy pressed up against me, our coats opened around us. We were now a little further away from the bars and the outside drinkers, but there were still people walking within a few yards making their way to the station.Pressed up against.
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