Hospital Picnic

The sun was brutal--straight overhead and mean about it. My blouse was already sticking to my back by the time we crossed the lawn. Rows of white tents stretched along the lake, tidy and company-logoed, folding chairs and round tables shaded by rented umbrellas. A guy in a black polo was crouched beneath the buffet table, adjusting sterno trays. Others moved between stations like hotel valets--quick, smooth, practiced. Polite enough to remind you this wasn't a backyard barbecue. There was a bar. Thank God.

"Go grab something," Brian said, already clocking someone from his department. "I'll find you in a bit."

And just like that, he was gone. Crossing the grass in nurse manager mode--shoulders squared, handshake ready, that tight little laugh I knew meant he was only half-listening.

I drifted toward the bar, sunglasses slipping down my nose, ankles already regretting the wedges I'd worn.

I'd met most of his staff before--hospital holiday things, a few poker nights. They were always nice, polite. But something about today felt different. Less buttoned up. More buzzed. Jackets off, sleeves rolled. The second I stepped under the tent, I felt it--eyes.

Not staring. Not threatening. Just... noticing.

I ordered a vodka soda, sipped, and turned to scan the tables. And then I saw him.

He was standing near a high-top by the lake path, talking to a pair of nurses I recognized but couldn't name. Black tee tucked into fitted slacks, sleeves pushed up just enough to show ink curling down one forearm. He was relaxed--still--but there was something behind that stillness. Something self-assured. The kind of presence that doesn't try to impress, just makes you want to look.

He was younger. Maybe early thirties. Broad shoulders, neat goatee, smooth jawline. His posture didn't ask for attention. It just got it.

He laughed at something one of the nurses said--low, easy--and then looked up. At me.

He didn't look away. Didn't smile, didn't nod. Just held the look. Calm. Steady. Like he already knew something I didn't. I felt my body respond before I meant to. A low pulse, deep in my belly. I turned back to the bar, took another sip.

Jesus, Kristen. Get a grip.

I found Brian near the appetizers, mid-conversation with a senior admin. I leaned in, keeping my voice low. "Who's the guy in the black shirt? Tattooed arm?"

"Malik James," he said without looking up. "New ICU hire. One of mine now."

Ah. I nodded, casual. "He seems... centered."

Brian gave a short chuckle, still half-focused. "Yeah. Former Army. Just moved up from Atlanta. Solid guy."

You'll meet him in a bit, he said. I already had. Sort of.

We wandered the event together--Brian doing the rounds, introducing me when it made sense. I smiled. Nodded. Sipped. The food wasn't bad. Music filtered through the speakers, just loud enough to keep things moving. People were loosening up with every fresh drink.

And I kept catching him looking. Not every time. But enough to know it wasn't a coincidence.

It happened again while I was chatting with a group of wives near the water. I was mid-sentence when I felt it--his eyes on me. I turned. There he was, talking to Brian now.

And looking at me. He didn't look away.

Just the barest shift of his lips. Not quite a smile. Not teeth. Just the suggestion of one. Like he'd seen something he liked and didn't mind me knowing it.

I looked away. Then back. They were walking toward me.

"Kristen," Brian said, placing a hand on the man's shoulder, "this is Malik--the guy I was telling you about. Malik, my wife."

His hand swallowed mine. Warm, firm, a little rough. And he didn't let go right away.

"Pleasure," he said.

I smiled, maybe a little too wide. "Likewise. Welcome to the circus."

He tilted his head. "So far, I'm enjoying the view."

Brian gave him a glance, but didn't comment. Someone across the lawn called his name, and just like that, he was gone again.

Malik lingered.

His eyes stayed on mine a second longer. Then drifted--not leering, just... noticing. The fall of my blouse, the line of my neck, the dip of my sunglasses. Then back to my face.

"You've got a way of making 'welcome' sound like a warning," he said.

I laughed under my breath. "Do I?"

He shrugged. "Not that I'm backing off."

"I didn't ask you to."

We stood there, closer than polite conversation called for. I could feel the shift in the space between us. The warmth. My drink was nearly gone.

"I like your shirt," I said, nodding at his chest, where the cotton pulled just slightly when he moved.

He smiled, slow. "I like your jeans."

The heat climbed up my throat. I didn't bother hiding it.

Someone else called his name--a nurse with a phone in hand. He gave me a small nod and walked off. Didn't rush. Just turned like he already knew I'd be watching. I didn't even try to look away in time.

The vodka hit harder after that. It started in the knees--the way they loosened. Then the hips, swaying a little too easily. By the time I found myself standing near one of the cocktail tables with a few familiar nurses, I was relaxed. Just enough.

They were mostly women. Friendly. Sharp. The kind who noticed everything and didn't pretend not to.

"God, it's disgusting out here," one said, tugging at the neckline of her dress. "Wore a bra like a damn rookie."

More groans. Agreement.

"I'm dying in these jeans," I admitted. "But I shaved today, so they're staying."

They laughed. Someone handed me a mini quiche. I took it even though I wasn't hungry.

"Is Brian still working the room?" one asked.

I scanned the crowd. "Of course. That man could campaign for mayor and still make it to bedtime by nine."

"Bet you're the one people actually want to talk to," someone added.

I just smiled, let the compliment slide. That's when I felt it again. A shift behind me. Like the air thickened just slightly.

"Excuse me," a voice said, low and smooth. "Mind if I borrow your table?"

Everyone turned. I didn't have to. He stepped in with a drink in hand--something clear, probably gin. Gave a polite nod to the group. But his eyes found mine.

"You found your way back," I said, lifting my glass.

"I said I would."

The others drifted off, sensing something. Maybe just needing refills. Either way, we were alone.

"What are you drinking?" he asked.

"Vodka soda. Extra lime."

He looked at my cup. "Looks weak."

"It is," I said. "That's how I get away with three of them."

He smiled. "So this is you behaving."

"You haven't seen me misbehave." I regretted saying it the second it left my mouth.

But he didn't pounce. Didn't smirk. He just stepped in a little closer--blocking the sun with his body, casting me in shade that felt cooler than it should've.

"Maybe I'm hoping I will," he said quietly.

I stared at him. Took in how still he was. How near. His arm brushed mine, barely. But I felt it. My body read it like a sentence. I didn't move.

"You're good at that," I said.

"At what?"

"Patience." He smiled, just a flicker. "You look like the kind of woman who's worth taking slow."

That hit low. Deep. Between my thighs, in the center of my chest. I lifted my glass for another sip but felt my hand tremble slightly. He noticed. I could see it in his eyes when they flicked down to my fingers, then back to my face.

"You been on Long Island long?" I asked, just to do something.

"A few months. Transferred in April."

"You like it?"

"It's got its charm," he said, tilting his head. "And now I've got a good boss."

I laughed. "Brian? He's about as intimidating as a golden retriever."

"I wasn't talking about him."

My pulse kicked. Hard. His glass touched mine, a soft clink. Casual, but it landed like a dare.

"I should find the restroom," I said suddenly. "This vodka's catching up."

He stepped aside. No protest. No pressure.

"I'll be around," he said.

I nodded and walked. Not toward the bathroom exactly. Just... away.

I stopped in the shade just outside the pavilion, leaned against the side of the building, pressed two fingers to my neck to try and calm the thudding pulse there. My reflection in the window caught me--flushed cheeks, blouse sticking between my breasts, hair curling at the ends from the heat. I adjusted the strap of my top. Then let it fall again.

I didn't head back toward the tents. I walked toward the bar. And he was still there. Waiting. This time, I didn't hesitate. I walked straight up, past a couple of interns trying not to stare at my chest. The bartender smiled like he already knew what kind of day I was having.

"Another vodka soda?" he asked.

I nodded, dropped my empty cup, leaned on the bar. The condensation from someone else's drink was already pooling under my palm. I didn't care. I felt loose now. Heat behind my knees, in my neck, at the center of my chest. My blouse clung, and I let it. Didn't fix it. Didn't fix the strap either.

"Here you go." The bartender handed me the drink with a wink I didn't return.

I took a sip. That's when I saw her--Nina, barefoot, prosecco in one hand, wild energy in the other. Striding toward me across the lawn like she'd made up her mind and I didn't get a vote.

"Oh no," I said, already bracing.

"Oh yes," she grinned. "Let's go. Dance floor. Now."

She grabbed my hand before I could argue, yanked me toward the grass where a few of the younger nurses were already moving. Something with bass. Mid-2000s club trash. Perfect.

"You're drunk," I said as she spun me lazily.

"So are you," she shot back.

She wasn't wrong. I danced. Loosened my hips. Let my hair fall into my face. Moved just enough to feel the rhythm slip into my body.

Then I felt him. I didn't see him approach. Just knew he was there--close enough that I could feel heat from behind. A heartbeat. A gravity shift. He didn't touch me. Not at first. Just moved like he already knew how I liked to move.

Nina noticed before I did. Her eyes flicked behind me. Then back to mine, wide with a grin. And then she backed off--just enough to give us room.

Still, he didn't touch. We danced. Closer. Slower. I arched my back slightly. Just enough to feel him there. He matched my curve like we'd practiced. His hand hovered at my hip. Just... there. Letting me know it could land anytime it wanted.

"You really know how to move," I said without meaning to.

"You make it easy." Iturned slowly to face him. Still swayin, still moving.

His hand found my waist. Light. Then firmer when I didn't flinch. I placed mine on his shoulder. I wasn't thinking anymore. I was feeling--heat through fabric, music in my chest, the press of his thigh near mine.

"Do you dance like this with everyone?" I asked, eyes on his mouth.

He didn't look away. "Only when it feels like this."

I curled toward him again. Let my hips catch his. The rhythm slowed. Thickened. Nina was gone. Or maybe behind me. Maybe the whole party had disappeared. His other hand brushed the small of my back, fingertips grazing skin under fabric. He moved with me. Pressed fully to my body now--his chest at my back, thigh between mine, breath at my ear.

"You're not wearing a bra," he said, just loud enough for me.

His fingers slid under the hem of my blouse--barely there. But I jumped like I'd been burned.

"I can feel your heart racing," he whispered.

So could I. Then the beat shifted, louder and thicker. His hands didn't move. And I didn't stop him. But I pulled away. Not fast, not dramatic, just enough.... a small step back. A quick "I need a refill," before I turned and walked off. My heart was hammering now--throat tight, skin on fire, thighs wet.

The sun was dipping behind the trees. Everything looked gold now. Long shadows. No one noticed me as I moved back toward the bar. Didn't matter. I felt him watching. I set my glass down too hard. The bartender raised an eyebrow. I gave him a tired smile.

"One more," I said. "Heavy on the soda."

He nodded, started mixing. I scanned the crowd. Brian wasn't where I'd left him. Not at the buffet. Not by the games. Probably telling one of his staff the IV pump story again. Part of me wanted to find him. Part of me didn't.

The new drink landed in front of me. Cold against my hand. I took a sip, slower now.

It helped a little. I told myself I needed air. Just air. Not escape. Not avoidance.

I passed the food tables, the neat stacks of coolers, the staging tent. I found a dirt path curving behind the pavilion, just enough tree cover to disappear. The second I stepped onto it, I exhaled. My chest was tight... not from panic. From heat. From want.

I leaned back against a tree. Closed my eyes.

I could still feel him--his thigh, his hand, his mouth near my ear. The breeze touched my skin. Cooler now. And then I felt it again. That presence.

"Too loud out there?" he asked, voice low, close but respectful.

"Too much," I said softly.

He didn't close the space. Just waited. Let it be mine to give. I turned my head. Glanced at him over my shoulder. He stood there like he belonged in the quiet--drink in hand, one tucked in his pocket, watching me like I didn't surprise him at all.

"You alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine."

A beat.

"You looked like you needed space."

"I do."

He took a sip. Nodded. "Want company?"

I didn't answer right away. Just watched him. Watched the way he looked at me--not cautious, not assuming. Just steady.

"I don't know," I said. Honest.

"That's fair."

Another silence. Not heavy. Just real.

"You don't strike me as the shy type," he said eventually.

"I'm not."

"Good." A pause. "Then I'll stop holding back."

He stepped in--slow. Measured. Enough to close the gap but not overwhelm it. I didn't move. His shadow stretched across mine, soft light through the trees dappling his shirt. I lifted my glass. My hand brushed his wrist. Intentional or not, I didn't care. He looked down at the contact, then back at me.

"You sure you're fine?" he asked again--but softer now. Like he already knew the answer.

I shook my head, just a little. "No. Not really."

That felt more honest than anything I'd said all day. He didn't flinch. Just held my eyes.

Stillness again. I looked away. Took a breath.

"I should get back."

He nodded like he understood. Like he didn't need more than that.

"I'll see you around," I said, half-expecting not to.

He smiled. Not smug. Just knowing. "I'll be here."

I stepped past him. Shoulders brushed. Not quite an accident. I didn't look back. But I felt him behind my ribs.

Back at the tents, I walked like I had a destination--cut across the lawn, passed a couple comparing sandals, spotted Brian by the cornhole boards with his foot propped on one. He was laughing at something, all-in on someone's story, a brownie in his hand.

I didn't interrupt. Didn't trust myself to stand still next to him.

"Kristen!" Nina's voice hit me before I could dodge.

"Where've you been?" she asked, practically bouncing barefoot across the grass.

"Got pulled into small talk."

"Liar," she grinned. "C'mon. They're playing something dirty, and your shirt is doing distracting things."

She grabbed my hand before I could argue and dragged me toward the speaker tower. Music thumped low and slow, hips-and-thighs kind of tempo. Someone had definitely found the tequila. I let her pull me. Let the rhythm soak in again. Let it push everything else... Brian, the bar, my heartbeat... down low in my body.

And I danced. Again. Slower this time. Arms up. Hips rolling. Hair sticking to the back of my neck. I didn't care.

Then I felt him. Not his voice. Not his hand. Just him.

Malik stepped in behind me like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he'd always been meant to fill that space. His hand rested on my hip... lightly testing. I didn't stop him.

His chest at my back. Thigh fitting between mine like he'd measured it. My body curved into his like it knew how. The beat pulsed. My hips matched it. His hand shifted--firm now, holding me steady. His breath slid over my shoulder, warm and slow.

"You never found your husband," he said, voice barely louder than the bass.

"I know."

No teasing in his tone. No judgment. He just moved with me. Slower. Tighter. We weren't dancing anymore. Not really. We were fucking with our clothes on. I let my head fall back onto his shoulder. My hand slipped behind me, landed on his thigh. I didn't mean to hold him there. But I didn't move it either.

The music slowed. My chest rose. My skin buzzed. His lips found my ear again.

"Come with me," he said.

I didn't answer.

He stepped back. Just enough to catch my hand. And I let him. We walked. Off the grass. Past the edge of the party. Into the shadows beside the pavilion where the lights didn't reach. No one noticed. No one looked.

I wasn't thinking. I just followed. We didn't talk. Just walked.

The farther we got from the party, the louder everything inside me got. The music faded, the voices faded, but my pulse didn't. He didn't hold my hand again. Didn't lead. Just stayed beside me.... close enough that his arm brushed mine every few steps. The grass gave way to gravel. The trees thickened.

That's when I saw it.

A black Ram parked near the edge, dipped into shadow. Back windows tinted. Front seat empty.

My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my throat. My legs wanted to move before the rest of me caught up.

I opened the door and climbed in. He climbed in behind me

The heat hit first. Thick. Close. Still air filled with sun-warmed vinyl and his scent. Soap. Sweat. Gin. Skin. It smelled like him already.

The door shut.

Before I could say a word, he moved. One hand on my chest, sliding under my blouse like he'd been holding back since he first saw me. He yanked the neckline down, dragged both sides off my shoulders, my tits flopping out. His mouth was on me before I could breathe.

"Fuck..." I gasped, head falling back.

He sucked hard--wet and deep, tongue circling my nipple while his other hand shoved shirt aside, filling his palm with the other. Rough and hungry, he didn't ease in, he devoured. His lips clamped tight and dragged over me like he was marking me.

"You been walking around in this little tight blouse all damn day," he growled into my skin. "Teasin' the whole fucking lawn with these white titties."

My hips bucked. I didn't even realize I was grinding against his leg. His mouth switched sides. Wet, hot, open. Sucking deep again. His tongue flicked slow, then fast, then sucked until I gasped out loud. My thighs clenched. My hand was in his hair, pulling.

"You like that?" he asked, voice thick and low against my skin.

I couldn't speak. I just nodded, chest arched up into him.

"Yeah, you like how I suck these pretty white tits. I knew you would."

His hand slid under the waistband of my jeans. Rested there, warm. Just enough to remind me how much further this was going.

I was panting, my body twitching every time he bit down--not hard, just enough to make it feel personal.

"Tell me this is what you came for," he said, still holding one breast in his mouth. "Say it."

I didn't. I just pulled his face in harder. My thighs wrapped around his hips. I needed him. My hands were already at my jeans, working the button. I got them open, yanked the zipper, pushed them halfway down. He helped. Rough, fast. His hands dragged them past my ass, groaning when he saw the soaked strip of my panties clinging to me.

"Fuck... you're leaking through 'em," he said. "Wet little white pussy just beggin' for me."

I moaned. He peeled the panties down, slow at first, then rougher when I lifted to help. They clung to my skin, damp and sticky. He balled them in one hand and tossed them somewhere behind us.

I pulled off my blouse the rest of the way. My tits glistened with spit, nipples hard and wet.

He stared down at me, breathing hard.

"You been walking around all day like that," he said, low. "Acting polite. But I knew the second you looked at me you wanted this dick."

I didn't argue. I straddled him--knees wide, one hand dropping to his lap to unzip him.

His cock came free--dark, heavy, thick in my hand.

"I want it in my mouth first," I said, voice shaking.

"Then take it."

I dropped to the footwell, one knee braced against the door. I licked the tip once. Tasted him. Then opened wide. His whole body twitched when I took him in. He hissed through his teeth. "Goddamn..."

I sucked deep, slow. Spit already dripping down my chin as I stroked and twisted my wrist, letting his cock glide over my tongue. His hands gripped my hair. His hips started to move.

"Look at you," he grunted. "Pretty mouth stretched around this Black dick like it was made for it."

I moaned. Took him deeper. Gagged once, then again.... but didn't stop.

He groaned low, deeper now. "Fucking love this white mouth. Look how good you take it."

He started to fuck my face. Thrusts short at first, then harder. My eyes watered. I drooled around him.

"Open that throat," he growled. "C'mon--take all of it."

He pulled out fast, panting, cock slick and twitching.

"Get back up here."

I scrambled onto his lap, still breathing hard. I guided him to my entrance, rubbed him along my slit.... hot, soaked. Then I sank down. We both groaned at the same time.

"Ffffuck..."

He filled me. Thick. Stretching me open inch by inch until I was sitting on his lap, stuffed full.

I started to ride him... slow at first, getting used to the stretch, then faster. His hands slammed my hips down, guiding me, lifting me. His cock hit deep, over and over, wet sounds filling the truck.

"You've been needing this," he growled. "Look at you. Riding this Black cock like it's the only thing that fits your little married pussy."

I moaned. Couldn't answer. Couldn't stop.

Then he flipped me. One quick motion. My back hit the seat. My legs still open. He shoved himself back inside like he'd been waiting to go rough. He threw my legs over his shoulders, bent me tight. My pussy stretched wide, his cock slamming in.

"Oh God--Malik--fuck--"

He pounded into me. Deep. Hard. The seat rocked. My body shook. My knees bent high, pressed almost to my shoulders. I couldn't breathe. I didn't want to.

"You want it like this?" he growled. "Say it."

"Yes!" I cried. "Fuck me.... don't stop.... you're splitting me open!"

He grunted, sweat dripping onto my chest. His cock filled me deep. Loud. Wet. His hands held my thighs, pushed harder. Then he pulled out.

"Push your tits together."

I did.

He climbed up onto his knees, shoved his cock between them, sliding fast. Groaning.

"Fucking perfect..." he muttered. "Big soft white tits wrapped around this big Black dick..."

I looked up at him. Tongue out.

He saw it.

"You want it again?" he panted.

I nodded. "In my mouth. Come in my mouth."

He groaned, deep. Cock twitching. He straddled my chest, hand gripping the back of my head.

"Open."

He shoved in--deep--facefucking me until my throat caught. I gagged. Took it anyway.

"Take it," he growled. "Take this cum like a good girl."

Then he came. Hot, thick ropes splashed my lips, my tongue, across my cheeks. He painted my face, groaning deep in his chest as he pulsed over me. I moaned, mouth still open. He stroked the last few drops onto my chin, then stepped back slightly. I brought two fingers to my cheek. Licked them clean.

His eyes locked on mine.

"Fuck," he whispered. "You're filthier than I thought."

I didn't answer. Just laid there. Breathing.

Back against the seat. Skin flushed and sticky. My tits wet with spit and sweat. Mouth raw. Thighs trembling. His cum streaked across my collarbone and lips.

And I was still wet and still aching.

He leaned back, arm over the headrest, watching me like I hadn't even started to give him everything yet.

Neither of us spoke.

I reached down for my panties. Pulled them back up with legs that barely worked.

"I want to go again," I whispered.

He smiled. "I know."

"I can't," I said. "I need to get back. Brian'll notice."

"Let him," Malik said, not like a dare. Like a fact.

I fixed my blouse. Wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Realized I still had a streak of his cum on my neck. I laughed.

He handed me a napkin. I didn't thank him. Just used it.

My panties clung. My jeans felt wrong. I zipped them anyway.

"You'll come back," he said.

"I know," I whispered.

I opened the door. Air rushed in. Music. Voices. Laughter.

I stepped out into the gravel. Knees shaky. Skin damp. Pulse wrecked.

I didn't look back. But I felt him watching me all the way across the lot.