They had been dating for three months, sleeping together for two, and all that time he had been so careful, so circumspect, so… conventional.

But she had led Jim into the bushes at Phyllis’s wedding, and now they were kneeling on their coats, and he was behind her. His fingers were at first tentative at her hips, then more sure. She caught at his hand, and moved it with her own where she needed it.

“I didn’t think you would like this,” he whispered.

Pam's breath caught; her fingers dug into the damp earth.

“I do. Don’t stop fucking me.”