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She walked back to the level crossing. The rails ended abruptly either side of the road, presumably the scrap men didn’t want the cost of resurfacing the road to recover just a few pounds of scrap steel. At one side stood a weather-beaten solid post, easily one foot square, the remnants of white paint still clung stubbornly to its side, yet gaping regular holes in the face proclaimed another purpose. Abby reasoned that this must have been the post for the level crossing gate, and searched for its twin on the other side, but that was nowhere to be seen. Where the lines had been though, was easy to spot. No one had bothered to reclaim the land here, unlike the more urban areas, where the price of land made such a task economical. Westwards the line had curved away, following the valley. Eastward the railway bed became much wider, as if there was something more important for the railway to do, and about four hundred yards away were some old buildings. There was no gate to prevent her. His voice was husky and deep, whispering to her of what she made him feel, of what he wanted to do to her, with her. She was in the midst of erotic torture, backed against the wall, his hands stroking her body into a frenzy, his words stroking her nerve endings with fire. She wanted him now, had wanted him for a long time but had denied it with a finality that made giving in all that much sweeter. She felt his fingers in her hair, pulling out the clip, stroking through the long tangled tresses then pulling them back in his fist to give his lips access to her throat. His hand slid down her back and over her hip, pulling at her leg, bringing it over his hip. His thigh slid between hers and he used it to lift her slightly so that he was supporting every gorgeous inch of her. He pulled at the tucked in end of her shirt, pulling it free so that his hand could slide under. Her skin was hot satin beneath his fingers, soft over firm muscles that seductively urged him to explore. She arched.
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