Ammu

She smiled, reminded of that day they first met. Alcohol, she teased him, was what did it for her. But she knew that was a lie.

No, she'd been tipsy before, but not like that day. That was a different kind of tipsy. The kind that made her feel wanton. That made her want to touch him. When she stood outside that pub and people she knew ran out to welcome her, she saw him through the glass. Just sitting there, making no effort to move, with that hint of arrogance and unmistakable hunger in his eyes.

She'd heard of him before, and he of her. She looked forward to seeing him and boy, it was all she'd hoped for and more.

But she was a tease, after all. Not one to give in easily. And he was persistent, not one to give up, at all. So came the night, 48 long hours after they met, when she stepped into his bedroom.

And he touched her. And she him. And he kissed her. And she him, feeling his hardness against her thigh. Hearing his jagged breathing. 

But she was a tease, after all. She pushed him onto the bed and stood between his legs. And undressed for him, taking all the time she needed. Unzipped her dress and unhooked her bra. Then ran her fingers up her legs, looking into his eyes and began peeling off her stockings.

What a night it was! He punished her for making him wait, for making him tremble with desire. What delightful punishment it was! His hands and his tongue. And the rasp of his stubble against her thigh.
And him, inside her, when she begged and moaned. The way he moved and the way she...

... "Your coffee, miss!" "Thankyou", she rasped out, her throat dry, sighing as she checked the time, waiting for the man she bedded and wedded six years ago.