now barely recognizable - feral, wanton - her pupils dilated, hurtling toward blissful oblivion. My legs began to buckle. Christ, I thought - I’m going to come - again… and then I’m going to fall over! But right on cue, he was there with me, and as the first waves of luscious orgasm convulsed through me, he plunged in one final time and held firm.
“Watch.”
I watched my reflection, open-mouthed, breathing raggedly, holding Seb deep inside me, as he found his release.
…So now I’ll say it: Thank you, Ana Pancheva, for allowing me to fuck your gorgeous husband. One question: Was sleeping in his bed part of the offer?
The next morning, I woke with my head nestled against his shoulder, and an ache in my chest reminding me this was just sex. Nothing more. We barely spoke. He asked if I was OK, but what could I say? I was far from OK. He asked if I regretted the previous night - I told him I didn’t. But maybe I SHOULD regret it. Some part of me believed Seb Harper, swallowing his line about not really being married. And that part of me is heading for one hell of a fall. Sitting up in bed, he moved in to kiss me, but already my defenses were rebuilding. I told him it probably wasn’t a good idea, and told my furious libido to settle down and get some perspective. He’s not mine. He won’t be mine. He has a wife - not a regular wife, admittedly - but still.
We’re meeting again. He suggested it. And yes, I know I should have said ‘no’ but I’d just been virtuous in turning down the kiss, and - OK - fine - I’m weak God damn it. So that's the plan. Not a date - just a ‘meet-up’. Next weekend. He’ll show me some exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery, and it'll be friendly, polite, unromantic. So there.
Yours,
L x
10
Seb was waiting for her by the ticket gates as Lily came out of Embankment. He’d obviously seen her long before she noticed him, and a mischievous grin danced on his face, bright and warm as the Winter sun.
"Morning, gorgeous. Miss me?" he said, smiling widely as he reached out his hand.
She felt a giddy grin stretch across her face and fought it unsuccessfully. Who was she kidding; she fancied his pants off and it was written all over her. She may as well have carried a flashing neon sign saying as much. LILY WANTS SEB. NAKED. It was a small miracle no one was pointing and staring.
"Ready for a good ol' platonic date then?" he said. "Hand holding's allowed, right?"
"I guess,” she said, then faltered. “Well, actually, if we’re going to do this properly, then no. No hand holding. Just, you know, walking, talking, the usual friend stuff."
As she pulled back, Seb instinctively reached for his tobacco; his default, she guessed. His expert hands rolled on autopilot.
"You're the boss." he sighed. "No hand holding. How about eye contact?"
"Alright, Lord Harper, less of the sarcasm."
Seb lit up, and inhaled deeply, "Been to the gallery before?" he said, as they bustled hastily past rowdy tourists and bellowing street traders.
"Uh-huh. Not recently though. I used to love gallery hopping, but Tom always got like a bored kid in galleries and museums - you know - quick lap around the room then he'd be whining and sulking - kind of took the shine off. I guess I got out of the habit,” she said, instantly wanting to kick herself. Great. Good one Lily. Start telling the hot man all about your ex-boyfriend.
Seb took a deep drag, averting his head to exhale. "You couldn't have gone alone?"
She hesitated. "Short answer, yes, I suppose so. Wasn't quite that simple."
Lily thought about this; thought how possessive Tom had been over her free time. Of course, she wouldn't have used that word back then, 'possessive', she'd have told herself it was doting, or some such nonsense; when in reality, she'd known for a long while Tom was just plain old jealous. He hadn't trusted her. Thought she'd nip off with some other fella if he let her have too much freedom. Oh
“Watch.”
I watched my reflection, open-mouthed, breathing raggedly, holding Seb deep inside me, as he found his release.
…So now I’ll say it: Thank you, Ana Pancheva, for allowing me to fuck your gorgeous husband. One question: Was sleeping in his bed part of the offer?
The next morning, I woke with my head nestled against his shoulder, and an ache in my chest reminding me this was just sex. Nothing more. We barely spoke. He asked if I was OK, but what could I say? I was far from OK. He asked if I regretted the previous night - I told him I didn’t. But maybe I SHOULD regret it. Some part of me believed Seb Harper, swallowing his line about not really being married. And that part of me is heading for one hell of a fall. Sitting up in bed, he moved in to kiss me, but already my defenses were rebuilding. I told him it probably wasn’t a good idea, and told my furious libido to settle down and get some perspective. He’s not mine. He won’t be mine. He has a wife - not a regular wife, admittedly - but still.
We’re meeting again. He suggested it. And yes, I know I should have said ‘no’ but I’d just been virtuous in turning down the kiss, and - OK - fine - I’m weak God damn it. So that's the plan. Not a date - just a ‘meet-up’. Next weekend. He’ll show me some exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery, and it'll be friendly, polite, unromantic. So there.
Yours,
L x
10
Seb was waiting for her by the ticket gates as Lily came out of Embankment. He’d obviously seen her long before she noticed him, and a mischievous grin danced on his face, bright and warm as the Winter sun.
"Morning, gorgeous. Miss me?" he said, smiling widely as he reached out his hand.
She felt a giddy grin stretch across her face and fought it unsuccessfully. Who was she kidding; she fancied his pants off and it was written all over her. She may as well have carried a flashing neon sign saying as much. LILY WANTS SEB. NAKED. It was a small miracle no one was pointing and staring.
"Ready for a good ol' platonic date then?" he said. "Hand holding's allowed, right?"
"I guess,” she said, then faltered. “Well, actually, if we’re going to do this properly, then no. No hand holding. Just, you know, walking, talking, the usual friend stuff."
As she pulled back, Seb instinctively reached for his tobacco; his default, she guessed. His expert hands rolled on autopilot.
"You're the boss." he sighed. "No hand holding. How about eye contact?"
"Alright, Lord Harper, less of the sarcasm."
Seb lit up, and inhaled deeply, "Been to the gallery before?" he said, as they bustled hastily past rowdy tourists and bellowing street traders.
"Uh-huh. Not recently though. I used to love gallery hopping, but Tom always got like a bored kid in galleries and museums - you know - quick lap around the room then he'd be whining and sulking - kind of took the shine off. I guess I got out of the habit,” she said, instantly wanting to kick herself. Great. Good one Lily. Start telling the hot man all about your ex-boyfriend.
Seb took a deep drag, averting his head to exhale. "You couldn't have gone alone?"
She hesitated. "Short answer, yes, I suppose so. Wasn't quite that simple."
Lily thought about this; thought how possessive Tom had been over her free time. Of course, she wouldn't have used that word back then, 'possessive', she'd have told herself it was doting, or some such nonsense; when in reality, she'd known for a long while Tom was just plain old jealous. He hadn't trusted her. Thought she'd nip off with some other fella if he let her have too much freedom. Oh
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