Internet dating, a middle-aged couple – what could possibly go wrong?

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Definitely Donna

Internet dating has to be the most artificial thing ever invented.

Donna toyed with her drink. The wine was cold, clear, and pale gold in colour—an excellent South Australian Sauvignon Blanc. Condensation had formed on the outside of the tall, delicate glass. With one fingertip, she traced a pattern of stripes.

Anything rather than think about the man she was supposed to be meeting.

Tall. Dark hair and green eyes. Loved sailing. Was self-employed in a business that involved a great deal of traveling, which brought him to her small, southern city regularly. His daughter and her family lived here, and he was considering moving to be near them. If he met the right woman, perhaps.

She was trying not to think about the possibility that she might be the right woman.

Weeks of messages and texts, interspersed with rare phone calls from busy airports, had led her to this point. Friday evening, after work, in the bar of a hotel near her office. Dressed in her usual work attire of low-heeled ankle boots, thick black tights, straight black skirt, a floral blouse and a light gray, wool jacket. She’d shampooed her hair this morning, and she knew it gleamed—the same color as the wine—straight to her shoulders. She’d taken it out of the clip she usually wore to work and brushed it until it shone before she left the office.

She had suggested this charade, and now she was paying the price.

“Let’s meet somewhere. I’ll sit at the bar. You can approach me, pretend we know nothing about each other,” she’d messaged. “Let’s make this as normal as possible.”

He’d agreed.

“Gives you the chance to check me out,” she had teased. “You might not like me!”

What had she been thinking? That it might entice him out of his shell, break the curse of weeks of almost meeting, then things falling apart at the last minute? Now she realized she had set herself up for disaster. He could see her and make his choice, but she had no way of knowing what he was like. This had been a lousy idea.

Enough!

She would leave, text him later, tell him she’d changed her mind.

Finishing the last of the delicious wine, she gathered up her big, red handbag and prepared to slide off her barstool.

“Is this seat taken?” His voice was deep, but not overly so. Precise. Commanding. The tone of a person used to giving instructions and being obeyed.

A little shiver passed through her.

Donna looked up at him. Tall, indeed. His hair a little lighter than his photo, but people always posted old photos, didn’t they? Her own was taken a couple of years ago, but she’d told him so when they had first made contact.

His eyes, although shadowed by the light above the bar, looked directly into hers. An unspoken communication passed between them, an invisible bond established. A silver chain, a silken thread. All in a fraction of a second.

He was better looking than in his photo, by a mile.

“No, it’s free.” She smiled.

“Do you mind?” Even seated he was still taller than she was, and at five-seven, she wasn’t a short woman. But his profile had said six-one. He hadn’t lied, not about that, at least.

“Not at all.” She still clutched her bag awkwardly. “I was just leaving.”

“What a pity.” He returned her smile, his teeth white and even in his tanned face. “I was about to ask you what you were drinking.”

“Annie’s Lane, Sauv Blanc,” she answered.

He ordered her drink, and then checked the wine list before ordering a pinot for himself.

“I guess that means you’ve decided to stay,” he replied.

The bartender set her drink before her. She sipped it, observing him over the rim of the glass.

The view from here just improved immensely.

“I… Yes, I thought I might,” Donna stammered. Never, not even in her most outrageous fantasies, had she thought he would be this hot. When they had been dishing it out—whatever it was—this man had acquired far more than his rightful ration. He seethed sexuality.

She wanted to drink in the sight of him. She wanted to imprint every detail of him—from his tousled hair to the tips of his polished, black leather shoes—on her mind forever. Instead, she forced herself to look away, and felt heat flush her face. She crossed her legs, shifted on her barstool, and then crossed her legs the other way.

And noticed he was watching. Her skirt had slipped a little too far up her thighs.

He cleared his throat, and turned away.

“Times like this are always a little awkward, aren’t they?” Turning back to her, he held out his hand. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

Steve? Not Scott? Donna glanced around the bar. Apart from an elderly Chinese couple, they were clearly alone. It had to be him. Didn’t it?

“Hi Steve, I’m Donna,” she answered. She took his hand in hers.

“Donna?” he asked. “Not Diana?”

An electric current was racing up her arm, so strong she almost dropped his hand. But she really didn’t want to let it go. Ever.

“Definitely Donna.” She smiled, thinking only of undoing the rest of the little white buttons of his pale blue business shirt. She could see the bulge of his tie, hastily shoved into the pocket of his suit jacket, a glimpse of its striped silk tip showing. He’d undone the top couple of buttons of his shirt. Smooth, tanned skin showed above a few dark, curling hairs.

Donna swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Reluctantly releasing his hand, she reached for her wineglass. The cool liquid slipped down her parched throat. Her hand trembled a little as she replaced her glass on the bar.

I mustn’t look at him like that. I feel like a teenager ogling a movie star. This is ridiculous.

She returned to toying with her glass. She slid two fingers up and down the stem. Up and down, up and down, as though she was…

She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down.

“So, you sail?” As the words left her mouth, Donna knew she had already breached their agreement. They were supposed to be strangers after all, meeting for the first time, knowing nothing about each other.

“Yes, I do. What gave it away? The tan I suppose.” He rushed his words, as though glad to have something to fill the small silence between them.

Donna breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He had entered into the spirit of their game.

“Yes, definitely the tan.” She smiled.

“That’s one reason I love coming here, to this city,” he answered. “One of many reasons.” He visibly relaxed as he launched into what was clearly a favorite topic of his.

Donna listened, watched, and occasionally commented. She allowed herself to relax too, and bask in the sound of his voice. He was a far more experienced sailor than she was, and had participated in most of the major ocean-going races. Races she knew she would never be good enough to crew in, but loved watching on television. She enjoyed his stories, the tales of his adventures.

“But what about you?” he asked. “Forgive me; I get carried away when sailing is mentioned.”

“I learned as an adult,” she answered. “I did get as far as Competent Crew level, but never went further than that. For a few years I crewed in the local twilight races over the summer.” She sipped her wine. “At one stage I had a crazy plan to sell my apartment, buy a boat, and sail around the world.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“Life got in the way, I suppose.” She shrugged. “The necessity of earning a living.”

“Would you still? Now?” He leaned toward her. His right hand rested, warm and dry, on her knee.

“Probably not. I came to realize that a large part of owning a boat is the maintenance. I sailed because I loved it, not because I enjoy wielding a paintbrush every weekend.” She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to draw any attention to his hand.

“So true. I owned a forty-footer for a few years, but ended up selling it for that precise reason. I’m happy enough to crew. For now.” He traced little patterns on her inner thigh while he took a mouthful of his wine.

She reached for her glass just as he placed his back on the bar. Their hands touched, briefly, and that same surge of energy sizzled through her again. This time she ran her index finger up his hand, tracing the veins and sinews, and coarse, dark hairs, until she reached his shirt cuff.

Donna could think of nothing to say. At moments like these, she wished she were the sort of woman who could come up with something sly and sexy and guaranteed to get her into his bed. All that came to mind was that she wanted to undo all those damned buttons and explore the skin of his chest.

She was so close to him she could smell his unique scent—a blend of some faint but expensive aftershave, laundry detergent, and fresh, male sweat. It was delicious. She leaned closer to him, wanting to breathe him into her.

“Listen,” he said, his voice low and soft. “Did you have any plans for dinner?”

Donna tried her best to think rationally, to extract herself from her fantasy of sliding his jacket and then his shirt from his shoulders, before she…

“I…” she began. “No, not really. I’m not very hungry, to be honest.”

Except for you. Except perhaps to wrap my entire body around yours.

She was dimly aware of the bartender saying goodnight to the Chinese couple.

Her leg was suddenly cold, but it was only because Steve had moved his hand to cup her face.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, “but I can’t resist any longer…”

He kissed her then. As her lips parted beneath his she thought how inadequate the word “kiss” was. A kiss was something you gave a child or a friend. It bore little resemblance to whatever it was this man was doing to her. Her blood had turned to fire in her veins. Her heart pounded in her chest. A deep, aching need devoured her entire body—the need to be with him in every possible way. To be part of him, inside his skin if necessary.

The bartender’s discreet cough brought her back to reality.

They separated. Donna wondered if she would ever be the same again. Perhaps after her heartrate had slowed, and the room stopped spinning.

She swallowed.

“Forgive me,” he repeated.

“Nothing to forgive,” she replied. Over the weeks they had texted and talked over the phone, she had come to feel closer and closer to this man, but could have never anticipated the intensity of her physical attraction to him. “Where are you staying?” she asked.

“Here. I have a room here,” he answered.

“Good.”

His smile reminded her of a small boy’s on Christmas morning when he realized Santa had brought him everything he asked for, and more.

He signed the tab for the bartender, and they almost ran to the lobby. Donna tried, and failed, to suppress an attack of the giggles. Soon they were both laughing uncontrollably.

“Who would have thought,” she said. “Two middle-aged people. And we’ve only just met!”

“Enough with the middle-aged,” he answered.

“You’re the same age as me, surely.”

His arms came around her, and she looked up into his face.

“Right now I’m twenty-five,” he growled. “Be warned.”

Donna remembered a lover she’d had many years ago. Before marriage, before children. Before divorce. He’d been twenty-five and perpetually horny. Sex in the evenings at his place. Sex in the afternoon while her parents were at work. Sex whenever they could manage it.

Instant lust, hot and strong, left her knees weak and liquid pooling between her thighs.

“If you’re twenty-five,” she countered, “I’m eighteen.”

“Mmm…” He was using his lips to devastating effect at a certain place on her neck, and she could hardly think. “Barely legal. I like that.”

“Dirty old man!”

“Filthy,” he replied, leering. “No, give me a real woman any day. A woman who knows what she’s doing.”

A chime announced the arrival of the elevator. Holding her hand, he drew her into it, swiped his card, and pressed buttons. Then, he leaned against the wall, pulled her against his chest, and kissed her again.

She had thought she would know what to expect this time, but nothing could have prepared her for his tenderness, his gentle exploration of lips and teeth and tongue while he used his hands to roam her body beneath her jacket.

She melted.

The chime sounded again.

He drew her out of the elevator.

“Help me find it. All these doors look the same,” he said. They hurried down the corridor, reading room numbers aloud.

“This is it,” he announced.

He turned to her. “Are you sure about this?”

“Sure?” she repeated. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

He used his card to unlock the door, and held it open so she could enter the room.

Despite her words, she was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. She told herself she wasn’t really the sort of person who, despite that insane fling when she was eighteen, leaped into bed with a man she’d only met a couple of hours before.

She was sensible, all the way from her low-heeled boots to her sleekly groomed hair.

Donna reminded herself that she did know this man. She’d been chatting online with him for weeks. She’d come to appreciate his quiet, self-deprecating sense of humor and his openness about all manner of things.

He just wasn’t what she’d expected, that was all. It was almost as though Scott and Steve were two different people. She’d read about this phenomenon—even discussed it with him online—how we all built up an idea in our heads of what the other person was like, and when we finally met them, they turned out to be completely different. It was the main reason she had pressed him for a meeting.

But this time, for once in her life, she’d won the jackpot. The reality was far better than anything her imagination could have contrived.

She watched Steve walk into the room. His way of carrying himself, of casually flinging his wallet, keys, and room card onto a counter, even the way he slipped out of his suit jacket oozed confidence. Broad shoulders amply filled his shirt. Trousers fit snugly over his neatly rounded rear. Her fingers itched to sink into it.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he invited.

He smiled and turned to her.

She closed the door and walked toward him, heart pounding so loudly she was sure he must be able to hear it.

I can do this, I really can. I want this man.

“What do you suggest?” She tilted her head to one side, spilling her fair hair over her shoulder, silently praying he wouldn’t notice her nervousness.

“That coat looks far too warm for this room,” he replied. “Let me help you out of it,”

She turned around, and he eased the jacket off her shoulders and down her arms. The brush of his fingers scorched her skin through the fabric of her blouse. He hung her coat over his own on the back of a chair.

She turned back to him.

“In that case I’m sure you don’t need that shirt.”

“You’re so right,” he said. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Allow me.” She did what she’d been aching to do since they’d first met, and undid the buttons one by one. Each opening revealed a few more inches of tanned chest, lightly dusted across his pectorals with crisply curling dark hair, until she was able to pull the fabric out of his trousers and push the garment back and off his shoulders. She leaned her face against him, and then kissed his skin, its texture heaven to her lips.

She thought she heard him moan.

“Your turn,” he said.

She stood back a step, and watched his face while he undid the buttons of her blouse. Slipping a finger beneath the lace-trimmed top of her bra, he caressed each breast.

“So smooth,” he whispered. “Like silk.”

Her nipples peaked and hardened, dark beneath delicate white fabric.

“What do you like? What do you enjoy?” he asked. He gazed into her eyes while he explored her breasts with his hands. He brushed each nipple with a thumb, while he found all her most sensitive places with his fingers.

Donna fought to think clearly through her rapidly increasing arousal. She felt a rush of emotion, one so strong she thought she might cry. No lover had ever cared about her pleasure enough to ask her. Not even her ex-husband. Especially not her ex-husband.

“I don’t know,” she answered.

Sudden shyness overcame her.

“Then we’ll have to find out.”

Dropping to one knee before her, he undid the zippers of her ankle boots and slid them off her feet, then reached behind her to undo her skirt. It slithered to the floor. He peeled her pantyhose slowly down her legs, brushing her thighs and calves with his hands, until she stood before him clad only in her underwear.

“Lovely,” he sighed.

She watched him as he sat on the edge of the bed and removed his shoes and socks. His trousers soon followed.

He stood before her. “Do you like what you see?” There was an awkwardness about him now, as though he’d shed his confidence along with his business clothes.

I’m not the only who’s nervous!

“Very much.” She placed her hands on his shoulders, and worked her way downward, feeling slabs of muscle beneath smooth, bronzed skin and crisp, curling hair. He looked after himself, that was clear. She paused for a moment at his nipples, marveling when they hardened as hers had. She continued down his ribcage, encircling his navel before reaching the waistband of his boxers.

His erection distended the fabric of his shorts. She wanted to touch it, to feel his hardness.

Before she could move her hand those last few inches, he brought his lips down to meet hers again. Forgetting everything, she lost herself in his kiss. She wrapped her arms around his torso and clung to him as a drowning man clung to a life raft.

He staggered backwards, and brought her down onto the bed with him.

“Ow!” She squealed as she landed on top of him.

“That’s better!” He grinned. “This was all getting far too serious. I like it when you smile.”

She giggled as she rolled off him. “I know what you mean. If it isn’t fun, perhaps we shouldn’t be doing it.”

“With the added advantage”—he ran his hand up her thigh—“that I can reach far more of you this way.”

“Ooh, yes,” she answered. She lost herself once more in the delicious sensations his touch generated. His warm hands seemed to have a life of their own as they caressed her calves and skimmed up her thighs. She waited, breathless, for him to touch her most intimate places, but they were bypassed in favor of her belly and navel.

“Ticklish?” he asked.

“Very!” she answered. “Don’t you dare!”

So he planted a kiss on her belly instead. His exploration continued, up the sides of her torso, to her arms, and then down. He carefully examined each hand, sliding his fingers between hers. Then he brought one hand to his mouth and sucked gently on her index finger.

She tingled. She found that closing her eyes exaggerated the sensation of his tongue laving her sensitive fingertip even more. Rubbing her thighs together, she writhed on the bed.

Is it possible to come like this?

She moaned.

So close, yet still so far away…

He parted her legs with one of his. She wrapped her legs tightly around his thigh, the coarse texture of his leg hair exciting her even more. His erection pressed against her while she rode his hard muscles, rubbing her clit against his leg, desperate for the release he offered.

He slid another of her fingers into his mouth, and sucked even harder.

His thigh was a giant cock.

Back arching, her whole body contorting, she screamed.

He held her while she relaxed back onto the bed.

Her breathing slowed. Opening her eyes, she looked into his.

“Good?” he asked.

“Very,” she answered. Then she giggled. “And we’re not even completely naked yet!”

“We should do something about that,” he replied. He brushed her hair from her face and gently kissed her lips.

She watched him while he rolled off the bed, stood, and walked toward the bench. With his back to her, he slipped out of his shorts.

A very neat ass indeed. And sinking my fingers into it is suddenly a very real possibility.

She gasped when he turned around. He was truly magnificent in every way. Pure male.

He grinned, and held up a packet of condoms. “I used to be a Boy Scout.”

“I bet you were an excellent scout,” she answered. “Always prepared.”

“For anything. Even meeting a beautiful woman in my hotel bar.”

“Come back to bed,” she invited.

“Soon,” he answered. “You do realize you’re now extremely overdressed.”

“Perhaps you’d better do something about it.” She stretched, doing a mock pin-up girl pose. The look in his eyes was turning her on all over again.

He walked toward her, holding out his hand. She took it, and he pulled her to her feet, into his embrace—and into a trap. In one swift movement, he had her bra unclasped, and the straps pulled down her arms.

“Mmm… Much better,” he murmured. He measured the weight of her breasts with his hands.

She swayed on her feet. He reached around her and yanked back the covers. “Now, where were we?”

“Here,” she answered.

She subsided onto starched, white sheets.

He grasped each side of her panties and drew them down her legs. She lay back on the pillows, legs parted, knees raised.

“You like?” She found his gaze on her most private of parts intensely erotic.

“I like,” he answered. “I’m glad you don’t shave.”

“Mmm…” Concentration became increasingly difficult as his fingers separated moist folds. “Tried it once…”

“And didn’t like it?”

“Too prickly.” She nodded, or tried to.

“Not soft, like this,” he said.

His fingers tangled in the hair on her mound and tugged a little.

Donna was adrift on a sea of sensation. Everything Steve did took her to another exotic paradise of arousal. The touch of his fingers, the scent of his skin, even his breathing when he came and lay down beside her, sent her more deeply into her own private world.

“Touch me, Donna,” he ordered.

She lifted a hand as heavy as lead, and traced a crooked path from his shoulder, down his body to his cock, which she delicately encircled with her fingers.

His eyes closed, and he rested his head on the pillows.

He loves this!

His reaction to her touch made her feel strong in turn. She was the ultimate woman, just as he had been the ultimate man to her a few minutes before. As she stroked him, she knew she had the power to satisfy him, to bring him the same joy he’d just brought her.

She pushed herself up until she was leaning on one arm. She could see him better from this position, gauge his reactions by the changing expressions on his face.

“Tell me what you like, too,” she whispered.

She was uncertain in her newfound power. “This?” She cupped his balls and gently squeezed. “Or this?” She stroked his shaft, and using the little drop of moisture she found at its tip as lubricant, circled the head with one finger.

“No more,” he groaned, “or it’ll all be over before it’s begun.”

He reached for the condom packet and tore it open.

“Do you want to put it on?” he asked.

She shook her head. This wasn’t the time to admit she had little experience with these things, despite her age. Her ex-husband… No, she refused to think about him when she was with this marvelous man, who told her she was lovely and treated her like a goddess.

With practiced hands, he unrolled the bright yellow sheath over his erection.

“Banana flavor.” He read from the packet. “Care for a nibble?”

“Perhaps I will!” she answered. Wrapping one hand around the base of his cock, she leaned over him. She slipped its tip into her mouth, then swirled her tongue around it as though she was eating an ice cream. He tasted of banana-flavored rubber.

His entire body stiffened. When she stopped and looked at his face, she was sure she had hurt him.

“It’s okay, lovely lady. It’s just that you are too…too…” He reached out to her. Instinctively she sought the shelter of his arms. He brought her down onto him until she was lying on his chest, her legs wide apart.

She knew what she wanted, what they both wanted. Reaching between their bodies, she grasped his cock and guided it inside her. She wriggled her hips a little until he buried himself deep inside her waiting, wanting cunt.

And then, still holding her close, he began to move.

Donna thought she’d die from the thrill of it all. As he moved inside her, it was as though he stroked her in some secret place. His pubic bone ground her clit with every thrust. His heart thudded in unison with hers. She breathed his scent.

He was everywhere—in her, around her. He was her, and she was him.

She came, riding endless waves of orgasm as it swamped her body.

But he didn’t stop. While she was still weak, the aftershocks still rippling through her, he rolled her onto her back.

“Now I can see your face when you come.” He was using his arms to support himself. She wasn’t crushed by his greater weight, but for a moment, she missed the connection with his skin. Instead, she focused on his cock, surging into her, over and over again.

“I…” She couldn’t speak. She wanted to tell him how wonderful everything was, but all she could do was feel. Her next orgasm was building slowly, gathering strength, deep in the pit of her belly.

“Come for me, babe!” he begged.

His command was the final incentive she needed. Her orgasm broke its banks, engulfing every nerve ending with sensation. She clung to him and gave a great, wailing cry as her body spasmed.

His thrusts became deeper, more powerful, until his cries blended with hers.

They lay, exhausted, arms and legs entwined. Their breathing returned to normal, and their heartrates slowed. She threaded her fingers through the curling hair on his chest, while he traced intricate patterns on one breast.

“You are sure as hell one sexy lady.” He grinned.

“Am I?” She smiled back at him.

They kissed, slowly, carefully. All fear, all nervousness had vanished now.

“Do this again?” he asked. “I’m back in town in two weeks’ time.”

“Yes.” She giggled. “Perhaps you could buy me dinner next time.”

“Definitely. We need to keep your strength up for all the activities I am planning—for later.”

“Ooh, I’ll look forward to that. You know how to get in touch with me.”

“Of course I do.” He rattled off a phone number.

Donna froze.

“What’s wrong?” He paused in his exploration of her hip.

“That’s not my number.” She looked into his eyes. “And your eyes are hazel, not green. I hadn’t noticed before.”

“What’s my not having green eyes got to do with anything?” he demanded.

“It was one of the things that appealed to me about you. About him. I’ve always loved green eyes. Wait a minute.” She slipped out of bed, and found her large, red handbag where she’d dumped it on a chair. “Let me check my phone.”

She read out a number.

“That isn’t mine!” he exclaimed.

“Your name really is Steve.”

“And yours really is Donna.”

“But people use fake names all the time on internet dating. Fake ages, out of date photos. I thought… And when you said you sailed…” Donna started to shake. “This can’t be happening!” She closed her eyes, and clenched her hands into fists.

I’m not the sort of woman who does this! The sort of woman who leaps blindly into bed with a total stranger.

But he was there. Steve who wasn’t Scott and never had been, his arms around her, holding her close, stroking her hair and her back.

“Donna, come back to bed.” The familiar sound of his voice soothed her.

She lay down on the cool sheets and let the warmth of his body soak into her. Her trembling stopped. She wanted to cry. Or run away, she couldn’t decide which.

Who was this man, this stranger who had just given her the best sex of her life?

“Donna, look at me.”

She looked into his face, and saw only concern and tenderness there.

“All I know is, when I saw you sitting at that bar I wanted to be with you more than I’ve ever wanted to be with anyone. Things aren’t what we thought they were, but that’s okay. We’ll work it out. You’re a beautiful, wonderful, sexy woman. I want to see you again. I want to get to know you. All of you.”

Tears trickled onto her pillow.

“Really?” she whispered.

“Really,” he answered.

And he kissed her one more time.

(c) Jane New 2024

 

And now for a sneak preview of “Good Housekeeper”, available on Amazon!

Tracy loved wearing stockings.

She loved the feel of fresh air on the skin of her thighs as she walked down a city street in the middle of the day.

She loved their silky texture against her freshly waxed legs.

She loved the knowledge that she had a secret. Dressed in a conservative, charcoal grey suit with a pale pink blouse and black patent leather heels, she looked like any other woman in the City of London. She knew she was a little shorter than the average woman, but that didn’t worry her. Men liked her shapely legs and neatly rounded rear, her small waist and generous boobs. She enjoyed their glances and comments as she walked past.

She could have been a bookkeeper or a PA on her lunch break.

She had even more fun when she was on the Tube. She always sat facing inwards. Then, if there was an interesting man sitting opposite her, she’d part her legs a little and let her skirt ride up so a bit of stocking top showed.

A lot of the time she wasn’t wearing any knickers.

Today, on the opposite side of the carriage, a man had started looking, wondering, when he’d seen that telltale band of darker colour. The crowd between them parted and shifted as other passengers got on and off the train, and he tried to catch a glimpse farther up.

She was in a good mood, so she crossed an ankle over her knee to give him a clear view, just for a couple of minutes. She watched as the bulge in his trousers grew.

Then she got off at the next station. No pun intended.

The house she arrived at could have been in any of the many inner suburbs of London. It had a basement, three floors, and an attic. It was well maintained, prosperous, substantial, and set back a little from the tree-lined road. Bay windows overlooked the street and narrow stairs ran down to a lower entrance. She walked slowly up a grand flight of tiled steps, taking in the neighbourhood. The place was worth a couple of million pounds, at least.

She rang the doorbell in the centre of the vast, varnished oak door. After a few minutes, the door opened.

Today was indeed a good day.

He was in his early thirties, or possibly even younger. He clearly worked out often. Slim grey trousers fitted snugly around lean hips. A soft, white cotton shirt emphasized those broad shoulders and the well-defined muscles in his upper arms. His brown hair was neatly cut in a short style. His eyes were grey or blue and had a speculative look in them. If not for her reason for being there, she’d have thought he was checking her out. Naughty boy.

She would enjoy sitting across from him on a train. If she was being honest with herself, she would enjoy a great deal more than that—in a big, comfortable bed. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

She was quite a bit older than him, of course, but that hadn’t stopped her before. Tracy was in her forties, but she quite liked younger men. And older men.

Let’s face it. She liked men—plural. And she adored what they could do to and with her body.

“I’m Tracy Jones,” she said. “I’m here for the job interview.”

“Mrs. Jones,” he answered, with the faintest curve of his lips. “Mr. Browne is expecting you.”

Tracy was a little disappointed that the man before her was not to be her boss. She would have quite happily cooked his meals, cleaned his house…and kept him warm at night.

“I’m James,” he continued. “Please come with me.”

As she followed James down the hall, she decided he had the nicest arse she’d seen for quite some time. It was neat and round, and his trousers fitted him to perfection. She was fantasizing about sinking her fingers into all that hard muscle when he opened a door off the hallway and turned around.

“Mr. Browne will see you now.” That look in his eyes was still there, perhaps even more than before. He was peeling off her clothes, seeing through the austere jacket and plain blouse to the white, lacy bra beneath. Had he guessed her little secret already?

She sailed into the room, head high, as imposing as anyone who was only three inches over five feet tall could be. She loved her heels. They gave her a few extra inches of height, and she felt so feminine in them.

“Mrs. Jones,” purred a male voice. “I’m so pleased you could come today.”

I haven’t yet, she thought, but the day is young.

…to be continued.

 

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