Late Arrival, Unspoken Heat

The front door swung open just before eight, and there she was, blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders, long legs wrapped in tight jeans that had seen better days. You’d never tell her that, though. Becky always looked like she’d just stepped out of a magazine, even when she was laughing so hard she was crying.

“You’re late,” I said, not looking up from the beer I was pretending to drink.

“Tom had to finish a call. You know how he gets.” She kicked off her shoes, sending one skidding into the pile of skirting boards in the middle of the room. “Fuck’s sake, Luke, when are you actually going to finish this place?”

“When I stop getting distracted by women who turn up at my door looking like that.”

She grinned, that smile that could melt steel. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trouble.”

She plopped down next to me on the sofa, close enough that I could feel the heat of her. The TV was already on, some gardening programme playing in the background. Neither of us watched it. We never did.

“You’re trouble too,” she shot back, nudging my shoulder. “But I like it.”

I exhaled through my nose, a half-laugh. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”

We settled in, the way we always did. Becky pulled her legs up under her, and I tried not to stare at the way her top stretched over her tits. It was impossible, though. She had the kind of body that made you forget your own name.

The show switched to Gogglebox, and within minutes, we were in stitches. Some poor bloke on screen was explaining his horse fetish, and Becky was crying, wiping tears from her eyes. “I can’t—” she gasped, “I can’t breathe.”

I was no better, clutching my stomach. “Christ, I needed this tonight.”

She turned to me, still laughing, but her eyes were soft. “I love this, you know. Being here with you.”

I met her gaze, and for a second, neither of us looked away. “Same.”

Her smile faded just a little. “You know, when I call you… when I’m stuck in some bloody Travelodge, and we talk for hours… and this… our Friday nights… it makes me feel…”

I swallowed. “Same.”

She put her drink down, shifted closer. The air between us had changed. It was thick, charged. My jaw clenched.

“Becky…”

“Have you ever thought about me,” she said, looking down, twirling her fingers, “in a… not just friends way?”

My chest tightened. “Becky.”

She looked up when I shifted back. “You’re my best mate. You’re Tom’s wife. I interact with you more than anyone else in my entire life. But that’s it. That’s where it has to end. You’re married, Beck.”

She stood abruptly. “I think I should go.”

I grabbed her wrist before she could take a step. My fingers wrapped around it, feeling the pulse beneath her skin. I stood slowly, towering over her. My other hand found her face, thumb brushing her jaw. She didn’t pull away.

“Becky,” I said, voice rough, “I have thought about nothing else for fifteen years. If you knew what I’ve thought about… what I want to do to you… how I’ve had to use every ounce of self-control I had not to touch you, to kiss you…”

She whimpered, her hand pressing against my chest. “What have you thought about?”

My grip on her wrist tightened. “I’ve thought about what your tits look like. What noise you’d make when I bite your nipples. I’ve thought about tasting you, making you come with my mouth.”

Her breath hitched. “Jesus Christ.”

“Every Friday I come here,” she whispered, “and as soon as you look at me, I’m dripping wet. Absolutely sopping, sitting on your sofa, thinking about what your cock would feel like inside me… how it would feel when you came inside me.”

My cock twitched in my jeans. “Fuck, Becky.”

She didn’t stop. “I’ve thought about what your cock would taste like. What noise you’d make when I made you come and swallowed you all down… licking my lips…”

Her hand left my chest, took the one cupping her face, and guided it down. Past her waistband. Into her knickers.

My fingers met heat, wetness. Soaked, just like she’d said. “Fucking hell, Beck. You’re drenched.”

“I told you,” she whispered. “Absolutely sopping for you and ready for your cock. I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t sit down.”

That was it. The last thread of my control snapped.

I crushed my mouth to hers, kissing her like I’d been starving for it. She kissed back just as desperate, her hands fisting in my shirt. I walked her backwards until her arse hit the kitchen counter. My hands went to her jeans, yanking them open, shoving them down her hips along with her knickers. She stepped out of them, kicking them aside.

Her pussy was glistening, swollen. I dropped to my knees, groaning at the sight of her. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

I didn’t wait. I dragged her to the edge of the counter, my tongue diving between her lips. She gasped, her fingers tangling in my hair. I lapped at her, tasting her, my tongue circling her clit before sucking it into my mouth.

“Oh fuck, Luke—” She was already trembling, her thighs squeezing my head. I slid a finger inside her, then another, curling them just right. She cried out, her back arching.

“You like that?” I growled against her.

“Yes—fuck, yes—”

I stood, unbuckling my belt with one hand while the other kept working her. My cock sprang free, hard and leaking. She stared at it, biting her lip. “I want it in my mouth.”

I groaned. “Later. Right now, I need to be inside you.”

I lined up, teasing her entrance. She was so wet, so ready. I pushed in slowly, inch by inch, until I was buried to the hilt. She moaned, her nails digging into my shoulders.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” I gritted out.

“Move,” she begged.

I did. I pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in. She gasped, her head falling back. I set a punishing pace, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the kitchen. Her tits bounced with every thrust, and I couldn’t resist. I leaned down, taking a nipple into my mouth, biting down just enough to make her cry out.

“Yes—just like that—”

I could feel her getting close, her walls tightening around me. I reached between us, my thumb finding her clit. She came with a scream, her body convulsing, milking my cock.

I wasn’t done with her yet. I pulled out, my cock glistening with her arousal. She whined at the loss, but I just grinned. “Turn around.”

She did, bending over the counter. I lined up again, this time from behind, and thrust in hard. She moaned, pushing back against me. I gripped her hips, my fingers digging into her flesh as I fucked her like she’d asked—so hard she wouldn’t be able to sit down tomorrow.

“Fuck, Luke—yes—”

I could feel my orgasm building, my balls drawing up. I reached around, my fingers finding her clit again. “Come for me, Beck.”

She did, her body shuddering, her pussy clamping down on me like a vice. That was all it took. I came with a groan, my cock pulsing as I filled her. I pulled out, my cum dripping from her pussy, and before I could stop myself, I was painting her tits with the rest of it.

She looked down, watching as thick ropes of cum landed on her skin. Then, to my utter shock, she brought her hand up, swiping a finger through the mess on her chest before bringing it to her mouth. She licked it off, her eyes never leaving mine, and then—fuck—she reached down and started touching herself again, her fingers circling her clit as she rubbed my cum into her skin.

I growled, my cock already stirring again. I grabbed her, hauling her up and pressing her against the counter. My mouth crashed onto hers, my tongue tasting myself on her lips. She kissed me back just as hungrily, her hand wrapping around my cock, stroking me back to full hardness.

I lifted her onto the counter, her arse on the cold surface, and pushed back inside her. She wrapped her legs around me, her heels digging into my back as I fucked her again. This time was slower, deeper. Her nails raked down my back, and I could feel her building again, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Luke—I’m gonna—”

“Come on my cock, Beck.”

She did, her body trembling, her pussy fluttering around me. I followed her over the edge, my own release tearing through me. I stayed inside her as we both came down, our foreheads pressed together, our breath mingling.

After a long moment, I pulled out, my cock softening. I helped her down from the counter, and she swayed a little, her legs unsteady. I caught her, my arm around her waist.

“Shower,” I muttered.

She nodded, and we stumbled into the bathroom, stripping off the rest of our clothes. The water was hot, steam filling the small space as we washed each other, our hands lingering, exploring. She soaped up my cock, her fingers tracing the veins, and I returned the favour, my fingers sliding between her lips, cleaning her thoroughly.

We dried off, and I led her back to the sofa, pulling her down next to me. She curled into my side, her head on my chest. For a while, neither of us spoke.

Then she sighed. “Shit. What have we done?”

I kissed the top of her head. “We’ll work it out. Tom, all of it. I promise.”

She looked up at me, her eyes searching. “You regret it?”

I cupped her face. “Not for a second.”

She smiled, just a little. “Me neither.”

We stayed like that, wrapped in each other, the TV playing some late-night programme neither of us watched. The skirting boards were still in the middle of the room. The kitchen was a mess. But for the first time in years, everything felt exactly as it should be.

Becky traced a finger over my chest, her touch light. “So… same time next week?”

I barked out a laugh. “Fuck off.”

She grinned. “Worth a try.”

And just like that, the tension was broken. But the promise between us wasn’t. Not by a long shot.