Page 39 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

“Friends,” I repeat, and the word tastes bitter on my tongue.

“Yeah!” Her voice is cheery, but it rings false. She clasps her hands in front of her stomach, then abruptly spreads them like she wants to hug me. “Nice to see you, friend. I’ll say goodnight and be on my way.”

Then her arms come around me, and I’m enveloped in her scent and her softness. I wrap my arms around her, and the feel of her body against mine is the strike of a hammer on the anvil of my chest.

In this moment, I know with absolute certainty that I don’t want to be friends with this woman. Not even a little bit. I don’t want to wave at her from across the yard, or smile over a hedge and talk about the weather.

I want her naked and panting my name. I want to be the last man who ever makes her feel good. I want her to tell me she’s mine, now and forever.

I’m not sure who moves first. Maybe she senses the shifts within me and responds, or she might have the same bone-deep reaction as I do to the feel of our bodies touching. All I know is one moment we’re hugging and the next I’ve got her pressed against the side of the greenhouse and I’m kissing her like I never want to come up for air. She moans against my lips and claws at my shoulders, my back.

With one arm around her back, I lift her up and she wraps her legs around my waist. Still kissing her, I feel for the door to the greenhouse and walk us inside. I kick it closed behind us and bury my hands in her sweet-smelling hair. She gasps, grinding herself against me where we stand.

“This isn’t what I meant,” she says when we pull away to drag in deep breaths. “We weren’t supposed to do this again.”

“You want to stop?” I grate.

“No,” she replies, kissing me again. Her teeth close over my bottom lip, and my hands drop to her ass. I crinkle the fabric of her dress so I can get to her skin, feeling the lacy contours of her panties against warm, soft skin.

All the blood in my body rushes south. I stagger. This woman is driving me insane. I’ve lost my mind.

“What color are they?” I rasp.

“What?”

“These.” I snap the edge of her panties against her ass cheek, and she gives a cute little yelp. “What color.”

“Wh-white,” she says.

“Show me.” I guide her feet to the ground and hold her waist until she’s steady. Then I take a seat on the long timber bench lining the side wall. I spread my arms over the backrest and grip it with both hands. Meanwhile, Audrey stands before me and slowly gathers the fabric of her dress up against her stomach.

Her panties are white lace, with a little blue bow in the front. They’re mostly transparent. I’ve died and gone to heaven.

“Turn around,” I grate. “Show me the back.”

She obeys, flipping the back of her skirt up and leaning forward a bit to show me the way her panties cut high over her cheeks. The bench creaks as I grip it harder.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” I tell her, and I can’t take it anymore. I reach for her, hands clamping on her hips to drag her back toward me. She lands on my lap, her back against my chest. “Hands around my neck,” I grunt.

I love the way she does what I tell her to do. Love how good it feels to have her hands braided behind my nape. Love how she shivers when I run my hands up her sides and over her breasts.

“Audrey,” I say, spreading her knees with my own.

“Mm-hmm?”

“I have to be honest with you.” I claw at her dress, gathering it up in a big clump against her stomach. My hands look so filthy against her clothes, and I almost feel bad about sullying her—but I still let my dirty fingers coast along the gusset of her panties and feel my lips curl into a smile when she shudders.

“What?”

“I don’t want to be your friend,” I admit, rubbing her clit through the lace.

“Oh.” It comes out breathy, and I’m sure she feels my cock throbbing beneath her ass.

“I want to be the man who makes you scream.” I put a bit more pressure in my touch, relishing the way she rolls her hips toward my hand.

“Oh,” she repeats.

“Is that all you have to say?”

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