Somewhere in Greater London, 30 years from now, a cool April morning...
"Beep! Beep! Beep!"
Elizabeth groaned at the shrill, insistent sound of the alarm. She rolled over towards the bedside table, her fingers fumbling around in the semi-darkness until they found the Snooze button. She pulled the duvet back up to her chin and rolled back to her husband's side only to find it cold and empty.
Her mind still fogged with sleep, she slowly remembered he was away on yet another foreign business trip and groaned softly to herself, realising she was only half-way through another sex-free fortnight. Even when he was here he couldn't get it up, she thought to herself bitterly. Still, maybe that's what you got for marrying someone a lot richer, but also a lot older than you.
She shut her eyes and rolled back over to the warmth of her side of the bed, trying to recall the details of the dream that had been interrupted.
It was about Hawkins, their ex-gardener who she'd had a brief but torrid affair with a year earlier. Of course, he'd had to leave when her husband found out. They'd had a loud argument, fierce even by their standards and Lord Greenham had given her an ultimatum: him or me? Well, what kind of choice was that? Go back to being plain old Liz Beckett from Leytonstone or remain as Lady Elizabeth Greenham? Surrender long-term security for short-term happiness? After she'd calmed down the choice had seemed obvious, but sometimes she wasn't so sure she'd made the right call.
He'd kept a close eye on her since that affair. When she asked for money for tennis lessons he'd insisted on organizing them himself and managed to find her a tennis coach who was very fit and hunky but also very gay. Her heart sank right down to her spotlessly white trainers when they'd first met; her in a sexy little tennis skirt, him in a tight, lilac shirt that matched his headband. She was sure that the maid was spying on her and reporting back to him too. Or maybe she was just being paranoid.
Her dream had been based on something that had happened over a year ago. She'd gone down to the shed at the far end of the west lawn to see the gardener. She was using the excuse that she wanted to know when he was going to prune the roses but she was also hoping that something might happen between them. Something spontaneous and wild. Starved of affection by her husband she couldn't help longing for a little attention, a yearning to be desired.
In her mind's eye, she pictured herself striding down the path in the early summer sunshine, her favourite floral print dress clinging in all the right places, her heels clopping against the flagstones.
"Hello Hawkins, how are you?" she said as she approached him.
"Very well thanks, your Ladyship," he said.
She felt a flutter in her stomach as she watched him stand up, his tall, muscular body slowly unfolding, till even in her heels she was forced to look up at him. He wiped his grubby hands along the back of his once-blue jeans as he slowly looked her up and down, a wicked grin playing around his lips, and his dark eyes seeming to pierce her thin summer dress.
"Now then, I think the roses on the east lawn need a good pruning don't you?"
"Did you really come all the way down 'ere in your best frock to talk about roses, your Ladyship?" he said, smiling knowingly, and stepping a bit closer than was necessary.
"Yes of course," she said, stepping back a little. "When are you going to see to them?"
"Well, maybe after I see to you," he mumbled.
"What did you say? How dare you speak to me like that!" she said angrily.
Although his voice was just a quiet growl she could hear his body language loud and clear as he edged closer.
"I said I think something else needs a good 'pruning'," he chuckled, suddenly closing the gap between them.
"I think you've got the wrong idea. Stop it! Stop right there!" she ordered, stepping back and bumping into the wooden side of the shed. The sun had been shining all morning and she could feel the warmth of the sun-baked wooden slats on her back through her dress.
Of course, she'd tried to push him away, but he was a good ten years younger than she was and as strong as an ox. A very horny ox. She couldn't help but notice the lean hardness of his chest and arms under his thin black t-shirt as he grabbed her arm pulling her to him.
"No, stop," she complained unconvincingly, her hands pushing at his broad chest as a strong arm encircled her waist, pulling her against his hot, firm young body.
"Now then Lady Greenham, don't make a fuss," he said, in his rich West Country burr. "I think we both know why you come down 'ere. It's for the same reason as last time, isn't it?"
"Listen, what happened last time was a mistake; I thought I made that perfectly clear. I came down here to talk about the roses," she insisted, trying to twist out of his clutches.
"Talk 'bout the roses, is that what you posh ladies calls it?" he teased, pushing her back against the shed, his lips descending towards hers.
"No, stop! I order you to stop!" she shrieked, twisting away. He just laughed sweeping her thick chestnut hair aside, his lips kissing her exposed neck and shoulder with a surprising gentleness.
Back in the bedroom Lady Elizabeth rolled onto her back, her eyes closed, and her hands tugging the thin duvet away from her hot body as the erotic images flooded her mind. Her hand strayed between her thighs as she recalled the lean hardness of his young body pressing against hers, his moist lips on her neck and his hands squeezing her firm, full buttocks.
In her mind's eye, she tried to push him away but his rough hands quickly found the little zip at the back of her dress. She gasped as she felt the dress loosen, his strong hands tugging it down over her shoulders and exposing her full, shapely boobs. (She hadn't worn a brassiere; it would have simply ruined the shape of her dress.)
"No, let me go, you brute!" she cried, as he easily pulled her arms free of the dress straps pinning them above her head, both slim wrists caught in one big, sandpaper-rough hand. She groaned as she felt his surprisingly soft lips on her neck, then slowly kissing their way down over the generous slope of her breasts.
"No, no... oh!" she gasped as his warm, wet tongue teased her, circling her already semi-erect nipples. She shivered as he flicked and teased her right nipple till it became fully erect, a dark red cherry pip against her tanned skin. She squeezed her legs together as she felt his free hand had slid underneath her skirt and eagerly begin to explore her warm, increasingly moist thighs.
