Thanks for reading: all feedback is a gift I appreciate! New to writing erotica, this is my first serial story. Currently brewing Pt 5 so will post the other 3 parts following this one over the course of the week.
He was casually leant back against the bar, elbows resting, the six foot six length of him almost horizontal. His hand gripped his pint and he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. He took a sip and scanned the floor.
It had been 20 years. That was a crazy amount of time but he still had the same effect on her. He hadn't spotted her yet but she had seen him immediately and felt ridiculous that he still made her lower stomach clench.
He was grey now, hair thick, long and slicked back from his forehead. It had always been curtains in their teens but this made him look distinguished. Still like a heart throb. The beard was streaked and full. His face, all cheek bones and thick lips, looked perpetually bored until he lit up with some sardonic joke or turned his attention to the woman in front of him. Then it was full charm offensive, always had been.
They had flirted in their youth and messed about at college. One time, in woodwork, he had brushed up against her chest and 'measured her' with her full permission. It had always been that way: naughty, cheeky and always slightly risky.
Only once had they been together. It was burned into her fantasy bank, which she regularly drew on when pleasuring herself. Both drunk, they had ended up in a bedroom at a mate's house party. Hot, frantic and entirely aware that this had been building for some time, they were desperate for each other and likely to be interrupted at any point.
After intense kissing and groping, he had stopped, pulled back and intently uttered, "I want to eat your pussy."
Shocked, outrageously turned on and utterly at his mercy, she had said yes. He had knelt between her legs on the bed, looking at her with such lust and hunger. Despite their haziness, he had made good on his want. He ate her, entirely. He'd been the first to see her, exposed, intimately close and made her feel so desirable and safe. And, if she was honest, he had been the best at it, despite their young age. Something about his tongue and the feel of his presence still made her wet when she thought about him.
Obviously, they were interrupted before anything much more could take place. After hasty clothes adjustment, she had convinced herself this was probably for the best. However, the lust she had for him was intensified by neither of them having finished what they'd started.
They'd stayed in contact. Years of keeping up with each other on social media. Both married. Happily. Both still fiercely political and likeminded about social action. Both living at opposite ends of the country but strangely, still connected, if not physically.
Yet here they were. In the same room. 20 years later. And she was taken back to that room, that bed, that desire and that breathless want from him.
She should stay away. She didn't trust herself around him. She was so much older, curvier, experienced, but she was still that same girl. She only had to think about how she turned molten at his 'likes', especially of her selfies. The teenager in her wanted the woman she was to show him what he had missed out on when they'd sobered up.
Suddenly, she realised she didn't have a choice: he'd seen her. He stiffened, pausing with his pint on the way to his parted lips. She held her breath and his gaze. Then his face split into a huge grin as he waved her over.
Shit. This was happening. She tried to focus on being cool, confident and feeling at ease with herself. She crossed the dance floor, dodging between the 'Hi, how are yous' and 'Anna? You look amazings!' with a breezy, 'just grabbing a drink.' His intense gaze was like a tractor beam, and she was powerless to be elsewhere.
"Anna."
