They'd met twice before, each time a tease -- sparks popping, bodies humming with want, but never crossing that line. The near-misses left them hungry, their quick wit and easy flow blurring the edge between strangers and lovers.
Catherine had picked the spot, a quiet country park. Mark paced the car park, his cock stirring at the thought of her. Every rumble of tyres jolted his pulse until, ten minutes late, a silver Mercedes purred in. Her bright smile glowed from the passenger seat, chestnut hair spilling past her shoulders - but a man winced. It was her husband, Mark realised, his gut tightening as lust met a flicker of nerves.
He's checking me out, Mark thought, watching Angus - a tall, silver-haired lawyer with a stiff edge - park the car. Catherine pointed him out, and Angus's eyes scraped over him, cold and quick. She stepped out, all fluid grace, her pastel skirt swaying over long legs, pink-painted toes peeking from sandals. She was mid-forties, stunning - five-foot-seven, creamy skin stretched over a slim waist and rounded hips. Her blouse hugged her chest, heavy C-cups spilling naturally, a faint sag from their weight softening the curve, nipples denting the fabric.
She leaned into Angus's window, kissing him slow and deep, then floated over to Mark, her floral scent curling around him. "Evening, Mark," she purred, voice velvet, pressing into him for a hug. Her soft, full tits squished against his chest, warm and yielding. She kissed his cheeks, lingering, her hazel eyes dripping with want.
"You look good," she said, lips twitching.
"So do you," he rasped, still thrown by Angus staring.
"The plan's changed," she said, smooth as cream. "Angus has agreed we can get closer, but he wants to be there too. Follow him home in your car - you want that, don't you?" Her fingers wove into his, sending a pulse to his groin.
No question. "Silver Porsche Cayenne," he said pointed the model out to Catherine, nodding. He opened her door, heart thudding as her pale thighs slid in, skirt hiking to tease smooth skin. Following the Mercedes, their small talk simmered - every glance, every brush of hands stoking the ache.
Twenty minutes later, they rolled up a tree-lined drive to a sprawling Regency mansion, gates humming open at Catherine's phone tap. She led him inside, the house oozing old cash and sleek charm. In the kitchen, she handed him a beer, then popped champagne with a flirty smile. "Open it for me dear?"
