This wasn't the Ritz. It wasn't even a four star hotel. Lightly faded beige carpet and an acrid smell of old cigarette smoke weren't quite an aphrodisiac, and for a moment Rebecca felt ridiculous.
She knew she shouldn't have been there, in this grubby little room in this grubby little B & B just off the motorway.
A slick of red lipstick, a spray of perfume, perfectly curled brunette hair tumbling around her shoulders. Yes, she knew she looked ready for him. But was she?
Rebecca adjusted her black lace bra. Her breasts protruded invitingly, begging to be explored. Matching panties skimmed her curvy hips and she felt an electrifying excitement at the prospect of him pulling them off her, finally, after all these months of dizzying attraction.
She sat on the bed, and waited. Silence cloaked her and she twisted her white gold wedding band nervously. She pushed her husband from her mind. She didn't want thoughts of him here, in this room, on this night, with her lover.
She checked her phone. No text. And he was almost 15 minutes late now. A familiar sense of anxiety crawled up her spine and she wasn't certain if it was the guilt over her infidelity or a latent fear of rejection.
A knock. Gentle. Rebecca stood and her knees shook a little.
"It's open" she said, nervously. She glanced in the mirror, surveyed her soft curves, aware that her hard nipples showed through her bra.
And then he was in the room. This handsome man so full of virility, his dark hair complemented by a coffee coloured tan. His muscular torso highlighted by a tight t shirt. Rebecca felt her cunt ache with excitement.
He stood and stared at Rebecca, drinking in her body, her hair, her pert breasts, her underwear. His breathing grew heavy. All those months of waiting, wondering and now, in this room, it was too late to turn back.
