She wants to suck his dick in the bathroom. She’s knelt too many times on the plush, cream carpet in the bedroom, fellating against a backdrop of family photos in silver frames, his wife’s perfume hanging in the air, his copy of War and Peace on the nightstand. Every time he brings her here, she surreptitiously checks his progress, but his narrow leather bookmark never seems to move. He must be the slowest reader in the world.
He’s careful not to muss her hair or clothes too much – there’s always a 3 p.m. meeting, or a client presentation, or another reason why he won’t come on her face, no matter how much she begs for it. There’s nothing dirty about this affair.
As she pees, her knickers round her ankles, her head resting against the cool, teal tiles – she’s dizzily tipsy – she imagines the ache of the stone floor under her knees, the anticipation of waiting for him to empty his bladder before he lets her suck him (as if he’d let her watch), and the moment that he’d turn, not yet finished, and piss all over her face, while a bottle of Matey looked on disapprovingly.
She could persuade him tonight, she thinks – they’re on their fifth bottle of Merlot, and his wife is too busy playing the perfect hostess to query a ten minute absence. She’ll go back to the dining room and grope him under the table, she’ll text him her plan. He never goes more than ten minutes without checking his phone. Maybe they can absent themselves when everyone moves to the living room for coffee – she’s never been bothered about after dinner mints anyway.
She slides two fingers inside her cunt, and slicks her nape with her juices. She’s read about this somewhere – apparently men can’t resist it. And even if it’s bullshit, and it probably is, it makes her horny – and that’s all that really matters.
‘Want to suck your cock. Meet me in bathroom in 10’ she texts, before returning to the table. She wants to see his face when he gets the message.
But in the dining room, he’s not the one fiddling with his phone – Steve is.
‘There you are, darling!’ he says. ‘Cab’ll be here in five. I said we’d skip coffee – I’ve an early start tomorrow. You don’t mind, do you?’
She curses under her breath, shakes her head. ‘No, no problem.’
His wife holds out a box of After Eights. ‘Take a mint for the journey,’ she says. ‘I’d hate to see you miss out.’
As the door swings shut behind them, she sees him check his phone. Sees the missed opportunity and the disappointment register on his face. What she doesn’t see is him wanking frantically in a cold bathroom at 2am. She can imagine it though, for days afterwards, and it ruins everything.
The affair ends a month later.