All characters are over 18 years.
***
'Mornin' babe,' Mike Follett yawned, placing a hand on her thigh as they lay in bed. The sheets were a crumpled mess, hanging partly off the bed. 'God, it's late,' he said.
On Sunday morning Leona hadn't really looked at Mike Follett as yet. She could feel his length beside her but she hadn't really looked at him. And she couldn't exactly remember what he looked like. His arm was tossed casually over her body and was now like a dead weight.
She sat up in bed. His face was the face of a stranger. She smiled at him through gritted teeth. 'Would you like teas or coffee?' she asked. 'I'm making some toast.'
'Not hungry,' Mike said, sliding out of bed. 'Gotta flight at ten. Gotta get going.'
This time she did look at him because she couldn't help it. She hadn't seen a back that taut or a backside that firm in a long while. She had met Mike the night before at Matilda's bar in Sydney Road. She had been sitting on one of the stools uncrossing her legs and he had been looking to see how high her skirt would ride up.
She had been depressed all that afternoon; loneliness had settled on her like a cold wet day.
His eyes raked her up and down assessing. She smiled when he offered to buy her a drink.
'On holiday?' she asked.
'Yes - until tomorrow.'
He was tall and rugged with pitch black hair and huge brown eyes, a little disconcerting in a man. He wore faded blue jeans and a grey T-shirt.
She could not feel that he was dominating her in any way, because she did everything willingly.