Emma and I fucked twice more after she had cooked for us, a simple spaghetti dish that satisfied me enough, though it honestly wasn't a patch on what Kate could rustle up. We chatted for a bit at the dinner table about how she planned to get a job in the parks service when her studies were done and perhaps get her own little apartment in town. No mention is made of what will happen to us when that time comes and that suits me just fine.
The first session after dinner was innocent enough, or at least it started that way. I'd taken the dirty plates from the table and insisted that I wash them seeing as she had cooked. A playful fight had ensued and soon we were gripping each other in another embrace.
It was dangerous enough being in her room and doing what we were doing, so it was perhaps even riskier to do things in the kitchen. With her bent over the sink, and her silk gown hanging off her forearms, I take her. It's all in the heat of the moment, fast and frantic like it had been at the top of the stairs. Both of our moans fill the kitchen as I slam myself into her, hand curled in a tangle of brown locks to keep her close, sometimes glancing down to watch how her tight ass ripples as my pelvis strikes against it.
I'm pressed against her back when we both come undone, with Emma all but lying in the sink as she recovers from her orgasm. "Okay," she pants. "I'll let you wash up."
We both chuckle and clean the place up before deciding that time is short and I probably need a shower. Of course Emma insists on joining me and, rather than fucking once more, I get to watch her on her knees in the shower with hot water cascading over her perfect naked form. Her chestnut eyes don't look away from me once while she blows me.
At the end, as I feel myself about to cum for the fourth time that night, I grip her hair and yank her head back. After so many orgasms there's not much left, but I still manage to shoot two ropes of cum across her face to finish. Emma grins at me and then pools some water in her hands to clean herself up.
"How long have you wanted to do that"?
"Since that second night at camp." I admit, washing myself properly now.
"Should have said - I'd have gladly let you do it."
I finish washing and then change into my clothes while Emma gets into a vest top and some loose fitting bottoms, preparing herself for bed. "So when are we going to do this again?" she asks, fingers trailing along my chest and brown eyes wide and innocent as we stand by the front door. "The weekend?"
I shake my head. "No can do. It's my eldest son's birthday, so I'll be needed at home. Would be a struggle to get away really."
She looks a little sad but bobs her head in understanding. I put my finger to her chin, tip her face up to mine and kiss her softly. "We will find time, Em. I promise. I want... whatever this is. You know that."
My mistress smiles and gives me another kiss and then I quickly leave her house and scoot down the street, thoughts about how good she felt and sounded happily occupying my mind.
When I get home the lights are all off and I sneak into the house not too long after when I should have been home anyway, had I been at the cinema and not fucking a woman half my age. I quickly get undressed and creep into my bedroom. It's only when I get under the covers that Kate stirs and shifts over to cuddle up to me.
"How was the film?" she asks sleepily, and I recount bits of the Wikipedia entry I'd read on it earlier that day to give some credence to my lie. My wife is far too sleepy to care though as she rests her head on my chest and cuddles up close. My active evening has made me tired, so sleep isn't too long in finding me, but my last thoughts are imagining sleeping like this with Emma and how she might feel cuddled up to me.
Our dialogue over the next few days is short. We try and find a little time for one another but, apart from a heated kiss in my empty classroom, we can't find any further time for what we both want. Our texts remain raunchy, especially as the weekend draws near, but it looks like it will be the Tuesday next week when we have a chance for something more meaningful, and even that would be in my car.
I'm suitably distracted from Emma for the first time in weeks by the organising of the birthday party. Kate, forever frugal, had arranged for it to happen at ours with his friends and some of our family coming round to join in. She'd organised a bouncy castle and all other sorts of fun and games, giving me very little to do other than bake a cake for him and wrap the presents.
It gives me a chance to feel wholesome again as I act the family man despite my recent forays into something darker. That wholesomeness is tinged with a shadow though - my smiles feel rotten and my laughter feels hollow when I see how excited my son is with his new bike.
As the afternoon is nice most people spend it outside, watching the kids yelp happily on the bouncy castle while Kate's parents get the barbecue going. I'm in the kitchen fixing drinks when I hear the doorbell ring, and for some reason even then I have a bad feeling about it.
The walk down the hall shows me a figure in the frosted glass of the front door - dark hair, feminine features, dark-rimmed glasses...
I swallow hard, open the door and see Emma standing there wearing a denim dungaree dress with one clasp undone to reveal a multi-coloured hooped top underneath. Her hair is up and, quite effortlessly, she looks as cute as a button.
"Hi," she says softly. "Sorry, I had to see you."
