He would be here any moment. I felt that familiar frisson of excitement I got before I saw him, the sort of butterflies you got in your stomach when your car took an unexpected bump in the road. I was waiting outside number 39 Everglade Road, a house that was another jewel in the crown of he and his fathers' property development legacy. It was beautiful, even from the outside, detached and set back from the road by a large driveway, the front door flanked by pillars.
I gave myself a quick once-over in the large window beside the door. I looked good. My blonde hair was down, curled. My figure looked neat in a pale blue silk blouse, a form-fitting grey pencil skirt and black stiletto heels, which matched the black folio I carried. There were tasteful diamante studs in my lobes, which matched the pendant on my necklace.
I heard the sound of a car pulling up behind me. I looked round; his Audi parked neatly behind my Mini and he got out, smiling at me. God, he looked good. His dark hair was shorn close to his head; he wore dark Raybans. We'd inadvertently matched; the pale blue of his shirt was similar to the blue of my blouse. He'd matched the brown of his belt to the colour of his unscuffed shoes.
"Hi," he said, drawing close.
"Long time no see," I said, returning his smile.
"I know, business has been nuts," he replied. "But this place is finally finished. I've been dying to show you."
The house was stunning, as I knew it would be. He and his father specialised in premium products that drew a premium price; no detail went overlooked, nothing went unfinished. I followed him around the living room, the spacious kitchen, the four bedrooms, taking notes in my folio as I went. I worked as an estate agent; it was my job to report back on the house so that it could be put onto the market for an accurate sum.
"And the pièce de résistance," he said, showing me into the main suite. It was an enormous room, with an en suite shower room, a walk-in wardrobe and a balcony terrace which looked out onto the vast back lawn. He walked me out onto the balcony into the sunshine. As I looked out over the balustrades, he finally ran his palm down my back.
"God, I've missed you," he said, and with that he bent down and kissed me deeply, hungrily. I kissed back, feeling myself already getting wet just from that alone. He turned me around so I faced away from him, looking out onto the lawn, and then he pulled my skirt up and tugged my g-string down over my thighs.
"So fucking sexy," he said, using his palm to open up my ass cheek a little so he could see more of me. He seemed impatient this time around, even more so than usual; he didn't even pull down his trousers or boxers, just unzipped and pulled his hard cock out.
I loved his cock; it was so smooth and beautiful. It wasn't the biggest I'd ever had, but there was something to be said for a good-looking one. He tested me with his fingers, finding my pussy wet, and then he pushed himself inside me and fucked me hard and fast. He came quickly, and it just kept coming; he was filling my pussy with masses of warm semen. He moaned loudly, satisfied, before pulling out; his cum started dripping out down my thighs.
"Sorry that was quick, but I needed that," he said, turning me round and kissing me again. I smiled.
"Me too," I replied. I looked down at the mess he'd made of my thighs. I chuckled. "I'm gonna have to go in there and clean up," I said, gesturing to the ensuite.
He laughed. "Yeah, I think that's for the best."
Thankfully, I'd had the foresight to pack my handbag with tissues and baby wipes. I straddled the toilet, trying desperately not to drip anywhere or get anything in this pristine house dirty, and cleaned myself up as best as I could. As I washed my hands, I heard his phone ringing in the bedroom outside.
"Hi babe," he said into his phone as I exited the bathroom. He grimaced at me, pulling a face and rolling his eyes, trying to demonstrate how little he'd wanted to take the phone call. He listened to whatever she was saying on the other end.
"Yeah, alright, I can go to Waitrose on my way home," he said. "What are you thinking, just burgers and sausages, burger buns, things like that?" He listened again for a moment. "And salad. Ok then, I'll see you in a bit."
He shut off his phone and looked at me. "The girlfriend wants to throw a spontaneous barbecue for the neighbours," he said.
I shrugged. "It's the weather for it."
I knew of her existence, of course. I knew he'd been with her since school, that her father was a wealthy farmer and landowner. I'd looked them all up on FaceBook. She was surprisingly plain, in my opinion, to be with such a good-looking man; her hair was a mousy blonde, which hung unstyled to her shoulders. She didn't seem to worry herself much with makeup or fashion.
It's not that I didn't feel guilty when I fucked him. It's just that I didn't think about her at all. I didn't feel that I owed her any loyalty; I didn't know her, had never met her, and if she had the poor judgment to be with a man who strayed then that was on her. He was too much of a good shag to give up, and this way it was easy; just sex, with no messy feelings or emotions on either side.
He gave me one last hungry kiss, his hands moving over my body, caressing my curves. "Right, I'd best be going," he said.
"Me too," I replied, "I need to get back to work."
I followed him back down the large, beautiful staircase, waited with him whilst he locked the front door.
"I hope the house will get a good write-up?" he said, with an impish grin.
"Absolutely," I said, smiling back. We gave one final wave and got into our cars; I watched as he drove away.
I started my car up and turned on Radio 1, loud. There was a summery pop song playing, and I drove with the windows down, the breeze blowing my hair around my face. I felt alive.
*****
