between her legs. Was this what heat stroke felt like?
Stuart had warned her not to garden in the middle of the afternoon. Early or late was his motto. Before ten or after dinner. Never at two, which was roughly what time it was.
She had heat stroke, that was the answer.
‘Alabama,’ he said, watching her slyly.
She almost said ‘What?’ because she’d already forgotten her question. But she caught herself and for that she was grateful. ‘I can hear it in your voice.’
He nodded. ‘And I can hear the city in yours.’
He was eyeing her lazily now. Gina was positive he knew what kind of chaos was going on inside of her and that he’d caused it. She didn’t often respond so viscerally to men – any men – but certainly not young men. She had nothing to say. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth and her brain had shut down.
So when his head turned and he said, in that sinful rich drawl of his, ‘Cable man’s here. Guess I have to go let him in,’ she nearly fainted from relief.
‘Nice meeting you,’ she managed.
‘You too, missus.’ Then he was gone.
Gina watched him recede like a mirage. Tall and lanky, leanly muscled and deeply tanned – this was a young man who spent a lot of time outside. Broad shoulders were hidden beneath a washed blue T-shirt that was probably soft as sin to touch. Gina imagined herself pressing her cheek to that fabric. Feeling the solid muscle beneath, smelling sun and young man and summer air on him.
‘I have heat stroke,’ she said to herself.
But it wasn’t heat stroke that drove her into the cool of the basement and into the small powder room. Stuart was somewhere in the house puttering around or watching golf. He’d never know.
She locked the door and pushed down her shorts and panties and ripped off her gardening gloves. As she planted her ass, aching from all the squatting while she weeded, on the navy-blue fuzzy toilet-seat cover, her fingers went instinctively to where she needed them. One attacking her swollen throbbing clit with a trembling touch, two more buried deep into her cunt. She narrowed in on her G-spot – so hot, so confused, so very needy she just wanted to get off.
Gina did not need finesse. She needed an orgasm. How long had it been, she wondered, but forgot to care as she hooked her fingers and banged that plump spot deep in her pussy into submission.
Her fingers delivered just the right amount of pressure while visions of a twenty-something young man ricocheted around inside her head. That soft T-shirt, those tanned hands, grey-green eyes and plump kissable lips. The short brown hair that fell just so over his brow and, Jesus God, that honeyed twang saying missus …
Gina came with a hoarse cry that she immediately stifled by biting her lips. Her back slapped the whitewashed wall and she continued to thrust slowly as her pussy flickered with aftershocks. She rolled a lazy fingertip over her clit and enjoyed the sudden and brisk sweetness of the moment. How long had it been since she’d done that?
A sharp knock made her jump.
‘Yes?’
It had to be Stuart, who else would it be? But it still startled her and for a moment her stunned brain supplied her with a porno-movie vision of the young stud standing on the other side of the door. Knocking. Wanting to come in and milk another sugary orgasm out of her … his way.
‘Are you OK?’
It was Stuart. Of course it is, you twit!
‘I’m fine. Just finishing up. Why?’
Her voice was high and watery and guilty as hell. But it had been so good. So unexpected and so … feral. Her hands were shaking and she washed them well to get rid of the earthy scent of her own sex.
‘I thought I heard you yell,’ he said to the door. When she pulled it open, he stepped back startled for a moment. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’
‘I am. Why?’
‘You’re flushed is all.’ He put the back of his hand to her cheek as if to prove it.
Gina didn’t see it coming. She simply grabbed her unsuspecting husband by his ears and hauled him in for a kiss.
‘Gina, are you –?’
‘Shut up. Shut up. Have you ever done it in a laundry room before?’
‘No,’ Stuart sighed as she kissed his neck greedily.
‘Take your pants off.’
Stuart didn’t take much convincing. Twenty years of marriage had slowed them down a bit but they still got it on regularly and were pretty creative. But nothing like this. Not this hurried heated coupling that usually came only from brand-new connections.
He licked her nipples the way he always did but randomly decided to bite and the bites shot heat right through her middle, making her chest burn and her pussy flex. Gina pushed him away, turned her back and presented herself. Ass high, shorts tangled on one ankle, body slick and ready for him.
‘Fuck me.’
‘Gi–’
‘Do it. Put it in me.’
He looked like a man who’d been tasered but he approached her, cock in hand, and slid the weeping tip of himself to her split. Stuart put the head in – only the head – the pressure almost unbearable to her. Gina grunted, pushed back on him, impaling herself.
When he entered her, they both stilled, groaned. And then her proper kind husband shoved her upper body down on the washing machine and truly gave it to her, at one point thrusting so hard into her wet cunt that only the tips of her toes were touching the floor. The washing machine grunted and wheezed like a third part and, when Gina growled, ‘Pinch me,’ Stuart groaned and pinched her hard.
His lips were pressed together hard and she knew he was close. Gina’s orgasm rocketed towards her, slippery and delicious. She flexed up around him, pushed her pelvis to the cool metal and closed her eyes.
Well-worn cotton, grey-green eyes, sticky-sweet drawl. She came.
Stuart muttered, ‘Thank God.’ His fingers bit deep into her hips as he drove into her and then he was coming too, letting loose some warrior cry she’d never heard from him before.
When they finally parted, he kissed her, pushing a long stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. ‘What got into you?’
She shrugged. Missus … ‘Nothing. I guess I just got a bit overheated.’
Stuart smiled. And Gina, she couldn’t help grinning like an idiot.
* * *
Stuart was asleep. Snuggled up in their proper bed with their proper white sheets and their dust ruffle. The kinky laundry-room doggie-style sex over but not forgotten. Stuart had been super-attentive all night and Gina had repeatedly found herself flushed, warm and smiling for no reason.
Gina
