Hello guest! (Level: guest) Log in

You can change the width of the story text shown below:
Use how much percent of the screen width?

[ default ] [ 10% ] [ 20% ] [ 30% ] [ 40% ] [ 50% ] [ 60% ] [ 70% ] [ 80% ] [ 90% ] [ 100% ]

Options: Plain text or PDF (fanclub only!) version  |  Mark story  |  Mark author

Don't forget to vote for this story, in the yellow voting box below the story!

I came home later than I’d planned that Friday night. The rain had started just as I left the office, a soft, steady drizzle that turned the streets slick and made the city lights smear into watercolour streaks across the wind-shield. By the time I pulled into the driveway the drops were heavier, drumming on the roof of the car in a rhythm that almost matched my pulse. I sat there for a full minute with the engine off, listening, watching the water sheet down the glass, letting the day’s tension drain out of my shoulders. Work had been the usual mix of deadlines and polite bullshit; the kind of day that left me wanting something real, something physical, something that had nothing to do with emails or conference calls. I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat, pushed the door open into the wet night, and made a quick dash for the front door, heels clicking on the wet pavement.

John was already inside. I could smell the pasta sauce the moment I stepped into the hallway, garlic, tomatoes, a hint of red wine, the good stuff he only opened when he was cooking for us. He’d texted earlier to say he’d handle dinner. The house felt warm after the chill of the rain. I kicked off my heels, hung my damp coat on the rack, and followed the scent into the kitchen, still brushing raindrops from my hair.

He stood at the stove in jeans and a soft grey T-shirt that clung just enough across his shoulders, stirring slowly. When he turned and saw me he smiled that slow, private smile that always made something warm unfurl low in my stomach, the one that said he’d been thinking about me all day the same way I’d been thinking about him.

“You’re soaked,” he said, voice low and amused.

“Only a little.” I brushed damp strands of hair away from my face and set my bag on the counter. “Traffic was a mess. Accident on the bridge. I sat there for twenty minutes watching brake lights.”

He set the wooden spoon down carefully, wiped his hands on a dish towel, and crossed the kitchen. He didn’t rush. He never did when it came to this part. He stopped in front of me, looked me over once, damp blouse clinging to my skin, skirt still sitting high from the drive, and then kissed me. Not a quick hello kiss. Something slower, deeper, his hands settling on my waist like they belonged there. I tasted wine on his tongue, the same red he’d been cooking with. When the kiss broke he kept his forehead against mine for a second, breathing me in.

“Go change,” he murmured. “Dinner in ten. Maybe fifteen if I get distracted watching you walk away.”

I laughed under my breath and went upstairs, the old wooden steps creaking under my bare feet. The bedroom was quiet, only the distant sound of rain against the windows. I peeled off the damp blouse first, the fabric sticking slightly to my skin, then the pencil skirt that had ridden up during the drive. My bra followed, and I stood in front of the mirror for a moment in just my everyday panties, studying my reflection in the soft lamplight. The rain had left my skin cool. My hair was still a little wild from the weather.

I opened the top drawer of the dresser and reached for a pair of panties.

The ones I chose were deep emerald silk, almost liquid under my fingers, the kind that whispered when they moved and caught the light like water. I’d bought them weeks ago on a quiet afternoon and never worn them, waiting for a night that felt right. The hold-ups were sheer black, lace-topped, the kind that stayed up without garters if you got the size right. I sat on the edge of the bed and rolled the stockings up my legs taking my time. The nylon was cool at first against my calves, then warmed as it settled against my skin. I smoothed them carefully over my knees, up my thighs, until the lace bands sat high and snug, framing the soft skin there. Then I stepped into the panties, the silk sliding over my hips like a second skin. I adjusted the waistband, looked at myself again in the mirror, and felt a small, private thrill settle low in my belly. The emerald against my skin, the black lace cutting across my thighs, it was deliberate. It was a choice. It was for him, and for me.

Click here to read the rest of this story (569 more lines)

Options: Plain text or PDF (fanclub only!) version for easy saving or printing

ESmail: Click here to send a private message to John Day (with ESmail, the site's internal message system)

Authors appreciate feedback! Please vote, and write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!

Profile for John Day, incl. 13 stories Email: Johndayuk@protonmail.com Add this author to your favorite author list Add this story to your favorite story list Send this story to me through email

Give your opinion about this part: (You can vote for each part separately) select here 1 (terrible) 2 .. 3 .. 4 .. 5 (reasonable) 6 .. 7 .. 8 .. 9 .. 10 (excellent)

Send feedback to this author: Your name: Your message to John Day:     (You are not logged in, so you can't send private messages) Public: post this message in the public feedback below