I woke naturally, stretching like a cat under the covers before swinging my legs out of bed. My feet sinking into the plush carpet. I stood and padded over to my en-suite, a few cardboard boxes still left over from my recent move.

3 months ago I'd had a comfortable life, a husband and a best friend and no idea what either of them were doing behind my back. Now, I had my own place in Cornwall, a new life to figure out, and several million pounds in the bank from a lucky lottery ticket.

I turned the shower on and stripped off my nightie, hanging it on the back of the door before stepping into the shower. Letting the hot water cascade over my body, rubbing the coconut scented body wash into my skin, it was my new favourite smell. My old one had been vanilla. She'd used that too, at least I was pretty certain she had.

That was the problem with catching your husband and your best friend together. Afterwards, every insignificant little detail became evidence, and now a trigger.

I rinsed those thoughts away as I washed my hair before stepping out the shower and drying myself before heading naked back into my bedroom. I caught my reflection in the wardrobe mirror and stopped. What did she have I didn't?

I turned slightly, studying myself with a more critical eye than I normally would. At forty-four, I still looked good and I knew it. My long blonde hair hung damp around my shoulders, darker from the water, framing a lightly tanned face with high cheekbones, blue eyes and lips that always seemed fuller when I wasn't wearing any makeup. My figure had never exactly been easy to ignore either. I was five-six, slim through the waist with a soft flat stomach, fuller hips and a round bum that gave me curves in all the right places. My chest was impossible to miss, even on me, large, enhanced and deliberately so, sitting heavily against my otherwise slender frame.

I turned sideways, I still looked good, better thank good actually. I ran my hands down my waist and over my hips, staring at the woman in the glass. So what the bloody hell had he been looking for? Maybe that was the question that hurt most. Not whether she was prettier than me, thinner than me, younger than me. Why her? And why hadn't I been enough?

After a quick breakfast I got on with my day, unboxing and sorting. Making lists of what else I needed or or more importantly, what I wanted, as money wasn't really an issue anymore. I wondered if news of my win had filtered back to him, one part of me hoped it had. The petty part of me.

Just before lunch my phone dinged, I looked at the who it was, Bayo. An unexpected smile spread across my face. I'd met Bayo about 4 weeks ago. I'd been taking pictures in the harbour, fishing boats, weather cottages. I'd taken a candid one of him and another guy leaning against the harbour wall looking out to sea. He'd been dressed in a tracksuit and the guy next to him was fully suited and I'd liked the juxtaposition and composition of the picture. It would've been a great picture if he hadn't turned and caught me taking another.

He'd approached confidently, a slight swagger in his stride.

"You always take pictures of strangers?" he said.

There was nothing particularly menacing in his tone, but up close he was certainly imposing. He stood well over six feet, broad through the shoulders, with toned, muscular arms stretching the sleeves of his T-shirt. His skin was dark, his head clean-shaven, his jaw neat and strong. But it was his eyes that caught me. Light brown, almost amber in the sunlight.

I'd never seen eyes like that on a Black man before, and for a second I forgot I'd just been caught photographing him.

"I liked the composition," I said, lifting the camera slightly as if that somehow explained everything.

"The composition?"

"You and your friend. The tracksuit, the suit, the harbour behind you. It worked."

He glanced back towards the other man, then at himself. "So I'm part of the scenery now?"

I smiled. "Something like that."

His mouth twitched at the corner. "Let me see it, then."

I showed him the picture on the back of my camera and he bent slightly to look, stepping close enough that I became suddenly aware of him beside me. He smelled delicious. Clean, warm, with something woody underneath that I couldn't quite place.

"That is good," he said after a moment. "Can you send it to me?"

"I need to do a little editing later, but yes, of course. Give me your number and I'll send it over."

We swapped phones and I typed mine in, then handed it back.

"Tracy," he said, reading the screen.

"That's me."

"Bayo."

I smiled. "Bayo."

Then that was it. No awkward lingering. No obvious attempt to stretch the conversation out. He simply gave me that slightly cocky smile, turned and walked back towards his friend, the same easy swagger in his stride. I watched him go, chuckling quietly to myself. Men usually worked much harder than that to get my attention. A compliment here, a joke there, some excuse to keep me talking. Bayo hadn't bothered with any of it.

He'd walked over like he already belonged there, said exactly what he wanted to say, got my number and left. And the annoying thing was, I had the distinct feeling he knew full well I'd message him later. And I did.

His message today was just as simple as everything else about him.

Bayo: What are you up to?

I smiled at the screen before replying.

Me: I was thinking of heading down to the harbour for lunch. Fancy joining me? My treat.

The little typing bubble appeared almost immediately.

Bayo: Sure, why not. See you in half an hour?

Me: Deal.

I put my phone down on the kitchen worktop and glanced at myself. "Oh, absolutely not."

I'd spent most of the morning unpacking in an old T-shirt and a pair of soft shorts, my blonde hair scraped back loosely and barely a trace of makeup on my face. Perfectly acceptable for wrestling with cardboard boxes. Not quite how I wanted to turn up for lunch with Bayo. I paused halfway towards the stairs. Why did I care? It was only lunch.

Upstairs, I opened the doors to my walk-in wardrobe and stood considering my options. I didn't want to look like I'd made too much effort. That would be ridiculous. But I certainly wasn't going in my unpacking clothes either. My fingers moved along the hangers until I settled on a fitted white summer dress. Casual enough for the harbour, but cut close through my waist and hips, with a low neckline that made the most of my figure without looking as though I was deliberately trying to.

At least, that was what I told myself. I undressed and changed my bra to a white one, adjusting my big boobs so they sat just right and full. I slipped the dress on, freed my hair and ran my fingers through the long blonde strands until they fell around my shoulders. A little mascara, some lip gloss, perfume at my wrists and neck.

I looked at myself in the mirror. Much better. Twenty minutes earlier I'd been perfectly happy surrounded by boxes. Now I was standing there wondering whether a man I'd known for four weeks would notice my dress. What a change a few months can make. That alone probably should have told me something.

I parked my new Octa and sat for a second listening to the low rumble of the engine before switching it off. I loved that car. Loved sitting high up, loved the ridiculous power under my right foot, loved the fact that six months ago I'd never have dreamt of owning something like it. There were quite a few things lately I'd never dreamt of. I climbed out, locked it behind me and headed towards the harbour.

The place was buzzing. Holiday season had filled the narrow streets with families, couples and groups drifting between boutique shops, little bars and ice cream parlours. The smell of coffee mixed with salt air and fried food, gulls circling overhead waiting for someone careless enough to leave lunch unattended.

I spotted Bayo before he saw me. He was already outside the café, sitting as casually as it was possible to sit without actually being horizontal. One arm stretched along the back of the chair, legs apart, sunglasses on, completely at ease while everyone else seemed to rush around him.

He wore a fitted black T-shirt and dark shorts today, simple enough, but on him nothing really looked ordinary. I slowed slightly as I approached. He noticed me. Even from behind the sunglasses, I knew the exact moment he did. His head tilted a little and then that little smile appeared.

"Alright, lottery winner?" he called.

I stopped dead, he grinned wider. And suddenly lunch had become a lot more interesting.

"How did you know?" I asked as I sat down opposite him. I leaned forward as I settled into the chair, deliberately enough to make the neckline of my dress work a little harder. His eyes dipped. Only briefly. His sunglasses weren't quite as reflective as he probably thought they were. I smiled to myself.

There was something deliciously satisfying about knowing a younger man was enjoying the view. At least, I assumed he was younger. Quite a bit younger, judging by his face and the easy confidence he carried. Mid-twenties, perhaps. I suddenly realised I had absolutely no idea.

"I didn't know," he said.

I frowned.

His mouth curled into that irritating little smile. "But your reaction told me everything."

"Oh, you bastard."

He laughed softly and lifted one hand. Almost immediately, a young café worker appeared beside us carrying two drinks. I looked from the waiter to Bayo.

"I took the liberty of ordering you something."

"Did you now?"

He pushed one of the glasses towards me. Apparently Bayo didn't just expect me to message him. He expected to know what I wanted to drink as well. I picked it up and took a cautious sip. Then raised my eyebrows.

"That's actually very good."

"I know."

"You're very sure of yourself, aren't you?"

He settled back into his chair again. "Usually."

I smiled over the rim of my glass. God, he was different. Nothing like the men I'd chatted to, socialised with, or been surrounded by when I was married. Those men had been predictable. Careers, mortgages, golf handicaps, expensive restaurants and conversations where everybody seemed to know exactly what they were supposed to say. Bayo wasn't like that. And I was starting to enjoy it.

Lunch passed far too quickly. Then again, my encounters with Bayo usually did. I learned a little more about my man of mystery. Little snippets about where he'd grown up, people he knew around town, places he'd travelled. Enough to make me feel as though I was getting somewhere, without ever really giving me the whole picture.

I still didn't know what he actually did for a living. And somehow, despite trying to steer the conversation towards it twice, I still didn't know how old he was. He was annoyingly good at answering questions without actually answering them. Yet rather than putting me off, it seemed to have the opposite effect. Every time we parted, I found myself wanting more. Another conversation or just another message. Another excuse to be around him and maybe that was exactly what I needed right now. Not another man whose entire life could be neatly explained over lunch. Something different. Someone different and Bayo was certainly that.

I paid the bill, as promised, although I couldn't help noticing that a discount had been applied to the total. I glanced at Bayo. He said nothing. Interesting.

"Care to walk me back to my car?" I asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

"Sure."

He fell into step beside me as we made our way along the harbour. It felt strangely comfortable having him there. Easy. Natural. A few people acknowledged him as we walked. Quick fist bumps, little nods, nothing more. Bayo barely broke stride. I noticed it. I just didn't think much of it. Not then.

When we reached the Octa, I stopped and turned towards him.

"Well, this is me."

He looked over the car and gave a small approving nod. Then I spotted my opportunity.

"Ooh, hold still."

Before he could ask why, I stepped closer and put my hand against his chest, pretending to brush away an imaginary crumb. Bayo looked down at my hand. Then slowly back up at me. His eyes dipped briefly towards the neckline of my dress before returning to mine. Caught you.

"What?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing. Just a crumb or something."

Except I didn't move my hand. Neither of us said anything. Fuck it. I was forty-four, newly single, financially independent and answerable to absolutely nobody. I rose onto my tiptoes. Bayo seemed to realise what I was doing a fraction of a second before it happened, but he didn't move away. My body pressed lightly against his as I tilted my face towards him and kissed him. Just once.

Warm lips. A sudden rush through my stomach. Something electric enough to make me very aware that this definitely wasn't friendship anymore. I pulled away first. His expression had changed only slightly, but that irritatingly confident smile was beginning to appear.

I grinned. "See you around sometime."

I unlocked the Octa before he could answer, climbed inside and pulled the door shut. As I started the engine, I glanced through the windscreen. Bayo was still standing exactly where I'd left him. Watching me. That cocky smile now fully in place. I laughed to myself as I pulled away. God. What had I just started?

---

It had been two long days, but finally the last box was empty and I could relax. I could probably have finished everything much sooner if someone hadn't been occupying quite so much space in my head. Bayo. That little kiss had ignited something in me.

I kept telling myself it was nothing. A spontaneous moment. A bit of fun. Exactly the sort of thing a newly divorced woman was supposed to do when she was starting again. Except I kept checking my phone. Every time it buzzed, I looked. Every time I walked past it, I looked. And every time his name wasn't there, I felt a ridiculous little flicker of disappointment. Nothing. Not a teasing comment about the kiss. Not a smug message. Not even a casual hello.

By the second afternoon I was beginning to find his silence irritating. I'd kissed him. Surely that deserved something. Unless, of course, he wasn't thinking about it nearly as much as I was. That possibility irritated me even more.

I'd slipped into my newly purchased red bikini, the tiny triangles of fabric doing their best to contain me. Thin straps tied at my hips and behind my neck, the whole thing far skimpier than anything I'd normally have worn. I felt a little naughty in it. And I loved that.

For once, I wasn't dressing for anybody else's approval. My figure was crying out for something like this, and if I wanted to lie beside my own pool wearing next to nothing, then I bloody well would.

I stretched out on the lounger and started scrolling through social media, determined to occupy my mind with something other than Bayo. It worked, for approximately five minutes. Then I saw them. My thumb stopped moving.

There they were in the background of somebody's photographs from a party back in my old village. My ex-husband and my ex-best friend, standing together as though nothing had happened. As though they hadn't detonated my entire life and simply wandered off afterwards. The anger arrived instantly. Hot and familiar. I stared at the picture for several seconds before closing it.

"No." Not today.

I opened my messages instead.

Me: Hey, what are you up to?

I put the phone down on the table beside me, perhaps a little harder than necessary. It buzzed a minute later.

Bayo: Got a few meetings, but free after that. Why?

I read it twice. Then looked down at myself, and an idea formed. I hesitated for all of about ten seconds before picking my phone up again. Fuck it. I stretched back against the lounger, held the phone above me and took a photograph. Blonde hair loose around my shoulders, sunglasses on, red bikini, blue water filling the background. I looked at it. Deleted it. Took another. Much better. I smiled to myself and pressed send without adding a single word.

The reply came remarkably quickly.

Bayo: I'll be round soon.

I laughed, Apparently the bikini had answered his question for me. I smiled to myself as I put the phone back down. There was something undeniably satisfying about it. Forty-four years old, newly divorced, and apparently still more than capable of catching the attention of a younger man. A much younger man, if my guess was anywhere close. I stretched out again on the lounger, feeling suddenly far better about myself than I had five minutes earlier. Maybe I should have bought the red bikini sooner.

---

I'd just finished rubbing more lotion over my front, my hands following the curves of my body as the sun caught the sheen on my skin. The gate buzzer sounded. I put the bottle down and reached for my phone, Bayo. He was sitting outside in a rather snazzy-looking car that immediately made me wonder, once again, what exactly he did for a living. I buzzed the gate open and got to my feet.

By the time he pulled up outside, I was leaning against the front doorframe as casually as I could manage, waiting for him. He climbed out wearing a tight white vest that showed off his shoulders and arms, the muscles in them shifting as he closed the car door. A pair of dark board shorts completed the look.

So he'd come prepared. I smiled as he approached. His eyes met mine first. Then dropped. Slowly. Taking me in. That did something very pleasant to my confidence. When he reached the steps, I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek in greeting. His hand settled easily against my lower back for the briefest moment, natural enough that it almost felt familiar.

"Come on through."

I turned and walked barefoot through the house, fully aware that I'd added just a little extra sway to my hips.

"Can I get you a drink?" I asked once we reached the kitchen.

"Just juice is fine."

He leaned one hip against the counter while I opened a cupboard. I stretched up for a glass, very conscious of the angle I was giving him. I didn't look around. I didn't need to. I could feel his eyes on me. I poured his drink, passed it across, then led him through the open doors and out towards the pool.

"I'll give you the full tour later," I said as I lowered myself back onto my lounger.

Bayo took the one beside me.

"If you want."

He looked around at the pool, the garden, then back at me. "I might."

I smiled. For some reason, the way he said it made the house tour sound like it had very little to do with the house.

For a while we simply talked. It was easy with Bayo. That was what kept catching me off guard. He could sit there looking like trouble, barely dressed beside my pool, yet conversation with him never felt forced. I took a sip of my drink and glanced across at him.

"So," I said, "are you ever actually going to tell me how old you are?"

He smiled. "You still thinking about that?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because every time I ask, you somehow manage not to answer."

He laughed quietly and looked out across the garden. I nudged his leg with my foot.

"Come on."

"Twenty-five."

I stared at him. "Twenty-five?"

"What were you expecting?"

"I don't know. Older."

"How much older?"

"Thirty, maybe."

His eyebrows went up.

I laughed. "Don't look so offended."

"I'm not."

"You look offended."

"I'm wondering why you thought I looked thirty."

I shook my head, still smiling, but inside I was doing the maths. Nineteen years. Bloody hell. I looked down at myself, then back at him.

"So you really are a younger man."

"And you really are forty-four."

I narrowed my eyes.

"That sounded dangerously close to cheeky."

"It was an observation."

"Hmm."

He gave me that same infuriating little smile. The sensible part of me probably should have been alarmed by the age difference. Instead I found myself enjoying it. Far too much. I picked up the bottle of lotion from beside my lounger and turned it over in my hand.

"Actually, you can make yourself useful."

Bayo looked at the bottle, then at me. "How?"

"My back." I held the lotion out.

"You invited me over to work?"

"Consider it payment for the juice."

He laughed and took the bottle. I started to turn away, intending to sit on the edge of my lounger, then changed my mind. Why was I suddenly being shy? I stood and stepped between his knees instead. Bayo looked up at me. I held his gaze for a moment before slowly lowering myself onto his lap, facing away from him. There. That certainly changed the atmosphere.

His thighs were firm beneath me, his body warm against my back, and for perhaps the first time since he arrived, Bayo went completely quiet. I gathered my hair and pulled it over one shoulder.

"Well?"

I heard the bottle open behind me. Then his hands touched my back. Warm palms spread slowly over my shoulders, working the lotion into skin already heated by the sun. His thumbs pressed gently along either side of my spine before his hands travelled outward again, smoothing over my shoulder blades in long, unhurried strokes.

I closed my eyes. "Oh, that's nice."

His touch was stronger than I'd expected, confident without being rough. Every pass of his hands seemed slightly slower than the last, fingers following the shape of my back before returning to my shoulders.

I became intensely aware of everything. The warmth of the sun. The faint smell of coconut lotion. His breathing behind me. The fact I was sitting on the lap of a twenty-five-year-old man in a tiny red bikini while he rubbed lotion into my skin. Three months ago, the idea would have sounded completely ridiculous. Now? I shifted slightly against him and smiled to myself. Bayo's hands paused for half a second. Then continued.

"Something wrong?" I asked innocently.

"No."

"Good."

His palms travelled down my back again, stopping just above the bikini bottoms before sweeping upwards. I let my head tilt slightly to the side.

"You're surprisingly good at this."

"Surprisingly?"

"I'm still trying to work out what your talents are."

He leaned a little closer.

"You seem determined to find out. And I bet you've got a few yourself..."

I turned my head just enough to look at him over my shoulder.

"Yes," I said softly.

And suddenly I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I gave the smallest wiggle against his lap before standing.

"Come on," I said, smiling. "Let me give you the quick tour of the place I now call home."

I took his hand and pulled him up, not letting go as I led him back inside.

"You've seen the kitchen, obviously."

From there I showed him the rest of the downstairs, taking far longer than necessary because I kept finding reasons to touch him. My fingers around his arm as I guided him through a doorway. My hand against his shoulder when I pointed something out. Little bits of contact that were becoming increasingly deliberate. Then we headed upstairs.

By the time we reached my bedroom, the atmosphere had changed completely.

"This," I said, stepping inside, "is obviously mine."

Bayo followed me through the doorway and looked around. I watched him instead. He seemed perfectly calm. That irritated me slightly. I'd invited him here. Kissed him. Sat on his lap. Dragged him upstairs practically by the hand. And he was still making me do all the work. I turned to face him.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"That look isn't nothing."

I smiled. Then, without really giving myself time to reconsider, I stepped closer. My hands rested briefly against his chest before I slowly lowered myself in front of him. Bayo's expression changed. Only slightly. But I saw it.

I settled onto my knees and looked up at him. For once, he had absolutely no clever remark ready. I liked that. A lot. His hand lifted, his fingers brushing lightly beneath my chin, encouraging me to keep looking at him.

"You sure about this?" he asked quietly.

The question surprised me. So did how quickly I answered.

"Yes."

There was something strangely exhilarating about being there by choice. After months of having decisions made around me, secrets kept from me, my life changed without anybody bothering to ask This was different. This was mine. I smiled up at him.

"Thought you said you wanted to find out what my talents were."

That finally brought the smile back to his face.

I pulled at the drawstring of his swim shorts and it came undone easily. My heart was thumping. When was the last time I'd done something purely because I wanted to? Something impulsive and completely unlike the woman I'd been three months ago? And I had definitely never found myself on my knees in front of a man nineteen years younger than me.

My fingers hooked into the waistband and I hesitated. Not because I wanted to stop. Quite the opposite. I looked up. Bayo was watching me now, the cockiness in his expression replaced by something quieter and more intense.

A warm rush spread through me as I held his gaze, suddenly very aware that I'd put myself there. He hadn't asked. Hadn't pushed. This had been entirely my decision. And I liked the way it felt. More than I probably should have.

I pulled his shorts down slowly, his thick dark shaft coming slowly into view. My eyes widened as I kept lowering his shorts, his cock was massive. It finally bounced into view.

I looked up at him, my mouth open. "You're huge!" I said almost breathlessly.

"It's one of my talents." He smirked in reply.

I ran my hands up his thighs, a slight tremor in my hands as I cupped his big balls as I got to the top. Then I wrapped them round his thick shaft, my eyes glued to it as I gently stroked it. Feeling it swell and grow to its full size. It was incredible.

Leaning forward I took his cock into my mouth, gently sucking on it. Tasting him for the first time. Sucking on it gently and slowly at first, getting used to size of him in my mouth, my tongue swirling around as one hand worked on his shaft, my other was cupping and playing with his balls.

A low moan escaped his lips and I looked up at him, his cock buried in my mouth, and met his eyes. I could feel my nipples hard against the material of my bikini. My pussy already soaking from just sucking his cock. I was loving being in this position. On my knees, taking him.

He smiled down at me, putting his hand on the back of my head, forcing his cock in further. I gagged a bit the first couple of times it hit the back of my throat. I forced myself to relax and open my throat for him as his cock slipped down, my nose burying in his navel, his balls resting on my chin.

That was it then, he was a man possessed, holding my head with one hand as he fucked my mouth and throat. Looking down at me as he slid in and out of my willing mouth. Spit oozing out and dribbling from the corners of my mouth, down onto my chest. I pulled my bikini top out the way, squeezing my boobs together and pinching my nipples hard as he used me.

He pulled out suddenly, thick strings of spit stretching between my lips and his cock. I grabbed him and stroked hard and fast, my hand flying up and down his thick, slick length, before he pushed back into my mouth and started fucking my face again, deeper, rougher, using me like he owned it.

He kept thrusting into my mouth, cock pulsing harder with every stroke, until he suddenly jammed himself deep and held there. Hot cum flooded my throat in thick spurts. I tried to swallow around him but there was too much. Some of it forced back out around his shaft, mixing with the spit already running down my chin.

He pulled out and wrapped his hand over mine, pumping his cock hard while the last heavy jets painted my face. Hot spurts of cum landed across my lips, my cheek, the bridge of my nose. One thick rope caught my tongue as I opened my mouth for more. I kept stroking him through it, milking every drop onto my skin until he finally shuddered and slowed.

I looked up at him, face messy with his cum, lips shiny, and slowly licked what I could reach while he watched.

"Not a bad talent at all," he said, that cocky smile still on his face.

"You're welcome."

"It's my turn now, though."

He lifted me easily and laid me back on the bed, peeling my bikini bottoms down my legs and tossing them aside. My bare pussy was fully on display for him, already soaked and ready.

"One of my talents," he said, "is that I can go again straight away."

His cum was still wet on my face as I watched him stand at the edge of the bed. He spread my thighs wide, took his cock in one hand, and dragged the slick head up and down my pussy coating himself in my wetness, before slowly pushing inside. Inch by inch, raw and unhurried, stretching me open until he was buried deep.

I'd never felt anything like it. Not my ex-husband, not any of the lovers before him. A 25-year-old, 19 years my junior, his thick, black cock was buried deep inside me and it felt incredible, stretching me open, filling me completely. I closed my eyes, back arching hard as he gripped my thighs and started to fuck me. Deep, steady thrusts that shook my whole body. My tits bounced with every stroke until he reached up, grabbed one, and twisted my nipple. Sharp pulses of pleasure shot straight down to where he was pounding into me.

He didn't stay steady for long. The thrusts got harder, faster, his grip on my thighs tightening as he slammed into me. The wet sound of his cock driving into my soaked pussy filled the room, mixed with the sharp slap of skin on skin. I couldn't stay quiet. Soft gasps turned into broken moans, then louder cries every time he bottomed out.

"Fuck... yes... just like that," I panted, eyes still closed, head tipped back into the bed. My voice kept climbing with every deep stroke. He pinched my nipple harder and I cried out, the sound half-sob, half-moan. My pussy clenched around him as the pressure built fast, coiling tight low in my belly.

He fucked me through it, relentless, angling his hips so every thrust dragged over the spot that made my legs shake. My moans turned into full, open-mouthed cries. "I'm.. gonna... oh god..."

The orgasm hit hard. My back arched clean off the bed, pussy clamping down on his cock in tight, pulsing waves. I came with a loud, broken cry, thighs trembling in his hands, juices spilling around him as he kept pounding me through every spasm. The pleasure rolled on and on until I was gasping, shaking, still moaning his name while he held me open and fucked me deeper.

I finally opened my eyes and looked at him, the look on his face was "You're mine!" He was right, I'd never orgasmed like that with anyone ever, or even by myself. It was incredible, and he still wasn't done.

He pulled out, his black cock streaked with my white cum. I slid off the bed and instantly took it in my mouth. Enjoying the taste of him and me, running my tongue over his long shaft before he spun me round and bent me over and kicked my feet wider apart.

I felt one of his hands tangle in my hair, pulling my head back. His other guided his cock to my pussy. I felt the thick head of his cock part and enter me again. His other hand going to my hip as he pushed forward and buried himself deep inside me again.

A loud, broken moan tore out of me as he filled me completely from behind, the sharp tug on my hair keeping my back arched. He held still for a second, letting me feel every inch, then started fucking me in earnest, long, powerful thrusts that rocked me forward on the bed with every impact.

My hands clawed at the sheets. The wet slap of his hips against my ass filled the room, mixed with my rising cries. He kept his fist tight in my hair, using it to pull me back onto his cock while he reached around with his free hand, found my clit, and rubbed it in firm circles. The dual sensation made my legs shake almost immediately.

"Fuck--yes--harder," I gasped, voice already climbing again. He answered by slamming deeper, the new angle hitting that perfect spot over and over while he held me in place by my hair, fucking me hard and steady until I was moaning openly, loudly, completely lost in the rhythm of him taking me from behind.

My orgasm built fast under his relentless thrusts and the steady pressure on my clit. My moans turned into sharp, desperate cries as the second orgasm ripped through my body. My pussy clenched hard around his cock, pulsing in tight waves while I came, legs trembling, voice breaking on a long, loud moan. He kept fucking me through it, fist still tight in my hair, driving deep into my spasming pussy.

The moment my climax started to ease, he slammed in harder, burying himself to the root with a low groan. I felt him throb and then flood me, hot, thick spurts of cum pumping deep inside as he held me firmly in place. He stayed buried, grinding against me while he emptied himself completely, filling me until I could feel it start to leak out around his cock.

Only then did his grip on my hair loosen. He stayed pressed against me for a few long seconds, both of us breathing hard, his cock still twitching inside me as the last of his cum settled deep.

.

My breathing was ragged, my pulse still hammering, and the room suddenly felt far too quiet after everything that had just happened. Bayo's grip finally softened. I stayed where I was for a moment, trying to gather myself, trying to work out exactly how I felt. Shocked, certainly. A little reckless.

if I was being completely truthful with myself, exhilarated. This wasn't me. Or at least, it wasn't the version of me I'd been for the last twenty years. I glanced back at him. He looked infuriatingly composed already.

"You look pleased with yourself," I said.

"I am."

I laughed under my breath and shook my head. "Of course you are."

He stepped closer again, one hand settling at my waist, and for once the gesture felt less charged and more strangely intimate. I turned to face him.

"So," I said, "is this the point where I discover you're actually twenty-two and wanted by half of Cornwall?"

That earned a grin.

"Twenty-five. We covered this."

"I'm still processing it."

"You didn't seem too worried an hour ago."

I narrowed my eyes. "Careful."

His smile widened. And just like that, I realised something. I was happy. Not healed. Not over everything. Not suddenly transformed into some fearless new woman. But happy. For the first time in months, my ex-husband hadn't been in my head. Neither had she. It had just been me. And Bayo. That thought should probably have frightened me more than it did.

Then we both became aware of a low vibration somewhere in the room.

"Fuck. Sounds like my phone."

Bayo got up and started looking for his shorts. I stayed where I was, watching him move around the bedroom. Even now I found myself studying him, the easy strength in the way he carried himself, wondering just how many other women had enjoyed seeing him like this.

He found his phone beneath his discarded clothes and glanced at the screen. His expression changed immediately. The relaxed, cocky Bayo disappeared.

He answered. "When?" A pause. "Where?"

I couldn't hear the reply, but whatever was being said had his complete attention.

"I'll be there in ten."

He ended the call and immediately started getting dressed. I pushed myself upright against the pillows.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah."

It was too quick an answer.

He pulled his vest over his head. "Wish I could stay and enjoy more of you," he said, giving me that familiar smile again, although it didn't quite reach his eyes this time. "But work calls."

"Your mysterious meetings?"

"Something like that."

And that was all I got. Within minutes he was gone. I heard his footsteps disappear downstairs, followed shortly afterwards by the front door closing. Then silence.

I lay back against the bed, my body pleasantly exhausted, the warm glow of what had happened still lingering despite his abrupt departure. I should probably have been wondering what sort of work required Bayo to leave a woman's bedroom and promise to be somewhere within ten minutes. Instead I found myself smiling at the ceiling. Twenty-five. Bloody hell. Then another thought crept in.

What exactly did Bayo do?