Even though it is Saturday, we are up early, and the cafe is not packed with people yet. Ian opens the door for me, and I walk up to the counter. Ian is a small distance behind me as he holds the door for a woman with a child. Claire is working the till and taking orders today.
"Hello, Annie," she says. "Latte and chocolate croissant?"

"Yes, please," I say. "And what will you have?" I ask Ian when he has caught up with me.

"Oh, Ian, you finally talked to Annie - you're so slow! What did it take, three months time?" Claire says to him. "I knew you two would get along. See, I'm always right!" Her smile is bright and squishes her cheeks up.

"I didn't talk to her; she threw a pen at me," he says.

"I didn't throw my pen at you; it slipped and flew." I put my hand on his chest, and he kisses me on the lips.

Claire gazes at us and claps her hands. Then she calls over to the other barista, "I was right, Rachel! I knew it would work." Rachel turns to smile at us, too, through a fringe of dark hair.

Claire says, “You're so slow, Ian. Showing up and staring at her like a puppy but never talking. Goodness. Men." I hand her my credit card, and she rings up our coffee, shaking her head at Ian like a disappointed old schoolmistress with fourteen earrings in one ear.

As we walk to an empty table to wait for our coffees, Ian says, "I hope that made her day."

I move my chair closer to his, so our knees can touch.

Claire delivers our coffee, toast with marmalade for Ian, and chocolate croissant for me. She pats Ian on the hand. "So when was the first date?"

"Thursday," Ian says. "After she threw her pen at me."

"Thursday, and you're already cuddled up? I guess once he gets going he moves quickly. I never would have guessed that. Lucky Annie," she says to me. I nod and feel the flush on my neck.

"I didn't throw my pen, it was an accident but I did ask him out for a drink, " I tell Claire.

"You asked him?" Claire asks. "He didn't ask you?"

Ian says, "In my defense, Claire, I was going to ask; she was just faster."

Claire takes in our general closeness and says, "Ian was my first crush."

Ian stares at her. "What? Uh, what?"

"Yes, from the time I was ten to about fifteen, Ian, who was Mr. Hunt then, would come once a week to pick up the accounts for the shop. He was so nice to me. I was sure he would wait for me. I would marry him and have his babies. And so handsome then!"

I look at Ian, and he says, "I don't know what to say." Claire laughs and returns to the counter and after I tease him about being such a heartthrob all of four years ago, Ian asks, "Why did you cry this morning?"

"I told you," I say.

"Not something I did, then?"

"No. Well, yes, it was something you were doing." He looks a little stricken, and I put my hand over his. "Good things you were doing. You touch me just the way I always wanted. You do that. My husband was a good man, but never did; everything was one way and couldn't be changed. He didn't like to be touched or touch me much either, unless it was for sex. No hugs, no hand holding, or random kisses."

"Oh, fuck." Ian says. "That's just terrible." He pulls me closer and kisses my hair.

"It was just the way it was." Ian nods and I continue, "I never had what I really wanted and then getting it so surprisingly. Here. With you. I just thought it was like princesses and dragons, just fairytales." I look at his face and he is still listening but his eyes have gone blue-green. "So I just started crying." Ian nods, holding my hand now, fingers tight on mine.

“I’m sorry,” he says, That your experience of sex was like that. I wouldn’t have guessed it, though.”

“And something else - I used to look forward to you coming here, to the cafe, so I could look at you. I really had no idea you even knew I existed," I tell him.

"I knew," Ian says. "I am slow."

"You're good at looking without someone knowing," I tell him.

"I don't want to be a creeper. I'm fully aware I'm in creepy old man territory now," Ian says.

"Not if you're 55, love. Then you're in regular creepy man territory."

"Oh, thanks so much," Ian says and laughs.

Ian takes me back to my flat so I can get some work done. I'm behind from the distractions of the last few days. He kisses me goodbye at the door. He has work to do as well. When I'm in my flat, I think I can still smell him in the air but realize it's because I washed with his soap this morning. I spend a stupid amount of time smelling my arms.

I set up the easel and arrange my supplies and the drawings in the order I will work on them. I think if I use colored pencils with a watercolor wash they will be perfect, but I do scan them so I can test to get the right effects. I have a kick-ass scanner and printer.

After several hours, I take a break and glance at my phone. Text from Ian asking how it's going. Text about plumbing from my daughter, my agent asking about progress. I answer while having some juice and a carrot, saving the one from Ian for last.

I call Ian, and we laugh about the soap. He asks if I would like to have dinner, but I decline. I realize I'm tired and very much need to have a quiet night by myself. When I am done for the day, I am pleased with the progress I have made. I make some dinner and have some wine, looking out my windows at the lovely trees. I notice two yellow leaves at the top of the tree closest to my window. They remind me that there are only five months left. I feel a surge of panic in my chest.

I take a bath in the deep tub. I want a bathtub like this for my house and hope I can find one like it in the States. I wonder if I will have to import one. Would the fittings match up? Would I have to import a plumber, too? When I have dried off, and brushed my teeth, I call Ian. He answers after two rings. I hear the television in the background.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Not watching telly and wondering what you're doing. What are you doing?" he asks.

"I just had a bath. Want to come over?" I ask.

"Ten minutes," he says and hangs up.

I pull on an old tee shirt and panties. I turn on the light in the bedroom and make sure the covers are neat. Ten minutes is forever and no time at all.

When Ian arrives, I buzz him in and can hear the creak of the fourth stair. He knocks on my door and I have it open before he has finished.

"Hi!" I say.

He has a small paper carrier bag in his hand, which he holds out to me before stepping inside and shutting the door. He locks it behind him and kisses me on the lips. I think about asking if he wants to keep me, but I don't. I take the bag and am about to look inside when he scoops me up and carries me as if I weigh nothing, to the sofa where he sits down with me and the bag, still in his arms, now on his lap. His hands are quickly under my shirt, stroking my skin and my arms are around his shoulders, his neck. We kiss like teenagers, urgently, passionately, as if kissing might be banned, or Mom and Dad will walk in. Best kisses, never-ending, delicious kisses. His face is stubbly, and I love it; his hands are chilly from being outside, and I love that, too.

I'm holding his ear in my fingers, arm around his neck while he caresses my thigh and kisses my neck. I'm shivering against him, the electrical chemical reaction just as strong as it was for our first kiss, maybe more.

"I'm glad you called," he says into my neck.

"Me too." His hand is solid, warming a little against the skin under my shirt along my spine, his other hand moving up my leg and just tracing the outline of my pussy over my panties. I know I groan, and I'm afraid I'm going to cry again. I lace my fingers through his and bring them to my lips. His fingers are long and fine, and I put his index finger in my mouth and suck it, sliding my tongue along it, tasting his fingerprints.

"Oh, fuck." Ian says as I suck each of his fingers in turn. He watches intently. I feel his cock twitch against the back of my thigh.

"What's in the bag?" I ask when I can breathe again.

"Go see," he says and lets go of me and I disentangle myself from him so I can retrieve the bag from the floor where it fell and hold it out to him.

"Look inside," he says. I open it and look. Inside is a new toothbrush, for him, I assume, an apple, and a new bar of soap. I smell the soap. It is the soap I used this morning, something spicy and a little sweet.

"Oh, Ian, thank you for all of this! So sweet. You didn't buy it on the way over? You didn't have time!" I say, answering my own question,

"No, I got the toothbrush this afternoon. I was feeling hopeful. And I had soap and apples at home." I'm still sitting on the floor with the bag, almost between his legs. I put the bag on the low table, and move to the left so I am between his legs. I untie his shoes.

"What are you doing?" Ian asks.

"Untying your shoes," I say. "Now I'm taking them off," as I pull them off one at a time. I sit up on my knees so I can reach his belt. He leans forward and takes my forearms but I put my hand on his chest and give him a gentle push back. 'Relax." I unbuckle his belt. "Nice belt," I tell him as I pull it slowly through his belt loops. I unbutton the button of his jeans, and slowly, slowly pull his zipper down. His boxers are blue and white stripes. I run my hands along the outsides of his thighs and hips and look up at him.

"I would like to suck your cock and have you cum in my mouth," I tell him.

Ian says something like, "Glurk frugg," and I hope that is a yes.

"No," Ian says.

"What?" I ask. I know I heard but I'm surprised.

"Not yet." He puts his hands under my arms and pulls me back onto his lap, slides his arm under my legs, picks me up again, carries me to my bed, and lays me down on it with only a slight groan.

I watch him take off his clothes, laying them on the chair. His cock is straight out in front of him, the foreskin pulled back to reveal his glistening head, and I lick my lips involuntarily; he is beautiful, and I sigh, wanting to touch him, kiss his cock as he watches and holds my head.

He kneels by my side. I reach for him, but he takes my hand off his thigh, so I stop. He pushes my shirt up to reveal my breasts and licks my nipples, first on the left and then on the right. He strokes my right breast gently. "This one is more sensitive, isn't it?" Ian asks.

"Yes," I say, surprised he would notice. He begins to suck the right nipple into his mouth and flick it with his tongue while gently caressing my other breast. I have to moan and stroke his hair and the back of his neck.

He moves to position himself with his cock against my mons, my panties between us, and presses against me, the weight of his hips against mine is delicious, and I wrap my legs around him. We are kissing again; I'm holding him to me, my nipples playing in the hair on his chest as he presses his hips against me.

"Please," I say, "Please, Ian, please."

He is kissing my neck, teasing my nipple with his fingers, sliding his cock against my covered clit and mons. "Please, what, Annie?"

I groan, and say, "I need you to fuck me, please fuck me, I need you inside me."

"Not yet," he says. He takes his weight off of me, pulls my shirt over my head, and gently lays me back down. "Stay there." He takes my shirt and lays it with his clothes. I stay, legs parted, dripping. He pulls off my wet panties and smells them deeply. I can't believe he just did that, but it is so erotic I moan again. He balls them up in his hand and tosses them to the chair. I briefly wonder if he would have to put them back on the chair if they fell on the floor.

He takes each of my wrists in his hands and pushes my arms above my head, his cock stroking my wet folds and clit, up and down, up and down slowly. "Oh God," I say. He takes both wrists in one hand and guides his cock into my pussy, so slowly, filling me until he is pressed against me and then begins to fuck me, a slight circular motion to his hips, both my wrists in one hand, one arm keeping all of his weight off of my chest.

Ian says, “Oh, you feel good.” He is slowly fucking me, filling me, each thrust of his hips feels better, and I’m going to cum hard and soon. I’m looking into the green of his eyes, gripping his cock, and then I’m cumming, bucking under him, and he’s still steadily thrusting, a little harder now. My thighs tremble uncontrollably against his hips, and he lets go of my wrists. I wrap my arms around him and hold tight, strong back under my hands as I cum again. I can’t seem to and don’t want to stop cumming as he fucks me.

Finally, I think I’m done, panting, exhilarated, exhausted, and he stops with just the head of his cock parting my lips. He lets me rest and finally withdraws, still hard, and succulent with my juices. He is breathing hard, too, and strokes my side as I turn towards him.

“Now,” he says, “you can give me a blow job.”

“But I’m tired,” I tell him. He slaps my bottom, a little hard, and I shiver.

I push him onto his back and kiss my way down his chest, down the trail of fine pale hair below his belly button. I take his cock in my hand and cup his balls with the other. I gently run my fingernails over the taut skin of his balls, as I lean over and breathe on the head of his cock. With the tip of my tongue, I taste him lightly, circling the head, my fingers still stroking his balls.

I lick my lips and press them against his shiny head, sliding him slowly into my mouth. He tastes so good, like my juices, precum, and Ian. I take as much as I can into my mouth and give a gentle suck. Ian moans and touches my hair that has fallen forward onto his stomach. I slide my mouth back up so I can press my lips down again. As I circle his head with my tongue, I begin to stroke his shaft with my other hand, sucking and stroking and circling. The taste and smell of him, the feel of his smoothness, is intoxicating, and I feel like I’m going to cum again. I stop sucking him for a moment to lick his balls. He grips my hair involuntarily, and I bite the inside of his thigh. I lick all the way back up his cock, tasting, listening to him breathe faster as I tickle the frenulum, and stroke his shaft with my hand. I slide my lips down again, and take as much of him as I can into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat and then letting the head slip further, again and again, until I need to breathe. Then sucking a little faster, and then deep down his cock again.

“I’m going to cum,” Ian says, and I don’t stop. I want him to cum for me; I need him to flood my mouth. And then he’s groaning, thrusting, and shooting hot cum into my mouth and throat. I feel cum dripping out my nose as I have my own intense orgasm.

I stoke his balls lightly, and he shudders as I move my lips from his cock. His fingers are tangled in my hair. His eyes are fixed on mine and he doesn’t speak for a long time, just smiles at me, catching his breath.

“Wow,” Ian finally says. “I’m really thirsty.” I laugh and kiss his mouth. “Bring me something too, won’t you?” I say as I wipe my nose.

I wake up in the morning with my back pressed against Ian’s back. I luxuriate in the feeling of having slept so deeply and waking like this. I slip out of bed, put on my robe, and retrieve the apple from the coffee table. I slice it up and decide to make coffee instead of tea this morning. I check to see if I have enough eggs and bread for a nice breakfast. I do. When the coffee is done, I take the mugs and the bowl of apple slices back to the bedroom. Ian is awake, on his back his arms behind his head. He is beautiful in the morning light in my bed. His hair is silver and gold and he smiles at me as I sit on the edge of the bed with the coffee and apples. I feed him some apple slices and then kiss his sweet lips. We drink our coffee.

“Would you like to go on a picnic today?” Ian asks. “There are some lovely spots by the river you might like.”

“Oh yes, that would be nice.” I can always work later, I tell myself. How often do I get to go on a picnic in England with a lovely man? This is the one chance.

We make arrangements and I check my email while Ian uses the bathroom. Some junk and some business to take care of and one with an odd subject. It says regarding Ian Hunt. I open it, and it is a picture of an erect penis with the message that if I like Ian’s package, I will like this one better and how he would like to come over and show me what a real man is like. It is from Craig. I hear Ian behind me too late. He is reading the email. I quickly close the offending message, but he has seen and read it.

“That fucking bastard, I will fucking kill him!” Ian’s hands are in fists and his face is flushed. “I had heard that he likes to do this sort of thing, but we never had proof. And why to you? Bloody hell!”

“I’ve had worse,” I tell Ian. “He just wanted to get you in a twist, I’m sure.” And unpleasantly harass me, too, I think.

“Would you forward me that email so I can print it?” he asks. I have a kick-ass printer, it will make an excellent reproduction of the photo and I hit the button. The printer starts churning.

Ian borrows my laptop, pulls up his email, and quickly types, “Please attend the emergency executive meeting of ICPAO #6 at 7:30 pm, on the 29th at Grammarly Place.

Ian Hunt - Chairman

“We will be making a no more Craig rule. Unacceptable behavior for a Chartered Public Accountant. And to my girlfriend. What was he thinking, the sod?”

Girlfriend?