Since Ash’s last visit, I’d been insatiable—as soon as Georgia had left for netball practice on Saturday, I’d practically jumped my husband, but even several hours of love-making hadn’t been enough to satisfy me. On the inside, my mind was whirring, going over what I’d done. As Ash leaned down to smell my throat, everything went blurry for a few seconds, and when I realized what was happening, my pants were unbuttoned, and Ash had discovered that—just like last time—I was sopping wet. But I couldn’t bring myself to care—all I could focus on was the pleasure that his slim digits were bringing me, and the hard-on I had in my grasp. I’d had no reason to suspect that anyone would see my underthings that night (my husband and I only ever make love on Saturday nights, when Georgia is at netball) and so the pair I was wearing were large, and hardly flattering.
