Coffee Breaks - Brewing Temptation Pt. 01

Every weekday morning at 8:45, Iain, (45), stood outside the gates like clockwork--coffee in one hand, half-hearted smile on his face, and a head full of distractions. But the one distraction he welcomed was Sophie (27).

She strolled up in her usual confident stride, long curly hair bouncing, tight jeans hugging every curve of her tall, hourglass frame. There was always something in the way she looked at him--like she knew exactly what she was doing, and liked the effect it had on him.

"Morning, stranger," she said with a grin, nudging his arm. "You look like a man who needs something strong inside him."

He nearly choked on his coffee.

"Jesus, Sophie," he said, chuckling, "one of these days you're gonna get me into trouble."

She raised an eyebrow, eyes sparkling. "Only if you let me."

Five years of knowing each other, five years of coffee meet-ups, and five years of this delicious tension that neither dared to cross--until now.

They took their usual seats in the small corner café, backs to the window, the world outside forgotten. Her perfume hit him first--warm, floral, a little musky. She leaned in slightly, her voice low and teasing.

"So, what's new in the land of missionary sex and folded laundry?" she asked, her smile playful but eyes sharp.

He groaned. "You make it sound so exciting."

She laughed. "I bet you used to be wild."

"I was," he admitted, almost without thinking.

She tilted her head. "Still in there somewhere?"

Their eyes locked for a moment too long. There was a flicker--something unspoken finally surfacing.

"Depends," he said slowly. "You offering to bring it out of me?"

Her lips curled into that knowing smirk. "Careful, Iain. I might just call your bluff one day."

And for the first time, he wanted her to.

*********************************************

Their usual café spot was quiet that morning. Rain ticked gently against the window as Sophie leaned forward on her elbows, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. Her coffee sat forgotten, cooling beside her.

"So..." she purred, voice low and playful, "Still putting the same old moves on your wife every Thursday night?"

Iain chuckled, but his eyes flicked up to meet hers with a glint of challenge. "Rude. I'll have you know we've added Tuesdays now. Wild, I know."

Sophie rolled her eyes, biting her bottom lip. "Missionary with the lights off and a quick finish before the news, right?"

He smirked. "Jealous?"

"Hardly." She leaned in even closer, voice dropping to a near-whisper. "I've had more satisfying nights alone, with the help of a battery-powered friend and an imagination."

Iain nearly choked on his coffee. "Jesus, Soph."

Her grin widened. "Just saying. At least I come every time."

He shifted in his seat, hiding the twitch of arousal that stirred beneath the table. "Toys are great and all, but they don't talk dirty. Don't pin you down. Don't know how to tease until you're begging."

Sophie's thighs pressed together instinctively.

"Neither do bored husbands," she shot back--but her voice had lost some of its edge.

His gaze lingered on her lips. "Who says I'm bored?"

"You just said it yourself," she whispered. "Routine. Predictable."

There was a flicker of silence. The kind that hung heavy in the air, like something unsaid, waiting.

Her fingers toyed idly with the rim of her cup. "Bet it's been a while since someone looked at you and thought about really devouring you."

He leaned forward, eyes sharp now. "And I bet it's been even longer since you had a man take his time. Not some cheap thrill with buzzing plastic."

Her breath hitched--just for a moment.

They both knew they were toeing a line.

Sophie straightened in her chair, clearing her throat. "Well... I should get going. Things to do."

Iain nodded, but neither of them moved. Their eyes lingered. Minds racing.

Later that night, Sophie lay in bed, her hand between her thighs. But this time, it wasn't her usual fantasy that played in her head--it was Iain's voice. His smirk. The way his eyes had darkened across the table.

And Iain, lying beside his sleeping wife, stared at the ceiling, hard beneath the sheets and haunted by the image of Sophie biting her lip, whispering about her toys.

They were friends.

Just friends.

But something was shifting.

Something dangerous.

*********************************************

The next morning felt different. The air between them was heavier, like the teasing had shifted gears and neither of them could pretend it was just harmless fun anymore.

Sophie was already at their usual table when Iain arrived, a half-smile playing on her lips. She wore a simple black top, low enough to hint but not reveal, and tight leggings that made it hard for him not to look--so he didn't bother trying.

"I got yours," she said, pushing his coffee across the table. "Double shot. Figured you might need the energy."

He raised an eyebrow. "Planning on wearing me out, are you?"

Her smile widened. "Only if you can keep up."

They sipped in silence for a beat, the café humming quietly around them. Iain watched her fingers slowly stir her spoon around the rim of the mug, deliberately slow, deliberately suggestive.

"So..." she began, her tone light but her eyes locked on his, "what would you do if your wife walked in here right now and caught me running my hand up your thigh?"

His breath caught. She didn't laugh this time. She was serious--or at least serious enough to make his cock twitch beneath the table.

"I'd probably stop breathing," he said honestly.

She leaned in slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. "But you wouldn't stop me, would you?"

He didn't answer.

She slid her foot forward beneath the table, the toe of her boot brushing his shin. Slow. Deliberate. Testing him.

"I think about it," she said, more softly now. "About what you'd feel like. About how wet I'd be if you ever got your hands on me. About how hard you'd fuck me if I let you."

He clenched his jaw, eyes flicking around the café to make sure no one had heard. They were still safe--tucked in their usual quiet corner--but nothing felt safe anymore.

"You shouldn't say things like that," he said, his voice hoarse.

Sophie leaned back, smug, her fingers running slowly up her own thigh before disappearing under the hem of her hoodie.

"Why not? Afraid I'll make you do something you've been dying to do?"

He stared at her, the room spinning a little. He'd never been so turned on in public in his life.

And then she said it--softly, casually, like it meant nothing and everything all at once.

"I'm free tomorrow afternoon. You?"

His pulse hammered in his ears. This time, he didn't look away.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm free."

*********************************************

The house was still. The rain had softened into a whisper against the windows, the kind of night that made the world feel cocooned and quiet.

Sophie padded barefoot into her bedroom, wearing only a long t-shirt that just skimmed the top of her thighs. Her skin still tingled from the earlier coffee chat, the way Iain had looked at her when she pushed him too far. She could feel it now--low in her stomach, hot and insistent.

She climbed into bed and pulled the covers up, her body already warming with anticipation. The air carried the faint scent of her lavender body lotion, but beneath it, she could smell her own arousal--subtle but growing.

Her fingers slid beneath the waistband of her knickers, slow and curious, as though she wasn't sure whether she meant to tease or satisfy. She let them glide between her lips, already damp, her breath catching at how sensitive she was. She let her middle finger swirl gently around her clit, barely touching, just enough to make her hips twitch.

Her mind drifted. Not to a faceless fantasy like usual--but to him.

Iain.

The way he had leaned in, cocky and quiet, eyes locked on her lips as he challenged her. That moment when he said, "Toys are great and all, but they don't talk dirty. Don't pin you down..."--it had haunted her all day. And now, in the dark, it took over.

She moaned softly, picturing him pushing her back into a wall, his lips crashing into hers, his hands greedy and rough. Her fingers moved faster, slick now, tracing small circles as her thighs spread wider beneath the sheets.

But it wasn't enough.

It never was.

She reached across to her bedside drawer and slid it open. Inside lay her favourite toy--sleek, curved, soft silicone in a rich plum colour. A rabbit-style vibrator, dual motors, flexible clitoral arm. She'd had others, but none like this. This one knew her.

She slipped off her knickers completely, spreading her legs and settling back. The toy hummed to life in her hand--low and steady--and she guided the bulbous tip between her lips, gasping when it slid easily inside her.

Slow thrusts at first. Shallow. Building. The inner shaft pressed just right, and when she let the clitoral arm settle against her swollen nub, her toes curled immediately.

She pictured Iain watching her. Not touching, just watching. Lips parted, jeans straining, while she fucked herself with abandon--showing him exactly what he was missing.

Her hips bucked as she changed the setting. A stronger pulse. Deeper now. Wet sounds filled the room, slick and obscene. Her free hand gripped the sheets.

"Fuck..." she whispered, biting her lip, moaning into the empty air.

She imagined his voice in her ear, whispering what he'd do to her, how tight she'd feel wrapped around his cock. She imagined his fingers in her mouth, his tongue between her legs.

The orgasm hit her like lightning--hips jerking, thighs trembling, a strangled moan escaping her lips as the waves rolled through her, over and over. She kept the toy in place, drawing it out, refusing to stop until her whole body sagged in the aftermath.

Chest heaving. Skin flushed. Sheets damp beneath her.

She finally turned the toy off and let it fall beside her. Eyes still closed. A small, satisfied smile played on her lips.

But as sleep began to pull her under, one final thought slid in quietly.

It wasn't the toy that got her off.

It was him.

*********************************************

The house was quiet, but Iain's mind was anything but.

He'd tried distracting himself--TV, a book, scrolling through his phone--but Sophie was in every corner of his thoughts. That wicked glint in her eye. The curve of her smirk. The way she bit her lip when teasing him about his sex life.

She'd gotten under his skin. Deep.

And now, lying next to his wife, his cock was rock hard beneath the covers, aching for release. But not from the usual routine. He wanted more. Rougher. Messier. Realer.

He turned toward her, resting his hand on her hip. She stirred slightly.

"Hmm?" she mumbled sleepily.

"Come to bed properly," he murmured. "I want you."

She blinked in the dark, surprised by the sudden urgency in his voice. They hadn't had sex midweek in a while--not unless it was her birthday or an anniversary. But something about his tone, the way his hand gripped her tighter, made her roll onto her back.

He climbed over her, kissing her neck. Not soft and slow like usual--his kisses were hot, wet, demanding. His hands pushed her nightdress up over her thighs, his palms rough against her skin.

She gasped when he bit lightly at her collarbone, a low growl vibrating in his chest.

"What's gotten into you?" she whispered, half-laughing.

But he didn't answer. Because in his mind, it wasn't her he was looking at. It was Sophie. Tall, curvy, half-naked, biting her lip as she beckoned him in.

He hooked his wife's knickers aside and pushed himself against her, already leaking at the tip, desperate for friction. He didn't wait--he pressed inside her with a low grunt, hissing as he bottomed out. She was warm, familiar. But it wasn't her he was fucking.

He thrust harder than usual, faster, grabbing at her breasts, bending down to bite one nipple through the fabric of her nightdress.

His wife gasped again--half in surprise, half in pleasure. "Iain--"

He silenced her with a deep kiss, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand while he pounded into her. The bed creaked beneath them, headboard knocking the wall. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he buried himself again and again.

He flipped her suddenly, pulling her onto her hands and knees, pushing her face into the pillow.

She looked back at him, stunned. "What are you--?"

But he was already back inside her, gripping her hips tight, slamming forward with unrelenting pace. He reached around to rub her clit, fingers rough, panting in her ear.

The sounds coming from his throat were low, animalistic. Guttural.

In his head, he pictured Sophie on all fours, her long hair clinging to her sweaty back, begging him to go deeper.

He slapped her ass--his wife gasped.

He leaned over, chest to her back, and whispered, "You like that?"

She whimpered a yes.

But the voice in his head was Sophie's.

He was right on the edge, hips driving hard, sweat dripping down his back. He squeezed his eyes shut--dangerously close to crying out the wrong name.

Don't say it. Don't say her name.

He pushed harder, faster, vision blurring as he imagined Sophie riding him, her nails in his chest, her voice whispering filthy things in his ear.

With a strangled groan, he came hard, hips jerking, cock pulsing deep inside his wife--his mind drenched in Sophie's smile.

He collapsed beside her, breath ragged.

His wife snuggled in with a lazy, satisfied hum. "Wow... that was different..."

Iain didn't answer.

He stared at the ceiling.

Guilt and desire churned inside him.

He'd just had the best sex with his wife in months...

But only because he'd been fucking someone else in his head.

*********************************************

The café door chimed as Iain stepped inside, the smell of fresh roast and sweet pastries wrapping around him like a blanket. He spotted Sophie straight away--same table as always, back to the window, sunlight catching the caramel strands in her long curly hair.

But today... something was different.

She was wearing a fitted black top that hugged her curves, jeans that accentuated every turn of her hips. And her eyes--those knowing, mischievous eyes--met his before he'd even reached the table.

"Morning," she said, a slow smile spreading across her lips. "You look tired."

He cleared his throat, sitting opposite her, trying to play it cool. "Didn't sleep great."

"Oh?" She sipped her coffee, lips wrapping around the lid in a way that made his throat tighten. "Wife keeping you up?"

He blinked. The words were casual, but there was a flicker in her voice--something deliberate.

"Something like that," he muttered, shifting in his seat.

She cocked her head, biting her lip as if holding back a smirk. "You seem... different today. Like you've got something on your mind."

Iain took a long drink of his coffee, hoping to cool the fire building in his chest.

"Just a long night."

"Restless?" Her tone was silk, soft and dangerous.

He looked up--and in that moment, they both knew.

She knew.

Maybe not everything. Maybe not that he'd gripped his wife's hips so tight while picturing Sophie on her knees... but she knew something had changed. The unspoken fantasies between them were no longer just playful flirtation. They were vivid. Real. Breathing between them like a third person at the table.

Her voice dropped slightly as she leaned in. "You ever have one of those nights... where your body's tired, but your mind just won't shut up? Keeps replaying things. People."

Iain's breath caught.

He nodded, slowly. "Yeah. I know the kind."

Their eyes locked. Electricity passed between them, quiet and potent.

She sat back, fingers tracing the rim of her cup. "Funny. I had one of those nights too."

Iain swallowed hard.

"I kept thinking," she continued, her tone light but her words deliberate, "how it's been so long since I've had a man who actually knows how to touch me. Not just going through the motions. Someone who wants to explore. To take control."

He said nothing. Couldn't. His cock stirred just from the way she said "touch."

"And then I wondered," she added, her voice now a whisper only for him, "if maybe some people are more adventurous than they let on."

Her hand brushed her own thigh casually, but his eyes caught the movement like a laser.

"Iain?"

He looked up. His heart hammered in his chest.

"Yeah?"

She leaned in close enough he could smell her perfume--soft, floral, maddening.

"I bet you're not as boring as you say you are."

Their eyes locked.

Neither of them spoke for a beat, but everything was said in that look.

Sophie broke the silence first, her voice a notch lower. "So... I wasn't entirely honest about my tiredness either."

Iain's brow arched slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "No?"

She smirked and leaned in just a little. "Let's just say... I was thinking about something. Or should I say someone."

He chuckled, but it was a nervous laugh, one that betrayed how tightly coiled his arousal had become. "Funny. I was doing the same."

"Oh?" Sophie crossed her legs slowly, her knee brushing against his under the table.

"Mmm," Iain nodded, lifting his coffee for a sip he didn't need. "I, uh... may have used those thoughts to spice up what was otherwise going to be a very... routine night."

Sophie's smile widened. "You used me?"

He looked at her boldly for the first time. "Did you use me?"

She leaned in, dropping her voice to a sultry whisper. "I was thinking about your hands... your voice... wondering what you'd sound like if I made you come with my mouth."

Iain's jaw clenched. He set his cup down before it slipped from his hand.

"Well," he murmured, "I couldn't stop picturing your legs wrapped around me... the way you'd moan if I had my tongue deep inside that soaked little pussy of yours."

Sophie exhaled, clearly aroused by the open confession. Her thighs squeezed together under the table. "You really did have fun last night, didn't you?"

"I did," he said, voice raw. "But it wasn't with who I wanted it to be."

She ran her finger along the rim of her cup again, slower this time. "I think we've been teasing each other for too long."

Iain nodded. "Yeah... and now we've both seen what we're missing."

Silence hung for a beat, not uncomfortable--just thick with the unspoken.

This wasn't just flirting anymore. It was a confession. A warning. A promise.

Their friendship was teetering on the edge of something neither of them could take back.

Sophie stood, the curve of her hip swaying as she slung her bag over one shoulder.

"Same time tomorrow?" she asked, her lips curling into a wicked smile.

"Wouldn't miss it," Iain said, voice barely steady.

As she walked away, he watched every step, his cock already stirring again in his jeans.

And just like that, their game had changed forever.