Hers to Wake

The cottage seemed to hold its breath in the mornings. It always did. Built of old stone and thick lime washed walls, it absorbed sound, softening the clatter of spoons and the brief hiss of the kettle. Even when the fire was on, it never quite chased away the cold that rose from the flags.

Alice liked the silence. It gave her room to think.

She moved through the kitchen in bare feet, one hand wrapped around a mug of tea, the other trailing along the worn edge of the table. The sun hadn't risen far enough to warm the back garden yet, but there was light on the trees, an early April gold that made everything look fragile and beautiful, just for a few minutes.

Ben was upstairs, still in bed. He often was, this time of year. His working hours were elastic. Some mornings he rose early to stare at his email in his dressing gown. Other days, like today, he slept late, his laptop blinking patiently on the bedside table.

They had fallen into this rhythm without speaking of it. There were many things they didn't need to speak of anymore.

Lately, with forty looming like a quiet shadow, she had begun to wonder if this was all her life would ask of her.

Alice opened the window. The air was cold but clean. Sheep in the next field, a few birds, nothing else. Across the lane, the neighbour's shaggy dog was trotting a slow, familiar circuit of the garden. Everything was exactly as it should be.

She thought about waking Ben. About climbing back into bed and curling herself against the heat of his body. She imagined his arm around her waist, the weight of his thigh pressing between hers.

Her first client wouldn't be for another hour. She had time.

He would touch her, maybe. Or she would make the first move, like she so often did now. And they'd both get what they needed. Just enough to keep things from rusting.

But something in her pelvis always stayed quiet. She didn't have the words for it. Just a low, unanswered hum.

Safe, she thought. Predictable. She missed the sharpness of their early years, when he used to light her up. Back when they were newly married and living in that grubby flat they both hated. It all seemed bearable when they had the fire of young passion.

She sipped her tea and mused.

It wasn't that she was unhappy. She loved him. Their life was good. They had chosen it together. But something in her had gone still.

Not broken. Not absent. Just... waiting.

Ben came downstairs fifteen minutes later, his hair tousled, pyjama trousers held up by a tangled knot. He rubbed at his eyes and blinked against the morning light.

Alice was at the sink rinsing out her mug.

"Morning," he mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep.

She glanced over her shoulder. "You missed the sunrise."

"Don't need it. I've got you."

He kissed her neck as he passed, warm lips against cool skin, then opened the cupboard to retrieve a bowl. She smiled faintly. It was the kind of line he used too often when he wasn't in the mood for conversation but wanted to offer something.

She dried her hands on a tea towel.

"Anything on today?" she asked.

"Just a metrics review at ten. Might go for a run later. You?"

"I've got a couple of home visits. Legs and hips, mostly. Then I'm free."

He nodded and filled his bowl with cereal, standing at the counter to eat. She watched him for a moment, the way his shoulders curved slightly forward, the familiar sound of his chewing, the gentle tap of spoon against bowl.

He wasn't distant. Just... on autopilot. The way people get when everything around them is too familiar and safe.

She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He leaned back into her slightly, smiled over his shoulder, and rested his free hand on hers.

It was warm. Gentle and sincere.

She pressed her face into his back. He smelled like cotton and fabric conditioner.

But her body didn't wake. No stir. No ache. Just a dull, affectionate quiet.

Ben patted her hand. "You're so sweet in the mornings."

She raised an eyebrow, "Just the mornings?"

He chuckled, "No, all the time, but you're especially soft in the mornings."

She nodded, not letting go. "It must be the tea."

He laughed softly, turned, and kissed her forehead.

They stood like that for a few more seconds then she let go.

"Right, professional face on, I need to get moving. Those knees won't unclick themselves."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later Alice was parked outside her second client's cottage, filling in her notes on the tablet propped against the steering wheel. The windscreen was beginning to mist with her breath.

She'd just closed her appointment file when the phone buzzed beside her.

It was a message from an unknown number:

Hi Alice. This is Callum Fraser. I got your number off my dad. Hope that's all right. I've just had the plaster off my leg and could do with a bit of help getting strength back. Nothing urgent, but I wondered if you had any space over the next week or two. Cheers, Callum

She read it twice.

There was nothing unusual about the message. Polite. Local. Straightforward. She'd seen him around the village now and then, usually at the wheel of his father's old Land Rover, sometimes on foot, before the accident. Strongly built. Usually alone. The kind of man who worked hard and spoke in short sentences.

She remembered the accident vaguely. Something about a gate collapsing while he was moving a heifer. He'd needed plaster all the way up to the thigh. That was weeks ago.

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Hi Callum, thanks for getting in touch. I could come out Tuesday morning if that works for you. Let me know.

She paused, then added: And yes, it's all fine about my number.

She hit send and set the phone down on her lap.

For a moment, she just sat there. The heater ticked again. A crow passed overhead.

She didn't feel excitement. Not exactly. Just... an alertness. The way her body felt when she stepped into a warm room after being out in the wind..

She checked the mirror, wiped the mist away with her sleeve, and turned the key in the ignition.

Ben was at his laptop when she came in, halfway through a muted video call judging by the movement of his hands and the flicker of charts on the screen. He looked up and smiled as she walked past, mouthing tea?

She shook her head, kicked off her boots, and disappeared into the kitchen.

By the time he joined her five minutes later, she'd shed her jacket and was flicking through her calendar on the phone.

"How was it?" he asked, pouring the dregs of the kettle into his mug.

"Uneventful," she said. "Though I had a new one come in."

"Oh aye?"

"Callum Fraser. You know him?"

Ben tilted his head. "The farmer's son? Think I've seen him at the shop. Quiet guy. What's he want?"

"Gate fell on him, apparently, and broke his leg. Wants to get his strength back now the plaster's off. I said I'd go out Tuesday morning."

Ben nodded, already sipping. "Right. Well, that'll be a change from the usual hip replacements and clicky knees."

"Hmm," she said, distracted, adding the visit to her diary. "Always nice to work with someone younger. Someone a bit more responsive."

She didn't look up as she said it.

Ben didn't reply, but she could feel his gaze on her for a second longer than usual.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The drive to the farm took longer than she expected. The route took her down the narrow lanes typical of the area, which gave way to loose gravel and then to packed dirt. The house itself sat low in the landscape, sheltered from the worst of the weather. Solid stone walls, slate roof and a lean-to barn at one end.

Callum was already outside when she arrived, leaning against the frame of the open door. He waved once, a slow, lazy gesture. She waved back, parked, and stepped out.

"Morning," he said.

"Callum?"

"Alice," he replied, stepping back to let her in. "Thanks for coming, I appreciate it."

The kitchen smelled faintly of the morning's breakfast and woodsmoke. An old collie lying by the warmth of the stove opened one eye and let it close again.

"Table's fine?" he asked, nodding to the heavy pine bench against the wall.

"That'll do," she said, already unpacking.

He sat, back to the table, lifting his injured leg carefully, adjusting his weight. The plaster was off, but the skin was pale and slightly puffy. His shorts rode high on his thighs as he moved. His legs were strong, well built, but the left one clearly needed work. There was a slackness around the knee, the muscle faded.

Alice knelt and placed her hands on his shin, gently manipulating the joint.

"Pain?"

"No. Just tight."

His voice was quiet, even. Not shy, but reserved.

She pressed her fingers into the calf. The muscle gave easily under her touch, not resisting yet.

"Good," she murmured.

She adjusted her position, moving closer to his chair, her shoulder brushing his knee. From here, she could smell him. Faint soap, old sweat, hay.

Her hand slid higher to test his hamstring, and as she did, she felt him shift slightly under her touch.

Not much. Just a small roll of the hips. A catch in his breath but he wasn't reacting to pain.

She didn't look up.

Her thumb pressed deeper into the muscle. "You'll need regular work if you want to keep that strength coming back."

"Aye," he said, watching her. "I'll manage."

There was something in his tone that hadn't been there before.

She moved back a fraction, packing away her tools. "That's us for today."

Callum didn't move to stand yet. "Same time next week?"

She nodded, avoiding his eyes. "I'll put it in the calendar."

She closed her bag, stood, and walked to the door.

She didn't look back until she reached her car.

And when she did, she found him still sitting there, in the same spot, watching through the window.

Not smiling. Just watching.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fire was low in the grate by the time Alice came downstairs again. She'd showered and pulled on a pair of old cotton shorts and a baggy t-shirt. Her hair was still damp, loose around her neck.

Ben was curled on the sofa under the throw, laptop closed, a half-drunk glass of wine on the table. The room smelled faintly of oak smoke.

She dropped onto the other end of the sofa with a soft sigh, putting her feet up on the low table.

"How was it?" he asked, after a moment.

She glanced at him. "Straightforward. His leg's still weak, but he's got decent baseline strength. It should come back with some work."

Ben nodded. "Good lad, is he?"

Alice considered that. "Quiet," she replied after a while. "Watchful."

"Not shy, though?"

"No. He just doesn't waste energy."

She picked up his glass and took a sip. He didn't protest, just grinned.

Then. "Did you touch him much?"

She looked over, eyebrows up, fighting a smile and losing. "It's physio, Ben. Of course I did."

"I know. Just wondering."

She set the glass down.

"Why?"

He shrugged. "You said he was younger. Fit. It's not hard to imagine."

She laughed dismissively. "Imagine what?"

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "Nothing."

She shifted, her foot brushing against his. "There was a moment."

Ben looked at her, face unreadable. "What kind of moment?"

"A flicker," she said. "Nothing he said. Just... the way his body reacted. A tension."

"And did yours?"

She didn't answer for a beat too long.

Then: "I noticed." A flush of guilt, brushed her body.

Ben swallowed. "That's not no."

She nodded. "It's not."

He reached out and placed a hand on her thigh. "I'm not angry. Just... listening."

She watched him. Something in her softened.

"I'm not chasing anything," she said. "But I felt something."

Ben looked at her with quiet intensity. "And do you want to feel it again?"

She leaned back, and held her reply, not quite daring to speak.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later they lay facing each other in bed, the covers drawn up to their waists. The lamp on the bedside table was still on, its light low and amber. The air between them felt warmer than usual, though neither had moved in minutes.

Ben had his head propped on his hand, watching her. Alice was on her back, arms loose at her sides, eyes half-closed but not drifting toward sleep.

She spoke quietly.

"When I was working on his leg, I could feel him watching me. Not looking but watching."

Ben said nothing.

"And I felt his thigh tense under my hand. Just slightly. Like he didn't mean it. Or couldn't stop it."

Ben's breath caught. She heard it.

"Was that the moment?" he asked.

She nodded, barely.

He reached out and brushed her hip under the blanket. His hand was warm, tentative.

"What did that feel like... knowing he wanted you?"

Ben's hand stilled. He was hard. She could see the outline under the sheet.

She rolled towards him and brushed her lips along his neck, just once, then curled against him. Her thigh slid over his, resting heavily on his hardness. He sighed gently.

"Like I could ask for anything," she said. "And he would do all he could to give it to me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The light in the barn was softer today, filtered through low clouds and the dusty windows high above. Alice had laid out the mat like usual. She always kept her movements crisp and professional at the start. It gave her a rhythm to settle into.

Callum lay back as instructed, knees bent, feet flat. His shirt clung to him a little, the fabric dark at the chest from earlier exertion. His hair was damp at the fringe.

She stood over him for a moment, watching his breathing settle.

"We're going into glute bridge," she said quietly. "I want to check engagement now."

He nodded, eyes on the rafters.

She knelt beside him, close enough to feel the heat coming off his skin. She was already more aware of her body than usual. He did that to her. The way her leggings hugged her hips, the way her sports bra pressed lightly into her ribs. Nothing was inappropriate. But every shape felt more defined in his presence.

She touched his side. "Lift slowly. Hips up. Good. Now hold."

He lifted, thighs tensing, his body strong. He held the position without wobble.

She reached across and pressed her fingers against the lower edge of his abdomen.

"Engage here," she said. "You should feel the tension just under the surface."

He nodded, breath slower now.

"Do you mind if I guide your hand?" she asked.

He glanced over. "Go ahead."

She took his hand and brought it to the same place she'd touched, just above the pubic bone. She placed his palm flat and pressed it down with hers.

"Do you feel that?" she asked.

His voice was lower than before. "Aye."

She didn't move her hand.

The silence between them stretched. His fingers didn't shift, but she felt the subtle tremble under the skin. Barely detectable, but real. She could feel the pressure of her heartbeat in her wrist.

She let her palm rest over his for a moment longer, then slowly slid it away. His hand stayed.

That, more than anything, made her breath catch. The way he kept his hand there.

"Okay, you can relax now.' she said, quieter than she wanted.

When she drove away half an hour later, her hands on the steering wheel felt different. They tingled faintly, as if the shape of his touch still lingered in her palm.

And when she reached home, she brought her fingers to her face and inhaled. Sweat. Skin.

Remnants of something without words that had passed between them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The yard was quieter this time. No barking dog. No clatter from the sheds. Just the faint hum of flies and the low murmur of distant sheep. Alice parked in the usual spot and paused for a moment, checking her face in the mirror. She didn't know what she was looking for. Composure, perhaps. She didn't quite find it.

Callum met her at the door again, this time without crutches. He stood with one hand on the lintel, the other resting loosely on the waistband of his shorts.

"Progress," she said, nodding toward the missing crutches.

He smiled. "I like to think so. Still walk like a newborn calf, but it's a start."

She followed him inside. The kitchen looked exactly as before: the same mug on the sill, same scent of tea and woodsmoke. But something felt different. A little closer.

He didn't sit down right away. Instead, he leaned back against the table, arms crossed over his chest. His t-shirt clung slightly to the curve of his shoulder, still damp from whatever work he'd been doing before she arrived.

"You've been up and about?" she asked, setting her bag down.

He nodded. "Tried the steps out back. Took me ten minutes, but I made it."

"Be careful," she said, her tone automatically professional. "You'll undo all the work we've put in so far."

He grinned, eyes following her as she knelt to unroll the mat. "Reckon you'll keep me in line."

She didn't look up straight away. Just smoothed the mat flat with her palm, feeling the grain of the fabric. Her pulse had picked up slightly.

"Let's look at seated mobility today," she said, still facing down. "I want to test your range under load."

He sat, this time less stiffly. Legs slightly apart, hands braced on his thighs. She guided his posture with a hand on his shoulder, light and professional, but her fingers lingered half a second longer than they needed to.

He didn't flinch. Just met her eyes with a level look. "Tell me what to do."

She stepped back, eyes scanning his frame with the same focus she used on every client, but her pulse had quickened. She could feel it in her throat. His words felt... real.

"Shift forward slightly," she said, voice low but steady. "Let your knees open more... good. Keep your back tall."

He adjusted, slow and obedient. The muscles in his thighs tensed as he spread his legs further, and she noticed the shape of him now, clearer beneath his shorts. Still, she kept her tone neutral.

"Hands behind your head. Elbows wide."

He moved without hesitation, chest lifting slightly, the shift exposing the length of his torso. She noted the way his ribs expanded with breath, the faint sheen of sweat at his collarbone.

"Keep breathing. Stay exactly as you are," she said. "Don't move until I say."

Her hand rested flat against his chest, feeling the rhythm of his breath, the tight control he held.

"Good," she said. "You did well.

Still he didn't speak, just looked at her, open and waiting

After the exercises, she made a few notes, her clipboard propped on her knee. Callum watched her with an expression she couldn't quite read. Half curiosity, half... something else.

"You always this serious?" he asked, tone gentle.

She glanced at him. "When I'm working, yes."

"What about when you're not?"

She paused, pen hovering above the page. Then she met his gaze. "You'll have to ask someone else."

He laughed at that, not mockingly, but with a kind of warmth she didn't expect.

"Husband a physio too?" he asked, more casually now, as if it had just occurred to him.

"No," she said, evenly. "He's a product manager."

"You talk about work with him?"

"Sometimes."

He nodded, then stood slowly, stretching his arms overhead with a faint groan. His shirt lifted just enough to reveal a strip of skin above the waistband of his shorts.

"Well," he said, letting the stretch finish. "You're good at this. You could probably fix just about anything."

She closed her notebook, eyes still on the page. "Not everything."

"Maybe not," he said, stepping past her toward the counter. "But you've got a way about you."

She looked up.

He poured himself a glass of water, then paused before drinking. "Makes a lad want to misbehave a little."

She felt the heat in her chest before she could stop it. Swallowed, stood, packed her things without a word.

At the door, he held it open again, just like last time.

"Next week?"

"Aye," she said, voice calm despite the thrum in her blood. "Same time."

He waited a beat. Then, lightly: "Should I behave next time?"

She gave him a look that hovered between warning and invitation.

"That's up to you."

And she stepped into the light.

Ben was in the back garden when she arrived, crouched over the herb bed with his sleeves rolled up. He didn't hear her at first. He just kept working methodically, pressing the earth down around the new plants.

She stood in the doorway and watched him for a moment. It was one of the things she'd always loved about him: his capacity for quiet focus. He didn't fidget or fill space with noise.

When he did look up, he smiled, shielding his eyes with one hand. "You're back early."

Alice nodded, stepping onto the stone path. "It went well. No major setbacks and he's moving better."

Ben brushed his hands off on his jeans and stood, stretching his back. "Did he behave himself?"

Her heart skipped a beat. She kept an even smile on her lips. "That's an odd question."

"Is it?"

He stepped past her into the kitchen, and she followed. Inside, she leaned against the counter as he washed his hands at the sink.

"I'm not sure what you're asking," she said.

He dried his hands slowly. "No, you are. You just want me to ask it properly."

Alice exhaled through her nose, quiet. "He flirts a bit."

Ben didn't turn around straight away. He set the towel down, then reached for the kettle.

"And do you flirt back?"

She hesitated. Not because she didn't know the answer, but because she wasn't sure how much of it she wanted to give voice to.

"I don't... stop it."

He turned, then. Not angry. Not even surprised. Just still.

"Does he know that?"

"I think he's beginning to."

Ben met her eyes for a long moment. Then he nodded once, slowly.

She stepped toward him. "I'm not trying to hurt you."

"I know," he said. "You're not."

The kettle began to bubble, and she switched it off, more for something to do than out of necessity.

He leaned back against the worktop, arms crossed. "Did you think I'd be upset?"

"I wasn't sure. I didn't want to assume." She paused. "But you've been... curious."

Ben's mouth tugged into a crooked, almost-shy smile. "Have I?"

"You tell me."

He didn't reply straight away. Just looked at her in that quiet way of his.

"I've thought about it," he said at last. "More than once. You with someone else. I didn't know if I actually wanted it. Or if it was just something... abstract. A fantasy."

She nodded slowly, the tension in her chest both deepening and releasing at the same time. "And now?"

"I still don't know. But part of me wants to see."

She reached for his hand. Held it.

"I don't want to lie to you. And I don't want this to turn into something cold or transactional. I just... something's waking up in me, and I don't think I can ignore it."

Ben squeezed her fingers. "Then don't. I'm not."

They looked at one another for a long moment.

"Tell me what he said, or what he did."

A hesitation, then "If you want to."

She met his eyes.

"All right."

And she began.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Callum had left the door of the shed open again, as if he already knew she'd be comfortable walking in on her own. The air inside was warm and heavy with the smell of work. She breathed it in and let it settle in her lungs. She wanted to smell like this when she left.

He was already waiting, leaning against the bench, arms folded. Today, he wore an old grey t-shirt and shorts that hung low on his hips. Absently she noticed his calves: sweat streaked with dust, broad, strong. She didn't speak. Neither did he.

She rolled out the mat and motioned for him to lie down. He obeyed.

It started like any other day. She checked his posture, mobility and flexibility. But he stood closer than before and she made no effort to step back. When she knelt between his legs to adjust his knee, the fabric of his shorts brushed her wrist. She left her hand there for a beat too long.

He didn't shift away.

She gave a slight nudge to his inner thigh. "Relax this," she murmured.

Still he didn't move.

She ran her hands from his knee to the top of his thigh, deliberately now. Still framed as assessment, still possible to excuse, but slow. Sensual. The muscle twitched under her touch.

He was hard.

Visibly.

She paused, but not in surprise.

She looked up at him. His eyes were on her face, not pleading, not challenging. Just waiting.

And then she moved her hand again. Higher.

He let out a breath through his nose. Still, he didn't move.

Her palm hovered now just beneath the hem of his shorts, thumb brushing the inside of his thigh. The tension between them had thickened into something physical. She could feel the heat radiating from his groin.

She wanted to feel more.

She shifted her weight slightly forward so that her knee pressed lightly against the other side of his leg.

She placed her other hand on his abdomen. Steady, grounding, but still no words needed.

She traced the line where the elastic of his shorts met skin. His hips shifted, just a little, in answer.

Everything waited.

Then she let her hand rest against the shape of him, over the fabric. Just her palm. She could feel the full length of him, fingertip to wrist.

She applied the faintest pressure. He gasped quietly. His thighs tensed again.

She looked up once more, and he nodded. Not approval. Not permission.

Her hand stayed. Pressing. Exploring. Possessing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She hadn't planned to touch him again. But the next time, it happened with less pause. A stretch here, a guided movement there. Instruction and intimacy began to blur. And there again came a moment, quiet and natural, when her hands drifted beyond necessity.

That night, she lay on the bed under the soft light of the bedside lamp. She was on her back, arms folded loosely over her stomach. Her cotton shirt rose up over the soft flesh of her belly.

Ben lay beside her, stiff under the covers in more ways than one.

She turned her head to look at him.

"He kissed the inside of my thigh today," she said, voice calm.

Ben's breath hitched. He said nothing.

"Through my leggings. He didn't move them. Just pressed his mouth against the seam. Like it was completely natural."

She reached across and brushed the edge of the blanket near his hip.

"He held me there for a moment, with both hands. He didn't ask. He didn't even speak."

Her fingers slipped under the edge of the duvet, and he tensed. She found him hard already.

"I didn't stop him."

She smiled faintly in the lamplight, eyes still on the ceiling.

"I let him feel how wet I was."

Her hand moved slowly along the length of him, not rhythmic but investigative.

"And then I told him to sit still and keep his hands behind his back."

Ben groaned under his breath.

"You like hearing that, don't you," she said, low.

He nodded.

She pressed her cheek to his shoulder.

"He's so easy to control. I hardly have to say anything. He goes quiet. Still. Hard as you are now."

Her hand left him and sought out the heat between her thighs, but she never turned her body toward his. She kept her legs drawn up slightly, angled away from him.

"And when I left... I didn't touch myself. Not even in the car."

She shifted slightly, her mouth brushing his neck.

"I saved it for you."

She touched his lips with the damp tips of her fingers, anointing him with her taste, warm and unmistakable.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week later, she returned home just after seven.

The rain had come in properly this time and her coat hung dripping in the hallway.

Ben glanced up from the sofa but didn't speak. He watched her disappear into the bathroom, heard the tap run, the cupboard open. He knew the rhythm now.

When she came to bed later, she smelled of lavender soap and shampoo. All her. Not him.

The room was dark but warm. Outside, a light rain tapped softly on the window. The only illumination came from the hallway, a soft glow through the open door outlining their bodies in shadow.

Ben lay on his back, shirtless on the duvet. Alice sat beside him, cross-legged, wearing a loose t-shirt. She hadn't said anything when she came to bed. Just sat down quietly and watched him breathe.

Then she spoke.

"Do you want to know what he did today?"

His head turned. "Yes."

Her voice stayed low. Almost conversational.

"He waited until I was standing and was just about to pack up. And then he knelt in front of me."

Ben's breath caught.

"I hadn't asked him to. But I didn't stop him either. I liked seeing him there."

She shifted slightly, the robe rustling.

"He leaned forward. Pressed his face between my thighs. Right against me. I was fully dressed. Leggings... but nothing underneath."

She waited for his reaction to that.

Ben swallowed. His response was to move his hand toward his waistband.

"Not yet," she said.

He froze.

She went on, voice smooth and steady.

"He didn't move. He just held there. Breathing. I could feel his breath against me. Each exhale, slow and hot."

Her eyes watched him. His chest rose and fell faster now.

"I didn't say anything. I just let him stay. Pressed against me. Like he was praying."

"Can I?" Ben whispered.

"Yes," she said. "Now."

He wriggled out of his shorts and wrapped his fist around his cock, already hard and straining. She didn't look away.

"I stayed like that for a full minute," she said. "Letting him inhale me. Not touching. Just offering."

Ben groaned softly.

"And when I stepped back, he was shaking."

She paused. Let the silence stretch. The only sound was the slick motion of Ben's hand and the rhythm of his breath.

"Are you shaking now?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Good."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She dressed with purpose. A soft cotton dress, pale blue, modest in shape but loose around the thighs. Underneath, she had chosen simple black underwear. Nothing lacy. Nothing for show. Her boots laced up to the ankle, solid enough to keep her grounded.

She paused at the mirror before leaving. Her hands were steady, but her stomach was not. This wasn't just teasing anymore. Today, if it went the way she suspected, she would be crossing into something that couldn't be explained away with physio or flirtation.

When she arrived, Callum was alone, working in the smaller shed this time, the one with the wide table and the slatted windows. The air smelled of ancient wood and diesel. He wore a sleeveless vest today, his arms streaked with dust and sweat. When he saw her, he straightened but didn't smile. He wiped his hands on a rag and watched her cross the room.

"New place for therapy?" she asked, casually.

"Too hot in the barn," he replied.

She didn't respond. She stepped close, closer than needed, close enough that her dress caught the air stirred by his breath.

She looked him over, slow and certain. Then she reached for the door, swung it shut behind her, and clicked the bolt into place. This was their place now.

He stood still, waiting.

She walked to him, pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the heat rise off him.

"You're warm," she said, quietly.

"I've been thinking about you," he replied. His voice was low.

She didn't answer. She looked at him a moment longer, then gave the softest nod, barely perceptible. "I want to feel your skin," she said quietly. "All of it. No clothes."

He nodded once and began to undress.

First the vest, which he pulled over his head in a single motion. Then his shorts, dropped to the floor with a quiet rustle. He stepped out of them and stood bare before her, waiting. Not cocky. Not hesitant. Just there.

She stepped forward and touched his chest again, letting her fingers move lightly across his skin. He was warm under her hand, and she could smell him. The scents of fresh sweat, summer air and something faintly earthy.

She pressed in closer, letting the soft fabric of her dress brush his thighs. He raised his hand as if to unfasten her zipper.

"I'm keeping this on," she said, gently, glancing down. "Today."

She could feel the heat rising between them, his body already reacting, already wanting.

He reached for her shoulders, hesitant, and she let him guide her dress down just far enough to expose the tops of her breasts. He kissed her skin with care. No urgency, just warmth, gratitude almost. The beginnings of reverence.

His lips were soft. His hands cradled her gently as he explored the curve of her. Her breath caught, just once.

Then she drew back, looked into his eyes, and slowly reached down between them.

"I want to feel you," she said.

She let her hand settle against him, her palm cradling the length of him with quiet certainty. He hung soft and thick, a faint pulse connecting them.

No movement, no stroking, only presence. He exhaled sharply, his body tense with the effort not to move.

Her thumb pressed slightly at the base, learning the weight of him, the shape. He was hot and firm in her hand, twitching once against her palm. She watched his face, not his body. She felt him begin to grow.

And then she withdrew, gently, deliberately, letting her fingers trail away.

"That's enough," she said.

He looked at her, breath still uneven, as though he'd forgotten how to speak.

She smoothed her dress and kissed his cheek. "Next time," she whispered. "Maybe. "

She left the barn without another word.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She didn't wait the week, just chose to visit the next day. She wore the blue cotton dress again. Lilac underwear. A little lipstick, a touch of mascara. Every choice was measured.

She sat a while in the car, the engine idling. She could simply touch her foot and she would be away, ending this. Her breath slowed, the rush in her ears fading away. The engine quietened.

Callum was inside the shed, moving tools to the far side of the room to clear space, shirtless, his back faintly damp from the walk up from the fields. His leg barely bothered him now.

He looked up when she entered, and she saw that familiar flicker in his eyes. A mix of desire, restraint and something else... curiosity. He didn't speak, just waited, letting her fill the silence.

She closed the door behind her once again and turned to face him.

"I want you to see all of me today," she said. "But I want to undress slowly."

He said nothing. Just stood still, hands relaxed by his sides, his breathing shallow.

She stepped toward him, her fingers finding the knot at the waist of her dress. She undid it quietly, then began unbuttoning from the top. Each movement was slow. Not hesitant and not coy. She unwrapped herself.

The dress fell in stages: the curve of her shoulder, the gentle swell of her chest, her belly, her hips. When it reached her thighs, she let it drop, and stepped out of it.

She didn't cover herself.

She stood before him. Natural, unashamed, warm from walking. Her skin carried the faint sheen of sweat and the scent of summer cotton.

She unhooked her bra and let it fall atop her crumpled dress.

Her nipples tautened in the cool air. She saw his eyes catch on them.

Still, she didn't speak. Didn't need to.

She approached him and took his hands gently, placing them on her waist.

"I'm not yours," she said. "But I'll let you touch me."

He nodded. Slowly. As though afraid to break the moment.

He moved his hands upward, over her ribs, until his thumbs grazed the undersides of her breasts. He leaned in, kissed the hollow between them, and she let out the smallest breath.

Callum took a step back and began to undress, slow and unspoken. He folded his shirt before setting it aside. His shorts he let drop in one motion, and stepped out of them barefoot. There was something shy in that movement. He stood now in front of her, naked, exposed, breathing a little more quickly than before.

Her eyes travelled first to his face, which was unusually still. Then his shoulders: broad, sun-marked, the left one carrying a thin line of an old scar she'd never seen. Down to his chest, lightly freckled, the skin a shade paler beneath where the vest usually sat. She took in the shape of his stomach, not hard like some men's, but not soft either. Just real.

And then lower, studying him properly.

His cock, heavy and inviting, was already half-erect. She hadn't touched him yet and he rose for her. He didn't hide it or try to explain himself. That pleased her. She looked at him openly. Not with hunger. With interest. She'd wondered what he'd look like this way. Now she knew.

His thighs seemed broader than she remembered. One bore a faint discolouration where the injury had bruised deep, long since healed but still there in shadow. The muscle trembled slightly as he stood.

She felt warmth gather low in her belly. She dipped slightly and stepped out of her knickers.

Callum looked at her then. Properly.

Not a glance, not a flicker.

He looked.

Her breasts, full and bare now, moved gently with each breath. The skin was looser than it once had been, and she was aware of the slight downward pull, the faint stretch marks at the sides.

She saw his gaze pause there, not in greed but in awe. It was the same way she looked at him. Slowly, as if committing each detail to memory. She felt no need to shift or pull her shoulders back. He wasn't measuring her. He was taking her in.

His eyes moved to her stomach, the softened curve below her navel, where the skin creased faintly when she sat. She kept herself strong but strength didn't mean tautness anymore

Then down to the thatch of hair between her thighs, to the damp she knew was beginning to show.

She saw him breathe in.

She liked that. That she could cause that.

"I wanted you to see me," she said softly.

Callum didn't answer, just stepped closer. Close enough that their skin nearly touched, but didn't.

"I've imagined this," she added. "How you'd look. How I'd feel. But I didn't imagine it being so quiet."

He smiled faintly. "Feels right to be quiet."

She nodded. And then closed the distance.

"You don't get all of me. Not today."

Their skin met, shoulder to chest, thigh to thigh. She felt his erection brush the soft of her stomach, but didn't react to it. He was damp and wanting. She let her hands rest lightly on his sides.

The first kiss was not on the mouth.

She placed it on his shoulder, just below that scar. Then his chest. Then the hollow of his throat. And he let her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

They were in bed, both washed, both quiet. Alice wore a loose vest and nothing else. Ben lay on his back, hands resting across his stomach, eyes half closed but alert. The window was cracked open and the curtains shifted faintly with the night air.

She turned to face him, propped on one elbow, and let her fingers trace lazy circles over his chest.

"You want to know what I did, don't you?" she asked, her voice light.

Ben gave the smallest nod, not trusting his voice.

She smiled. "It wasn't sex. Not exactly. But he was naked. I was too."

Her finger moved to the hollow at his throat.

"I kissed him. Properly. All over. Started at the shoulder. The scar. He liked that."

She shifted slightly closer, letting her breath land warm on his neck.

"Then I went lower. Chest, ribs... all those parts you only get to see when you're allowed to look slowly. He stayed so still. I think he was afraid if he moved, I'd stop."

Ben's breathing changed. She felt it under her palm.

"I went down on my knees. Not to serve him," she added, her voice lifting. "To study him."

She let that hang in the air.

"I touched everything but the one thing he most wanted touched. I kissed the inside of his thigh, the spot where it's softest. I held him in my hand and did absolutely nothing with it."

Ben made a soft, involuntary noise. She smiled.

"I knew what he wanted, down there on my knees. Poor man didn't know whether to groan or beg."

She moved her hand lower now, just over the waistband of his boxers. No contact yet. Just warmth. Suggestion.

"Eventually I touched him. Not because he deserved it. Because I wanted to. I stroked along his length feeling every groove, every bump."

She could almost hear Ben's heart thumping.

She leaned close, lips brushing his ear.

"I took my time and then watched him come. Right there, into the sawdust. A lot. He must have been holding so long for me."

Ben groaned, rigid beneath the sheets.

She kissed his cheek and withdrew her hand, leaving him untouched. "Not tonight," she whispered. "You get to wait like he had to."

Then she lay back on her side and turned out the light, letting the dark settle around them while he lay awake, hard, and helpless, exactly where she wanted him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The light was already sliding across the walls when Alice stirred. She stretched slowly, the covers shifting down her bare legs. Ben was awake too. Needy. She could feel the tension in his limbs. His breath caught when she turned toward him.

She smiled into the pillow.

He hadn't touched himself last night. She knew. She would have known. His obedience wasn't just erotic now, it was part of how he loved her.

She rolled onto her side and slid her hand under the covers, finding the warmth of his stomach, then lower. He was already hard.

Of course he was.

"Morning," she murmured, voice husky from sleep.

"Hi," he whispered.

She kissed his shoulder, then pressed her cheek to it.

"I've been thinking," she said, her hand now moving lightly. "You've been very good."

He didn't speak, just drew in a breath through his nose.

She continued in the same calm tone, fingers slow and rhythmic. "I rather like knowing how worked up you were. Lying next to me, stiff and aching, full of my voice."

He groaned softly. She kissed his chest.

"But I've decided to let you this morning. Just this once. No performance. No begging. Just... feel what I've made you hold."

He gasped as her pace quickened slightly.

"I want you to come," she said, soft but certain. "Right here, into my hand. Think about how I looked yesterday. Kneeling. Bare. My mouth just close enough."

His hips lifted slightly, his hand gripping the sheet.

"Let go," she whispered. "It's mine. Not yours. Mine."

He did. His cum flooding her hand. She stayed close, holding him through it, steady and warm.

Afterwards, she kissed his temple and rose without a word, padding to the bathroom while he caught his breath.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following Tuesday Alice sat quietly in the cottage, the kettle rattling loudly just before it clicked off. She poured the water over the tea bags and watched a long moment as the steam rose, wisps fading into the morning air. Her skin still tingled faintly from the shower, and her thighs felt cool against the soft cotton of her dress.

No underwear today. A deliberate act but not for titillation or seduction but for ease. For access.

She heard Ben's bare feet pad across the floor behind her, the creak of the doorway as he leaned in. She didn't turn.

"It's going to be warm today," she said.

"Mhm." His voice was quiet, cautious.

She handed him his mug without looking. Her hand brushed his. He'd seen the dress now, saw how smoothly it fell over her hips.

He paused, took a breath.

"You're not wearing anything under that," he said.

"No."

She moved past him to the table and sat down, legs crossed, hands folded in her lap. She let the fabric fall naturally, just enough to keep the illusion of modesty intact.

Not that it mattered. Not today.

Ben sat down opposite her, eyes fixed on her face.

"Is that for him?" he asked.

She met his gaze, steady. "It's for me."

She let the moment pass.

"And yes. It's for him too."

He nodded, just once. But his breathing had changed. She recognised the tightness in his chest. The silence between his words.

"Today's different," he said.

"Yes."

She took a sip of tea.

"I'm going to let him see me. All of me. Not glimpses. I'm going to let him undress me. I want his hands on my skin. And I want to feel him inside me... deep, slow, completely."

Ben swallowed hard.

She didn't stop.

"I'm going to take him the way I haven't let you for weeks. I want you to know that, not because I need permission. But because you need to be completely with me in this."

He was very still now, both hands wrapped around the mug like an anchor.

"If you don't like this," she said, voice softer now, "I won't do it. I don't want you to allow it, I want you to want it."

He raised his eyes. "I do," he said slowly, surely. "I want it. I've never wanted anything more and I don't know why."

His voice shook at the end but he took a breath and continued steadily. "I want it. Not for me. Not for you. For us."

She reached across the table and took his hand. His fingers trembled slightly.

"Then listen," she said. "When I get home, I'm going to tell you how he moved over me. How I guided him in. What I felt when he filled me. How my body clenched and pulled at him."

Ben exhaled, eyes closing briefly.

She gave his hand a squeeze. "And later, in bed, I'll let you feel it on my skin. Smell him on me. But you still won't be inside me. Not yet."

He nodded again, shakily.

"I'll be back before dinner," she said. "You'll be here?"

"Of course."

She stood, kissed the top of his head, and let her fingers trail over his neck as she walked to the door. Her body was already humming.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The farm lane was dry, the sun low and casting long shadows across the hedges. Alice took her time getting out of the car. She adjusted her dress and checked her face in the mirror. No make-up, but her eyes looked sharp, grounded. Her pulse was even. She felt quiet inside. She was ready.

Callum was at the door when she arrived, wiping his hands on a cloth. He was in a worn t-shirt and jeans, the fabric pulled tight across his thighs. The dog wasn't in sight today. The house was still.

He gave her a slight nod. "Morning."

"Morning," she said, stepping past him into the kitchen.

She didn't carry her bag. No clipboard. No therapy mat.

He noticed. "Not working today?"

"Not today," she said, turning to face him.

He stood a few feet away, uncertain now.

Her hands rested loosely at her sides.

"I came here to touch," she said. "Not professionally. Not carefully."

A flicker crossed his eyes: surprise, but not confusion.

"I've taken you slowly," she said. "And you've waited for my lead."

He didn't speak. His jaw tightened faintly. His hands had stopped moving.

She stepped closer.

"I'm wearing nothing underneath this dress."

He reacted. His breath caught.

"I've already told my husband. He knows I'm here to be taken."

She let that settle between them.

"I'm not here for games, Callum. I'm here to feel your weight. Your breath. I want your body inside mine, fully. Not rushed. Not frantic. I want your skin on mine, your voice in my ear, and I want to remember every second of it when I go home and lie in my husband's arms."

Callum's throat moved as he swallowed. She could see the heat rising behind his stillness.

"But," she added, stepping closer, "this only happens if you can follow my pace. My lead."

"I can," he said, voice low.

She nodded once.

"Good."

Then she reached up and unbuttoned the top of her dress. Not all the way, jjust enough to show the start of her chest, the bare curve of skin that told him she'd been telling the truth.

Then she said, with no smile, no performance, just quiet certainty:

"Take me upstairs."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sky was a softer blue now, the gold light of late afternoon casting long shadows on the lane as Alice turned into the village. She kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly on her bare thigh. The dress she'd worn that morning clung differently now. The fabric held the heady scent of sweat and man and breath.

She'd thought the drive would help her settle her thoughts. It hadn't. If anything they kind of sat heavy, roiling in her stomach.

Her body was satisfied. Deeply. Muscles loose, legs heavy. Her skin still tingled with the echo of touch.

But beneath that lay something tighter.

Not regret. Not guilt. No, maybe guilt. Maybe something unnamed.

The act itself had been exactly what she wanted. She'd directed it, shaped it, fed on it. Callum had done exactly as she'd asked, and nothing she hadn't. But now, back behind the wheel, fingers trembling slightly, she was no longer in control of the next moment.

Ben would be waiting.

And she didn't know what his face would hold. She feared his reaction despite his words that morning. Was it all worth this?

She pulled into the driveway slowly. The curtains in the front room were open. A lamp was on.

She sat in the car for a full five minutes before turning off the engine. Silence took her.

She adjusted her dress. Smoothed it down. Brushed a hand through her hair but didn't check her reflection.

As she reached the front door, she hesitated. The line had been crossed now. Not in secret, not with betrayal, but in plain sight. This was no longer playtime.

She opened the door.

The hallway smelled of supper. Roasted garlic. Herbs.

Ben was in the kitchen, turning from the oven as she entered. He looked up. His face didn't change.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

She stood in the doorway, her bag still in her hand. Her legs felt too long for her body. Her dress, too short.

She let her bag fall beside the table and stepped out of her shoes. Her body was still flushed. The scent of sweat and salt clung to her skin. Her thighs were sticky. She didn't hide it. She wanted him to see.

He studied her.

"You're shaking a little."

"I know."

He walked to her slowly, took her bag from her hand, and set it down. Then he kissed her cheek, light and warm, and stepped back to look at her again.

"You're beautiful."

She blinked. Just once. Then nodded.

"I did it."

"I know."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to say now."

"You don't have to say anything yet."

A beat passed.

Then, very softly, her voice barely more than breath:

"I liked it. I liked being wanted like that. I liked the feeling of his body over mine. And I don't feel bad. But I feel... changed."

Ben reached up and brushed her hair back from her temple.

"I was waiting for you," he said. "And I'm still here."

She let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

"I thought I might cry," she admitted.

"Then cry," he said.

But she didn't. Not yet.

She stepped forward and laid her head against his chest.

And there, in the warmth of the kitchen, she let him hold her. Her body full of another man, her heart full of questions, her mind spinning in a dozen directions.

But his arms didn't hesitate.

They simply closed around her, firm and sure.

"Come with me," he said.

He took her to the bathroom.

She untied her dress and let it fall to the floor. No bra. No knickers. Just skin, damp at the backs of her knees, flushed across her chest, and still faintly swollen between her legs. She stepped into the centre of the tiled room and held his gaze.

"I need you to clean me," she said.

He knelt by the bath and began to run the water, testing the temperature with his fingers. She stood beside him, unmoving, letting the room fill with steam.

When the basin was ready, he soaked a cloth, wrung it out slowly, and turned to her.

She opened her arms slightly.

The first touch was at her thighs where the stickiness had dried and the skin was red with friction. The cloth was warm, his strokes slow, slightly rough.

He didn't flinch at the smell. That heady, unmistakable mix: sweat, sex, the faint trace of semen. It was not his. And he didn't shrink from it.

He brought the cloth higher, between her legs, and she parted her stance to him.

His touch was reverent. He didn't linger, didn't grope. Just cleaned. Folded the cloth, pressed gently, wiped again.

He rinsed it, then moved upward.

Her belly, the crease beneath her breasts, the salt at her neck.

He washed the day off her.

She watched him. Not with pity. Not with guilt.

With love.

She knew what it cost him to do this, and also what it gave him. This was not humiliation. This was devotion.

When he was done, he dried her carefully with a towel, patting instead of rubbing. She could see the way his hands trembled.

She cupped his face in both hands and kissed the top of his head.

"You're part of this," she said softly. "You're not the other man. You're my man."

He didn't speak.

He pressed his forehead to her belly and breathed in the last of her scent.

And then he rinsed the cloth, and folded it away.

They didn't speak about it over the meal. They moved around each other in the kitchen as if they'd always done this: eaten together, after she'd returned from another man's bed.

Alice appreciated the quiet. The slowness. The normality of it.

But by the time they'd cleared the dishes and settled into the sofa, her thoughts had stopped racing. The need to speak had returned.

She stretched her legs out onto his lap and Ben absently took her feet into his hands, idly tracing the lines of her. He had poured them both a small whisky, and his glass rested untouched on the armrest.

She placed hers down and met his eyes.

"Do you want to know what happened?"

His mouth opened slightly. He nodded.

She took a slow breath.

"I told him to take me upstairs. I undressed myself. He watched."

Ben said nothing, but his jaw twitched.

"I lay down on his bed and opened my legs for him. I let him kneel between them and just look at me for a while. That was the first thing."

He swallowed.

"He asked if he could touch me. I said yes."

Her voice didn't tremble. She was surprised by that.

"He used his fingers. His tongue. I didn't rush him. I let it go on for as long as I wanted. He didn't ask questions."

Ben exhaled, audible now.

"And when I was ready, I guided him in. Slow. Deep. I was wet enough that it didn't take effort, just breath as I felt the stretch of him. He took his time, my face told him what he was doing. And then I was full of him. Fuller than I've ever been. I wrapped my legs around him and told him not to stop until I was finished."

She watched Ben's chest rise and fall. His hands were on his thighs, gripping lightly.

"I came once quickly. Then, I found him with my fingers, felt how we joined and came again as he pushed inside me. He didn't stop until I said so."

She reached across and touched his wrist.

"I feel whole," she said. "Not just admired. Not adored. But revered. Like I became something more than a body. Because I chose it. Because I was in control."

Ben nodded, eyes glistening slightly. "You are."

She found his hand. "I need to know if you still want this. It can end here and we can find a way back."

His hand tightened in hers. He didn't hesitate. "I want this. I think I always have."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The week had unfolded without plans or promises, just the quiet passage of something already in motion. She'd seen Callum twice more since Tuesday. She hadn't told Ben every detail. Not yet. But she hadn't hidden, either. Not in the way she moved, or undressed or met his gaze when she came home.

When she returned that afternoon, the house was still and sunlit. She walked into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, and waited.

Ben came down a few minutes later. His hair a little unkempt, an edge to him, a want. He hovered at the edge of the room. Eyes waiting to meet hers and when they did, something passed between them and he stepped forward into her arms.

They didn't speak much over dinner. Not out of discomfort, but out of something heavier, warmer. The kind of quiet that builds when one of them already knows what's coming.

Alice cleared the plates, placed them gently in the sink, and wiped her hands on a cloth. Then she turned, catching his eyes where he sat still at the table.

"I want to show you," she said.

Ben didn't move. He just swallowed once, nodded.

She crossed the room to him, leaned down, and kissed his forehead. A small gesture. Not maternal, not affectionate in the usual sense, but centering. Protecting him.

"Go upstairs," she added. "Wait for me. On your back."

When she came up fifteen minutes later, the lights were low. He was already under the sheets, naked. One hand resting lightly on his stomach. The room smelled faintly of aftershave and fresh linen.

She undressed without ceremony. Slowly, but not seductively. Practised now. She let him watch. Her body still held traces of the day: a faint ache in her thighs, the softness between her legs that hadn't quite gone away.

She climbed onto the bed, knees straddling his waist. Her skin brushed his. He gasped.

"You've done what I asked," she murmured. "You've waited. Tell me what you picture when you close your eyes at night."

His voice was rough. "You... on top of him. His hands on your hips. You grinding against him. Arching your back."

She nodded slowly. "Good."

She rolled her hips forward once, not fully seated, just enough to make him feel the heat of her against him. His whole body responded. She reached down and gently pressed her hand against his chest to keep him still.

Ben was wide-eyed beneath her, hard already, his breath shallow and quick. She hadn't kissed him. She hadn't needed to. Her body had told him everything the moment she climbed on top.

She rocked once, just to feel the friction. Not yet guiding him in. Not yet giving.

Her voice came low, steady.

"He bends his knees more than you," she said, "so when I sit like this, his thighs are higher."

Ben blinked, breath catching.

"I feel it in a different angle," she murmured. "It's sharper. I grind down on him and the pressure hits me right here."

She dragged her fingertips just above her pubic bone. Ben groaned under her.

"Do you want to feel what I gave him?" she asked.

"Yes," he whispered.

She reached down, took him in hand, and slowly sank onto him. Her breath left her in a hiss.

"There's a place... I can look right into his eyes as my clit presses against him. I come fast like that."

She held still, hips flush to his, eyes locked on his face.

Then she laughed lightly, Ben mirroring her with a quizzical smile.

"I rode him today with my back arched like this," she said, shifting her weight and drawing a low moan from her own throat. "My breasts bounced with every thrust. He told me it was the filthiest thing he'd ever seen."

Ben laughed and she bent to give him a toothy, messy kiss as they both grinned.

She began to move, slow at first, with a roll of her pelvis, then bore down heavier and deeper

Ben's eyes fluttered shut.

"No," she said. "Look at me."

He obeyed.

"I want you to see what you've given me permission to become."

She rode him harder now, pace quickening. Her thighs tensed. Her breath came rough.

"I marked his shoulders with my nails," she panted. "I came hard before I let him finish."

Ben's hands gripped the bedsheets.

"I told him he wasn't allowed to pull out. I wanted to drip with him. I wanted you to see it on me when I came home."

Her rhythm grew ragged. Her hands found his wrists and pinned them to the mattress.

"I'm going to come on you now," she gasped, "and you're going to see what I looked like when I did it on him."

Ben let out a broken sound, his whole body trembling.

She came with a tightening of her whole body, hips driving, head thrown back, moaning through clenched teeth. The force of it surged through her, wild and unbound, pouring into him. And he came beneath her, held down and overwhelmed.

She finally leaned close and whispered, breath hot against his ear: "This is ours."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night the pub was warm with low light and the murmur of voices. Alice and Ben took their favourite spot near the window, two pints between them, the pub's dog asleep beside the table.

She wore a simple black top, jeans and loose hair. Not dressed to be noticed, but her energy made heads turn as she passed.

Ben had washed her again, without words, reverently. He had kissed the inside of her thigh before drying her, not to claim her, but to thank her.

He sat beside her, one hand loosely wrapped around his glass, the other resting on her knee. His touch was light, not possessive.

She felt him look up before she did.

Callum was at the bar.

Not in his usual work clothes this time, just a plain shirt and jeans, cleaner than she was used to seeing him. His hair was damp, maybe recently showered. He was laughing with a group of young farm workers, but when he glanced across the room, his eyes locked on hers.

He held her gaze for only a second. Then shifted to Ben. Then back to her.

No nod. No smile.

Just acknowledgement.

Ben's hand tightened slightly on her knee. She placed her hand over his, pressing back. Steadying him.

The air between the three of them changed slightly.

Callum collected his pint, turned, and walked toward the other end of the bar. But as he passed their table, he glanced at her once more. Eyes only. A flicker of something that wasn't quite a smile. Then gone.

Ben exhaled slowly.

Alice leaned toward him, her voice low.

"You okay?"

He nodded once. "It's strange seeing him in daylight."

She smiled faintly. "It changes nothing."

"No," he said, "but it makes it more real."

She took a sip of her drink, then let her fingers trace a small circle on his thigh, just beneath the table.

"It was always real," she murmured.

Ben's eyes softened. "Yes."

She looked across the pub again. Callum hadn't looked back.

But the echo of his presence remained, just enough to make her shift slightly in her seat, and cross one leg over the other with slow, deliberate ease.

Ben noticed, and said nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

They returned late after a walk out to the fields to watch the moon dance between the clouds. Somewhere owls called to one another.

The house was silent in that way it only became after midnight. No pipes ticking. No wind. Just stillness. The kind that made her aware of every part of her body: the weight of her limbs, the lingering ache behind her knees, the damp at the back of her neck.

She lay across the bed, bare-skinned, sheet folded to her hips. Her body still carried echoes from her exertions. Not soreness, exactly. Just a kind of hum in her thighs when she shifted. A reminder. Ben sat now in the chair by the window, watching her. Shirt undone, hands in his lap, still as stone. Waiting, not pleading. Always waiting.

She watched him for a while, letting the quiet stretch.

Then she lifted the sheet from her hips and let it fall aside.

"Come here," she said, a smile on her lips. Her eyes connected with his and he smiled in return

Ben rose slowly, crossing the room with the caution of someone approaching an altar.

She sat up and reached for his hand, pulled him down to the mattress beside her.

She tilted her head. "Would you want to see the beginning of it? Just once?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what if you drove me to Callum's next time. Dropped me off. Watched me go to him. And then waited."

Ben stared at her.

"You wouldn't come inside. Not yet. Just... be the one who brings me. Hands me over."

His lips parted.

"You'd see him open the door. See me smile at him. Maybe kiss him. And then I'd walk in. And you'd stay there, knowing exactly what I was going there to do."

His hands trembled slightly now. She leaned forward and kissed his knuckles.

"I want that," he said.

She nodded.

"I want that too."

Her smile was soft and honest.

"Then next time," she said, "you'll take me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The drive was silent, but not cold. Alice sat upright in the passenger seat, dress smooth over her thighs, hands resting loosely in her lap. She'd applied a little mascara before they left the house, nothing more. Her hair was pushed back from her face with a band.

Ben's knuckles were pale on the steering wheel.

As they turned onto the farm lane, the tyres crackled on gravel. Alice looked out over the fields, golden in the afternoon sun. A bird wheeled once in the sky and disappeared behind the barn.

Callum's house came into view.

He was already at the door.

Alice turned to Ben, her voice quiet. "I won't look back when I go in."

Ben nodded.

"You understand why?"

He swallowed. "Yes."

She studied his profile for a moment. The tight line of his jaw, the heat behind his restraint.

"You can touch yourself while you wait," she said, "but you won't finish until I'm home."

He nodded again, quicker now.

"And you won't message me."

"No." he breathed.

She leaned in and kissed his cheek, lips close to his ear.

"Thank you for bringing me."

He turned his face slightly, as if to catch her, but she was already reaching for the door.

She stepped out, the dress falling just right as she smoothed it once. No bra, no knickers. Nothing between her and what she was about to do.

Callum didn't move from the doorway. He simply watched her walk up the path.

She let her hips sway just enough to be seen. She held her head high, her pace unhurried.

As she reached him, he opened the door wider. His eyes flicked briefly toward the car, then back to her.

She stepped in close, laid a hand on his chest.

"He's watching," she said.

Callum didn't speak.

She rose slightly onto the balls of her feet, kissed him, slow and certain. Not hungry, just certain.

Then, without turning back, she stepped inside. The door closed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After, Alice stood at the foot of Callum's bed, re-fastening the buttons on her dress. Her skin was flushed, her thighs still trembling faintly from the effort she'd asked of him. There was no rush in her movements. Her hair was a little undone, and she left it that way. Her lips were still wet from where he'd kissed her.

Callum sat on the edge of the bed, bare to the waist, one hand resting on his knee.

"Short visit today?" he asked.

She looked at him evenly. "Yes."

He nodded slowly, eyes dropping to the floor. "He's still waiting out there?"

"Yes."

There was something in his voice that had changed. A note of quiet confusion. "Doesn't that bother him?"

She stepped forward, resting a hand briefly on his shoulder. "He wants this. He wants me to want this."

Callum glanced up. "I've never met a man who looked happy handing over his wife."

She smiled faintly. "You've never met a man like mine."

He nodded again, slower this time. She kissed him once on the temple, soft and firm, then turned and left the room.

Outside, the light was low with the sun grazing the tops of the trees as it dropped toward the hills. The farmyard was quiet. The only sound was the crunch of Alice's footsteps on the gravel.

Ben sat in the car, engine off, window open.

He watched her approach.

She walked as she always did these days: controlled with shoulders straight. But her gait was looser now. Her body had been well used. Her face glowed with something more than exertion.

She opened the door and slid into the seat beside him.

Neither of them spoke at first.

Then she turned to him, her voice low. "He asked if it bothered you."

Ben exhaled, a small smile forming. "It does."

She raised an eyebrow. Her heart catching in her chest.

"It bothers me that I'll never know what it's like to be the one inside you when your whole body is that alive."

Her mouth parted slightly. She blinked moisture away. "Ben..." she began.

"But I'm not jealous," he added. "I'm proud. You looked radiant."

She placed a hand on his thigh. "Thank you. I feel it too."

He was hard. She could see it. He wasn't trying to hide it.

"I want to hear everything," he whispered.

She leaned closer, lips near his ear.

"I'll tell you," she said, her voice laden with mischievous energy. "But not until you've earned it."

He groaned softly, hand gripping the steering wheel and pulled away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ben lit the fire, studied it before placing another log inside. A single lamp was lit in the sitting room. He took a place on the floor, his back resting against the sofa, legs drawn up. She brought him a whisky which he placed untouched on the low table. Alice sat lightly in the armchair, knees folded beneath her, still wearing the same dress. She hadn't changed since they got home.

The air between them held a waiting stillness. She watched him, biting at one curled finger.

"You want to know what he did to me."

Ben looked up, eyes dark. "Yes."

She nodded once. "Take your trousers off."

He obeyed. Slowly. Without breaking eye contact. His arousal was obvious now, visible and unhidden.

"You can touch yourself," she said. "But only as long as I'm speaking."

She let that instruction hang in the air for a moment. Then she began.

"He kissed the inside of my knees. Not quickly. Not like he was trying to rush. He stayed there a long time."

Ben's hand moved under the waistband of his boxers.

"I didn't say anything. I just opened my legs further. Gave him space. His mouth moved up to my thighs. Lips wide. No tongue. Just softness and heat"

She could hear his breathing now. Faster and unraveling.

"When he reached my cunt, he didn't dive in. He pressed his mouth against me and just breathed. I was soaked. He didn't even need to use his hands to know it."

Her voice remained soft, steady.

"I told him to lie back. I climbed on top of him. Straddled his hips. Rubbed myself along him through his clothes until he was desperate."

Ben's hand was moving. Stroking.

"I was so wet I left marks on his jeans."

She paused. "Stop."

He froze. One hand clenched tight on the blanket.

"I guided him in myself. I held him and lowered myself slowly. Inch by inch. Carefully. I'm not used to the fullness he gives me. I didn't speak. I just looked down at him and stayed there. Let him feel it."

Ben let out a shuddered breath.

She crossed one leg over the other, perfectly composed.

"Do you know what I thought of when he was inside me?"

He looked up, barely able to form words. "What?"

"You. Watching me walk through that door. Knowing exactly what I was going to do. That made me wetter than anything he could have said."

Ben groaned, hand twitching.

She stood slowly, walking over to him, then knelt behind him, her mouth at his ear.

"You don't get to finish tonight."

His whole body jolted.

"You'll sleep with it. Wake up with it. And I'll decide when you've earned the rest of the story."

He gasped, part frustration, part adoration.

She kissed the top of his spine. Waited for his hand and led him slowly from the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She didn't plan for it to happen this way.

The appointment had been routine. She'd come to stretch him, mobilise the hip, check his balance after a week of weight-bearing. She had brought her kit bag like always, worn the same navy leggings and vest she used for practical sessions. Hair pulled back. No perfume. This wasn't supposed to be charged.

But the minute she walked into the outbuilding where he was working she'd felt something change.

Callum had taken his shirt off. The heat inside was stifling. He was glistening faintly, muscles flushed with exertion. His hair was damp at the temples, his cheeks flushed. And he looked at her not as a client today, not even as a lover.

He looked at her like she was a flavour he'd remembered tasting and wanted again.

She shut the door behind her. Brushed her clothes down, straightening them, making them lie flat.

They moved around each other as if the air had thickened. She asked him to sit so she could test the joint. He spread his legs slightly, his shorts hanging low on his hips. She crouched between them, pressing her thumbs against the muscles at the edge of his pelvis, her face inches from the rise in his groin.

The tension between them changed shape. It wasn't patient. It demanded something.

She looked up at him. Tilted her head to one side. It was obvious there was to be no more physio today

"I want to use you," she said. "Here."

His chest rose sharply. He didn't ask what she meant.

She stood, pulled off her vest, stripped off the leggings without a word. No underwear. Not planned, just prepared.

The shed was too hot, the light too harsh, the floor hard. But none of it mattered.

Her body wanted contact. Urgent. Ungentle. Pressed and lifted.

She guided him onto the bench. Straddled him before he could finish sitting. His hands went to her hips instinctively, but she knocked them away.

"No. You don't get to guide this."

She leaned in, teeth grazing the side of his throat.

"I'm going to use you until I'm done."

And he let her.

She wrapped her legs around his hips, leaned back, her spine arched over his thighs. Her hair stuck to her skin. Her breath came in short, open-mouthed pants.

She didn't want control.

She wanted to ride him like she was feeding her hunger.

When she lowered herself onto him, it was not elegant. It was wet and slick and sharp. Her thighs slapped against him. She giggled at the sound and he looked at her bemused.

Her breath came in hard bursts. The sound of skin and sweat filled the room. She didn't close her eyes.

She kept them open.

Watched the way he looked at her, awed, almost frightened, entirely hers.

She didn't care if it lasted three minutes or ten.

She didn't care if the dust stuck to her back or if the edge of the bench left marks on her thighs.

This wasn't about leaving a beautiful memory.

This was about what she needed. Today. Now.

And for the first time in weeks, she let herself be loud.

~~~

Alice lay back on the sofa, one leg draped across Ben's lap, the other stretched out along the cushions. The lamp cast a soft, amber glow over the room. The air smelled faintly of the lavender oil she'd added to the bath. Her t-shirt was long and loose, skin still warm, hair damp from the steam.

Ben's hands moved slowly over her foot his thumb pressing into her arch, fingers circling her heel. He had always been good with his hands. Careful, precise. He rubbed without speaking, watching her face as he worked.

She let out a slow breath, eyes half-lidded.

"I had him in the shed," she said, voice low, matter-of-fact. Her head fell back as she cast her eyes upward to remember.

Ben paused, just for a second. Then continued, fingers moving to the ball of her foot.

"It wasn't planned. I was crouched down, working the hip. My face was right between his legs. I could see the shape of him through those worn shorts. He was already hard."

She closed her eyes for a moment, then shifted slightly, letting her free hand drift beneath the edge of her t-shirt. She was bare underneath and her fingers swirled patterns in her soft hairs.

"I didn't ask for permission. I stood up, pulled everything off, and told him I was going to use him."

Her fingers parted her and slipped further, warm and slick already. She exhaled quietly and parted her thighs just enough.

"He sat down on the bench. I climbed on top. He didn't guide me. He didn't get to. I made all the choices."

She circled lightly, eyes still closed, head resting back against the arm of the sofa. She could hear Ben's breathing now, a little quicker, a little tighter. His hands were still on her foot, but motionless.

"I came loud," she said. "Loud enough someone outside could have heard. My knees were shaking by the end of it."

Ben's hands had gone still on her foot, but she didn't tell him to stop. His warmth, his presence, the shape of his attention, it all fed the moment. She had brought the heat home with her, carried it through the bath, through the softness of the robe, and now she was opening it up, slowly, with each quiet breath and slow movement of her fingers between her thighs.

She kept her eyes closed.

"I didn't hold back," she said. "Not with him. Not at all."

Her voice was rougher now, pulled from her chest. She arched her hips slightly, tilted toward her own hand. Touched her clit briefly, then firmly, flicking across it with two fingers. The pace of her breath changed. Her thighs tensed.

"He was deep. I was dripping onto his thighs. I rode him until I was shaking."

Ben said nothing, but she could feel the way he was holding himself: tense and silently aching.

She let out a moan then, low and rising. Her hand didn't stop.

"I came shouting his name," she gasped. "Not into a pillow. Not behind closed doors. Out loud."

And then she let herself go.

She opened her throat, cried out from deep inside, no effort to mute it. Her hips bucked once, her legs twitching around Ben's lap. It wasn't graceful. It wasn't composed. But it was honest.

Her breathing came in bursts, chest heaving as the waves passed.

She opened her eyes slowly and looked down at Ben. His face was flushed, his lips parted, eyes wide.

She was smiling now. Exhausted. Glowing.

"You don't get to come," she murmured, still catching her breath. "Not tonight."

She shifted her leg, stretched out across his lap again, and let one hand fall to her side.

"Just hold my foot and remember what you saw."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

They'd agreed it was a day for them. A day without Callum. They busied themselves around the house, tidying and catching up on jobs left to one side in the energy of the past weeks. After lunch they walked up the hill to the copse at the very top and sat on the grass overlooking the fields. The conversation came easy and the sun dropped slowly behind the hills. Then the first drops of summer rain started to fall and they ran laughing down the hill as the heavens opened.

Later, they sat together in bed, side by side, not touching. The window was open. Rain ticked gently on the leaves outside.

Alice had just extinguished the lamp. Her body was soft from a bath, hair damp against the pillow, and her breathing was steady. She was ready for silence. But Ben shifted beside her.

"I want your mouth on me," she said. "Not fast. Not greedy. Like you're learning me all over again."

He nodded, breath shallow.

She cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing the corner of his mouth.

"You've allowed me to take," she said. "Now I want to feel you give."

She lay back and opened her thighs, not with ceremony, but with confidence. He lowered himself between them, kissing the inside of her knee first, then her thigh. His hands were careful on her hips.

She closed her eyes and let him begin, keeping her hands in his hair. She didn't guide, simply let him feel the shape of her.

He was gentle. Patient. But there was need in him now. A careful, trembling hunger that moved through each stroke of his tongue, each breath against her skin.

She draped one leg over his shoulder, giving him room to go deeper. He pressed in then rose to circle her most sensitive spot.

She came slowly this time, not loud like she had with Callum, not wild. But full. Whole. A deep, breathy moan from her belly. Her thighs tightening, then softening. Her fingers curling in his hair.

When it was over, she drew him up beside her and kissed him deeply.

The taste of herself on his mouth.

Her breath still uneven.

"Now," she whispered, her voice hoarse, "you can touch yourself."

He did, beside her, hand slick and fast, eyes locked on her face. She smiled as he came, kissed his brow, his eyes and then, long and slow, his mouth

They lay, listening to the rhythm of the rain.

"I've been thinking about how you've changed," he said, voice quiet in the dark.

She turned her head, not answering yet.

"It's not just that you're having sex with him," he continued. "That's not even the core of it."

She let the silence stretch. He filled it.

"You move differently now. You don't apologise for wanting things. You look in the mirror like you recognise what you see."

She felt a flush of warmth in her chest. Not embarrassment. Something quieter. Pride, maybe.

Ben kept speaking.

"It's like there was a door in you that I didn't even know was locked. And now it's open, and the light coming through it..." He paused. "It isn't just for him. It's for you. For me. For us."

She reached for his hand under the covers, linked her fingers with his.

"I used to think my fantasy was just the sex," he said. "Watching you. Imagining. But it's not. It's this. Knowing you're out there, choosing, commanding, being wanted. Not needing me to want you for you to feel beautiful."

She didn't speak. Just moved closer, her forehead against his arm.

"I'm thrilled by it," he said. "Turned on, yes. But more than that. I feel like I'm with you in something that matters."

After a long silence, she said quietly, "I feel it too. I finally feel I am becoming myself."

He turned his head. "Exactly."

They lay in silence for a while longer, and then she whispered, "Thank you. For seeing it."

His hand tightened slightly in hers.

"Thank you," he murmured, "for letting me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a physio day. She'd drawn chalk marks on the concrete in a ladder pattern. She showed Callum how to step in, step out and he'd followed with big exaggerated steps before she had taken his hand laughing and called an end to it, pulling him into her instead.

After, the kind of after that had become familiar, they lay sweat drying on skin, legs still tangled in the sheet he kept on the narrow bed in the barn's loft, sun leaking through the slats.

Callum lay on his back, arm behind his head, silent.

Alice rose and sat at the edge of the mattress, naked but unbothered, sipping water from the bottle she kept in her bag. Her hair was pulled back loosely, and the marks on her thighs were still faintly visible.

She knew what he was thinking. She'd seen the way he looked at her today, before, during, after. Not just desire. Something else beginning to flicker. Something warmer. Riskier.

She stood and dressed slowly, pulling her knickers up, smoothing the hem of her dress. He watched her.

"You don't stay," he said, not in an accusing tone, just stating plainly.

She turned to him, expression soft but clear. "No."

Callum sat up slightly, resting on his elbow. "Why?"

She let the silence stretch, then met his eyes.

"Because this is what I want it to be," she said. "And no more."

He looked at her, unreadable for a moment. Then he nodded, eyes dropping to the floor.

"This is not a secret," she added. "Ben knows. He supports it. But you're not his replacement. And you're not mine."

Callum blinked. "Then what am I?"

She stepped closer and placed a hand lightly on his chest.

"You're the man I choose to fuck," she said. "Because I enjoy it. Because you're good at it. Because my body answers to you in ways it doesn't with anyone else. But that doesn't mean you get the rest of me."

He swallowed, looking up at her again. There was no anger. Just a quiet acceptance settling in.

"I can live with that," he said after a moment.

"I know," she said, smiling faintly. "That's why I still come here."

Callum lay on his back beside her, one hand resting on his stomach, the other trailing loosely across the blanket.

She watched the shape of his chest rise and fall. Her fingers twirled patterns nervously at her side.

"I want Ben to be here next time," she said.

He didn't look at her straight away. Just blinked up at the ceiling.

"To join in?" he asked, quiet.

"No. To watch. To see me."

That made him glance at her. His face wasn't shocked, but there was a flicker of something, caution, maybe. Or uncertainty.

She went on.

"He's not going to interrupt. He won't touch me. He won't speak unless spoken to. He'll just be in the room, seated, and fully aware of what I'm doing with you."

Callum ran a hand through his hair. "Right."

She propped herself on one elbow.

"I'm not asking you to approve, Callum. I'm telling you what I need."

"I know," he said. "I just... need a minute to picture it."

She smiled faintly. "It won't change how I act. Not toward you. I'll still take what I want. But this time, he'll witness it. Not just imagine."

He nodded slowly.

"I'm not here to make either of you comfortable," she said.

He looked at her, and there was no resistance in his eyes now, just something softer. A kind of surrender.

"All right," he said.

She leaned in and kissed him once. Deep, slow.

Then she got up, pulled her dress down over her hips, and dressed calmly, while he lay back and watched her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She didn't drive straight home. Instead, she turned off the main road just beyond the village and followed the old lane up toward the woods. The car climbed slowly, tyres crunching over gravel and dry leaves.

She parked where the track gave out, stepped out into the stillness, and stood for a while with the engine ticking behind her. The scent of pine and meadow settled over everything. Birds in the distance. Her own breath. Nothing else.

It wasn't guilt. That wasn't the shape of the feeling sitting inside her chest.

It was responsibility and it weighed heavier than she had thought it would. The gravity of two men who desired her in different ways. Two men who had each seen something true.

She walked slowly between the trees, her boots brushing the undergrowth, one hand trailing along a low branch.

Callum's voice was still in her head. "Then what am I?"

And her own answer, calm and measured. Honest. Perhaps even kind.

She hadn't lied to him. That mattered. She'd told him who she was and what this was and he'd accepted it. But she could feel the edge of something larger in him. Not love, not yet, but something leaning in that direction. Wanting. Reaching.

She had been clear. And yet clarity didn't prevent anyone from longing.

Still... she hadn't shied from saying it. That was new. A few months ago, she might have softened as she tried to protect everyone's feelings.

Now she knew better. Now she was being true. To him. To herself.

She stopped at a fallen tree and sat, fingers idly toying with a bit of moss growing on the bark. The breeze moved through the leaves, and the light shifted across her knees.

She thought about Ben.

He had given her space, and she had claimed it. She knew what this did to him. How he watched her more closely now. Not with suspicion, but reverence. As if he were still catching up with who she had become.

She closed her eyes for a moment and let the quiet seep into her bones. Took the moment to think about what she had made, what she had changed. She was proud of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The house was warm when she entered. Ben was working quietly with music low in the background. Something instrumental, no lyrics. He turned to her as she settled into the armchair across from him, brushing hair from her cheek.

"You look... spent," he said.

"I am," she said. Her voice was calm. Grounded.

He didn't ask for details. Not yet. He didn't need them. He closed his laptop and went to the kitchen. She heard the sound of glasses and ice.

She waited until he returned with their whiskies before speaking again.

"I want you in the room next time."

He blinked, glancing at her, then sat, swirling the darkness in his glass.

"You mean at Callum's?"

"Yes."

He swallowed. His hand tightened on the glass, just slightly. Not out of fear. Out of sudden, sharp awareness.

"I've told him. He agreed."

Ben didn't speak immediately.

"You'll sit quietly," she said. "In the corner. I'll choose where. You won't speak. You won't interfere."

He nodded slowly.

"You'll watch me take him. Hear it. Smell it. See me covered in him."

Ben exhaled, a low tremor in his breath.

She looked out the window. "It's not performance. It's not exhibition. It's witnessing. I want your eyes on me. I want you to see me."

He nodded again. "Thank you," he said. Voice quiet. Grateful.

She glanced sideways, caught the stiffness in his posture, the arousal he wasn't hiding.

She smiled.

"You'll wait until I give you permission. Even then... you'll only touch yourself. Nothing else."

"I understand."

She turned her gaze back to his window.

"I'll tell you what I want you to wear."

Another pause.

"And what I want you to see first."

He swallowed.

"Yes."

She leaned her head back against the chair, eyelids heavy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was tired, but deeply alive.

The morning light fell in long shafts across the bedroom floor, filtering through the thin curtains. Alice stood by the wardrobe, half-dressed, barefoot, holding a simple black dress against her front. She turned slightly to the mirror, considering the hem, the neckline, the way it would move over her hips.

Ben sat on the edge of the bed, freshly showered, his expression still and alert. There was no impatience in him, just attention.

She looked at him through the mirror. "Wear the navy jumper. The one that fits close at the sleeves."

He nodded. "Trousers?"

"The grey ones. Neat, not formal. Clean shoes."

He stood, ready to go fetch them, but she held up a hand. "Not yet."

He sat again, watching her.

She turned now, dress still in hand. "When we arrive, you'll wait in the car until I've gone in. Then I'll come back to the door, and if I look at you, you'll follow me in."

He nodded again, slower this time.

"I'll have already spoken to Callum," she added. "He understands the rules. He knows this isn't for him. It's for us."

Ben's mouth opened slightly. He seemed about to speak, but didn't.

She stepped toward him and placed the dress gently beside him on the bed. Then she lifted her nightshirt over her head, slowly, and stood before him completely naked.

His breath caught.

She didn't reach for him.

"I need you to see me like this before anyone else does today," she said. "Not to arouse you. To root you."

He looked up at her, eyes glassy now. She could see it there: adoration, arousal, and something steadier. Something that felt like home.

"You're not losing me," she said. "You're watching me become myself."

He nodded, voice catching. "I know."

She stepped forward and pressed her forehead to his. They stood there for a long time, his hands still at his sides.

Then she kissed him once, slow and lingering, before stepping back and lifting the dress.

She didn't put on any underwear.

As she fastened the last button, she turned again toward the mirror, smoothing the hem.

"You'll sit in the chair I point to. And when I begin, you'll stay quiet."

"Yes."

She looked at him again.

"But I want you to feel everything. Not just lust. Not just longing. All of it. Pride. Awe. Even the ache."

He swallowed. "I already do."

She smiled.

"Good."

And then, with her bag in hand and him at her side, she stepped into her shoes and opened the door.

The drive was quiet, as it had been each time, but the silence was fuller now. Alice sat with one leg crossed over the other, bare beneath her dress, the seatbelt tight across her chest. She could feel the subtle texture of the fabric against her skin with every breath. It grounded her.

Ben's hands were steady on the wheel. She glanced at him once, saw his jaw set, not tight, but focused. Beneath that, she could feel it: the tension that had always lived in him. Not anxiety. Not fear. Readiness.

They turned into the farm lane. The same pale dust, the same hawthorn hedge.

Callum's house came into view. The door was closed.

Alice unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to Ben before opening the door.

"I'll bring you in when I'm ready. Don't follow until I look at you."

He nodded. "I understand."

"And once inside you sit. You don't speak. You don't move."

He nodded again. Firmer this time.

Her voice softened. "Whatever happens, remember: this is our story."

She touched his cheek, then opened the door and stepped out.

Her heels clicked once on the gravel before she crossed the threshold and knocked twice.

Callum answered quickly. He stepped back, let her in without a word.

The house smelled the same as always, the remains of woodsmoke, faint sweat, something from the fields. Familiar now.

He looked her up and down, eyes flicking briefly to the curve of her chest, then back to her eyes.

"He's waiting?" he asked.

She nodded. "In the car. You won't speak to him."

Callum didn't challenge her. He simply stepped aside, and she lightly ascended the stairs to the bedroom.

It was clean. A single chair had been moved to the corner near the window. She paused there and adjusted its angle slightly. Facing the bed, but not close.

She took a breath, turned back to the door, and walked out again.

Ben looked up the moment she emerged. He hadn't touched himself, though the flush on his neck told her exactly what state he was in.

She met his gaze. Held it. Then gave him the smallest nod.

He opened the door and stepped out.

He didn't speak.

She watched him approach the house warily. When he passed her, he met her eyes just once, then entered. She followed.

Inside, she ignored Callum's watchful gaze, placed her hand lightly on Ben's back and guided him upstairs to the chair. Pressed his shoulder once.

"Sit."

He did.

She stood for a moment before both men. Callum moved to the bed. She turned her back to him, stepped toward the centre of the room to face Ben, and slowly began to unbutton her dress.

She didn't speak. She didn't dare. She wasn't sure what sound her voice would make.

Alice let the dress fall to the floor in a quiet sigh of fabric. She stepped out of it without hesitation, her body fully bare beneath the low light filtering through the curtain.

She looked down at Ben, saw his eyes studying not her nakedness but her face. She smiled and nodded once, then stepped back to Callum.

She looked up at him and, stretching her toes just a little, placed her lips against his. His hand came to her cheek, hot and rough. She met it with her own and opened her mouth, allowing him to push his tongue inside, exploring and probing. They kissed as though alone then, after a few minutes, she broke it and looked over at Ben. He sat where she had left him, perfectly still aside from his eyes, which followed her every movement.

She crossed to the bed and sat at its edge. She let her hands rest on her thighs for a moment, grounding herself. Then she looked to Callum and extended her hand.

He came to her without speaking.

When he reached her, she took his wrist, brought it to her mouth, and kissed it.

She unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it down over his arms. Then unfastened his trousers, helping him to step out. As always he wore nothing beneath and their kissing had left him hard and ready.

She glanced at Ben and shifted her position and Callum's so that nothing obstructed her husband's view.

With a sigh she engulfed Callum with her mouth. She brought her hand up to steady herself on his thigh and leaned forward, taking him deeper. She heard Callum's low groan, echoed by a faint echo from the chair by the window.

She drew back, sliding her tongue along the length of him, ending with her lips pressed firmly together at the very tip. Her free hand rose to grasp him as she enveloped him again wetly.

He placed his hands on her head, not forcing or pressing, simply making a connection to her.

She moved slowly but precisely, him slick in her mouth, tensing and twitching as she set up a gentle rhythm.

Every now and then she let him slip free with a soft, deliberate sound and stole a glance at Ben, waiting, aroused and straining in the periphery.

She felt Callum stiffen, breath quickening, his hands trembling against her head. A look upward and she drew back with a quiet gasp for air, reading the tension in his face. With a final lingering kiss she pulled him onto the bed, laying him back with a press of her palm

She climbed over him, knees astride his hips. Her hair fell forward slightly, framing her face, but she didn't hide behind it. She held herself upright, her back long, her gaze level.

She could feel his arousal against her, hot and hard, but she didn't lower herself yet. Not until Ben had seen her fully.

She turned her head slowly.

Met his eyes.

Ben was seated in the chair, jaw slack, hands braced tightly on his thighs. He hadn't moved an inch, but his whole body radiated tension. An arousal so tightly wound it bordered on awe.

Alice held his gaze as she reached between her thighs and took Callum in hand. She stroked him once, twice, measured and slow, then guided him toward her.

Her breath caught slightly as the head of him pressed against her entrance but she didn't look away from Ben.

Only when she was ready, entirely ready, did she sink down onto him.

Her thighs widened, her pelvis tilted, and she took Callum inch by inch, until she was seated fully, her hips resting against his.

Still, she kept her eyes on Ben.

Her breath deepened.

Her back arched.

She began to move. Not frantic, not even hungry. Just a steady rhythm that was slow, unrelenting, and deeply rooted. Her thighs gripped around Callum's waist, her palms rested on his chest for balance, and her head tipped back now and then. Not to display ecstasy, but to feel it completely.

Callum's hands stayed where she'd placed them: one on her hip, the other at her side. He didn't guide her. He didn't take control.

Ben didn't speak. Didn't move. She could feel his gaze burning across her skin with the ache of longing. He was seeing everything he'd fantasised: the rise and fall of her hips, the flush down her chest, the way her lips parted with each breath.

But she didn't give him her eyes. She focussed on Callum and then herself.

She clenched around Callum and rolled her pelvis forward, slowly, deliberately, until he let out a sound beneath her. She let him make it, feeling him surge inside her. She gave him nothing in return. No words. No reassurance. Only the movement of her body: wet, slow, commanding.

Her breath caught. Once. Twice.

She felt the wave rise inside her and when it came, she didn't cry out. She breathed it in.

She let it pass through her, thighs trembling, hips slowing. Her fingers dug into Callum's chest once, then relaxed.

She stayed seated on him, full and still, the heat of him pulsing inside her.

And only then did she finally turn her face toward the chair.

Ben's eyes were wet. His hands hadn't moved. His chest rose in short, shallow bursts. But he hadn't disobeyed her.

She didn't speak.

She held his gaze for one long breath.

Then she turned back to Callum, leaned down, and kissed his chest soft, warm, grateful.

She climbed off him without a word, walked across the room without covering herself, and picked up her dress.

Still silent, she dressed, one motion at a time. The room was quiet but thick with what had just passed.

When she finished fastening the last button, she walked to Ben and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Stand."

He did.

"Come home."

And he followed her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alice eased the car door closed and let herself settle into the seat. The heat of the day still clung to her skin, softened by the quiet hum of the air inside the vehicle. She adjusted the hem of her dress over her knees, her fingers lingering a moment on her thighs.

Ben was already facing forward, hands on the wheel. His mouth was parted slightly, his breath shallow. He didn't speak, but his entire body felt tuned to her.

She reached across and rested her hand lightly on his thigh.

"I'm here," she said.

He nodded, eyes still on the road ahead. "I know."

He started the car.

The lane passed slowly around them, trees casting long shadows across the gravel. Alice let her fingers trace small circles on the fabric of his trousers, steady, soothing. She didn't need to say anything yet. He didn't need answers. Only reassurance.

After a few minutes, she spoke.

"You saw me."

"I did," he said, his voice almost a whisper.

She turned her head slightly, watching his profile.

"I wasn't performing. I wasn't putting on a show."

"I know."

"It was real. Every part of it. I needed it to be."

He swallowed. "It was beautiful."

She smiled softly and gave his leg a small squeeze.

"Thank you for watching. Not just with your eyes. With your whole self."

He finally looked at her, just for a second. His expression was raw. Exposed and deeply moved.

She reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"When we're home, I want you beside me. I want your arms around me, skin to skin."

His breath caught. "Yes."

"But not more. Not yet."

She wasn't punishing him. She simply needed the feeling to linger, untouched by anything else.

"I want to fall asleep with your warmth at my back," she said. "So I remember this belonged to us, too."

Ben blinked hard, nodded, looked at her, eyes washed bright. "I want that too."

She leaned in, kissed his cheek softly..

"There's more I want to say. Just not all at once."

"I'll wait," he said.

She let her hand rest over his on the gearstick, her head tilted gently toward the window as the village came into view.

What she had done with Callum was hers.

But what she was bringing home, this quiet peace, was theirs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bedroom was dim, the curtains pulled but not drawn completely shut. Outside, the wind moved through the trees with a dry rustle, the air cooling at last after a day that had hung close and humid.

She hadn't said anything more since they got home. And he hadn't asked. The silence between them was warm.

She stood by the dresser, brushing out her hair slowly. Her body was clean now, washed, dried, loosely dressed in one of Ben's soft old t-shirts. Nothing underneath. She hadn't styled her hair, hadn't put on makeup. She didn't need to shape the moment with decoration. Her body carried everything necessary.

He stood just inside the doorway, unsure whether to move. His hands were folded in front of him, more like reverence than hesitation. He had showered, trimmed his nails, put on a soft cotton shirt and shorts. He looked younger in the low light. Stripped of expectation.

She looked at him for a moment. Then spoke, her voice soft but certain.

"Come here."

He crossed the room slowly.

She reached for the top button of his shirt and began to undo it, one at a time, not hurrying. The fabric gave easily. With each button, she let her knuckles graze the skin beneath: his chest, his stomach, the soft trail below his navel.

When she slid the shirt from his shoulders, she let her hands rest a moment on his bare arms.

She looked up into his eyes.

"I want to feel you," she said. "Not your need. You."

He nodded, breath shallow.

She took his hand and guided him onto the bed.

They lay side by side, turned toward each other. Their legs touched. Their knees brushed. She let her hand rest on his chest, just beneath his collarbone, palm warm and steady. The ache in her thighs had faded into something gentler now, replaced by Ben's own, patient and near.

"We're not racing toward anything," she said. "We're not trying to match anything."

His voice came soft. "I don't want to."

She kissed his shoulder. "You can touch me."

He did. Gently, reverently. Palms on her waist, on her hip, along the curve of her back. No urgency, no need to rush toward heat. Just touch. Learning anew what it meant to feel her. To know her

When she rolled onto her back and opened her thighs, it was quiet.

When he moved over her, she held him there, hips still, their chests rising together in the dark.

And when she finally drew him in slowly and firmly it wasn't reclaiming. It was something else. Something whole.