Afternoon Delight

Hunter

I pace the hall in front of my lab, restless. My wife is four minutes late. Four minutes, when we only have a half hour available. This is more than ten per cent late. I tug on the neck of my lab coat, sweating. And then I hear the click of a woman’s shoes in the hall. Abigail.

I can smell her before I see her, sunshine and roses or some other sort of flower essence oil she got from my sister, probably. When Abigail rounds the bend, her face is smiling. I relax instantly. How does she have this effect on me. 

“I got held up. I know you must be anxious about the time.” She wastes no time with small talk, shoving me against the door, stretching up to kiss me. 

The breath rushes out of me as I return the embrace. I fumble behind my back for the door handle, grateful for the accessible lever that lets us back into the darkened room.

“This feels so naughty, Dr. Crawford.” Abigail starts inching her skirt up her legs and I see she’s not wearing any nylons. Just bare, smooth skin that also smells of flowers. I sink to my knees on the floor and lick her, running my tongue up her inner thigh until she shudders. I love the tiny sounds Abigail makes when I touch her. 

I know how to make her make those sounds. It still feels incredible. 

“I never knew ‘afternoon delight’ was a real thing,” I confess, peeling off her shoes, letting my fingers roam her toned calves. Abigail and I continue to work out as much as we can and she’s getting so strong. So healthy. 

“Well, then, I’m glad I suggested you Google it.” She rocks back on the edge of the table, her weight on her forearms as she lets her legs spread wide. I glance upward and find, to my delight, she is not wearing any underwear.

From my spot on my knees, I look up at her face, my eyes wide in surprise. She laughs, a tinkling sound that fills the dimly lit lab. I imagine the leaves of my experimental plants are curling toward the sound, attracted to the light she emits. 

I must spend too long staring, because Abigail groans. “I thought you were at least going to punish me for being tardy…not stare at my face all day.”

I pinch her thigh. “Would you like some sort of punishment? Hmm?” An encouraging groan has me thinking fast. I was not prepared for role play. I was barely prepared for mid-afternoon coitus. Abigail suggested we start doing this if we are going to procreate, getting in the rhythm of scheduled intercourse to prepare for her ovulation cycle. 

Maybe I suggested that and she agreed it sounded fun. 

She seems to require additional punishment beyond the pinch, so I nibble at her with my teeth. And then, drawn by the salty scent of her arousal, I continue up her legs, biting and licking until I reach her center. Until I find the place that makes her tremble. 

I lap at my wife until she moans and squirms on the table. I know by now how to deliver an orgasm, and I want to do that as fast as I can until I remember she asked me to punish her for being late. 

I pull back, rocking to my heels, observing her. Abigail pants and lets her head fall backwards against one of the microscopes. She groans, frustrated. It would seem I am doing well. 

I unzip my pants to relieve the growing pressure there, taking my time before I offer my wife just one of my fingers instead of my tongue. And then I pull my hand back, too. 

Abigail’s head flies up and she struggles to sit upright. “What the hell are you doing to me?”

I swallow and reach inside my open pants, pulling my erection free. “I believe this technique is called edging.”

Her eyes darken with want and need, her mouth forming a tiny oh. Twice more, I bring her to the brink with my tongue and fingers, and then, conscious of the time, I stand up abruptly. “Lean back,” I command. “Spread your legs wider.”

“Oh, yes, Please now. Fill me up, Hunter.” And I comply. She’s so wet I slide in easily. With a grunt, I begin to fuck my wife, who moans appreciatively. “You’re so big,” she coos. “I’m so full of you.”

I nod and kiss her jaw, feeling her pulse hammering beneath her skin. I drop a hand between our bodies as she clings to my shoulders and within a few circles of my thumb, Abigail begins to pulse around me. “I’m coming,” she whispers into my ear as her hands dig into my lab coat. As if I couldn’t feel her orgasm exquisitely milking every inch of my length. 

I meet her eye and smile, overcome with love and devotion for this woman who is so patient, who understands me so well. “I love you,” she whispers, and kisses me gently. This small brush of lips is my final undoing, and I erupt. With a grunt, like the mating skunks at my brother’s house, I come in a flood of longing and joy, heat and adoration. 

We still, breathing. Soon, I notice the leaves of my plants fluttering with our exhalations. I start to return to my body, slowly. Abigail rests her head against my shoulder and I stroke her hair with one hand, bracing my weight with the other. 

“I think we are very good at this,” she sighs. 

“Did you know,” I tell her, “I can see fireworks from space?” She shakes her head and I nod. “I was in the Space Station on New Year’s Eve once, and I looked out the window and just saw these tiny puffs of sparkle. All around the world, really.”

“That sounds lonely.” Abigail disentangles herself from me and locates her purse, pulling out a pack of tissues to dab up the mess we made together. 

“I was basically alone up there, but I saw all those lights…all those celebrations. I felt connected to an act of joy.”

Abigail smiles and hands me a tissue. “That’s a really nice way to look at it, Hunter.”

I nod my head, dabbing at my crotch before I zip my pants and tuck my shirt back in. “When I’m with you, I can’t tell if you’re the fireworks and I’m watching, or if I’m the firework and you make me detonate.”

She purses her lips, considering. 

“Maybe that’s coming out wrong.” I drag a hand through my hair, worried I’ve said something wrong. Again. As always. 

“I am definitely hot for you, Hunter. Always. And you bring me joy.” She smiles and pulls a pair of underwear from her purse. I watch, enjoying the sight of her wriggling into them. 

“I’m glad I’m here with you, Abigail.”

She stretches up and kisses my cheek just as my watch begins to beep, the warning alarm for me to get ready to teach. “I have students,” I sigh.

“And you’ll teach them something terrific,” she says, winking. 

We part ways in the hall and I watch her walk away, feeling a bit like I did watching those earthly fireworks rotate past my vision from outer space. Except this time I know the joy is not fleeting. Within a few hours, I’ll be back home and Abigail will be there. 

She’ll be smiling and happy to see me. 

I decide the real afternoon delight is how I feel now, after our tryst.

I spend the rest of the day very delighted indeed.

Continue the series with Diana’s book, The Botanist and the Billionaire.

If you’re ready to go all in on the Crawford family, you can save 45% and buy the series directly from me.