Sophia admired Ulf’s discipline, as he held off texting her until seven o’clock that evening. Of course, it came as no surprise to Sophia that his boss had given him the day off: he’d probably told him that his girlfriend had a family crisis, if she knew men. Sophia toyed with the idea of making a jokey referring to his toolbox or instrument, but thought better of it. For one thing, these messages might be read by others; for another, such heavy-handed come-ons weren’t really in her line. Instead, she sent him pictures of the study, indicating where she wanted the shelves put up. She knew it wouldn’t be a difficult or long job for a professional, which suited her just fine. He said he’d get started around eight thirty.
The days seemed to drag by until Friday morning finally dawned. On Thursday evening, she had returned home a bit earlier than usual to tell the temp that she wouldn’t be required on the following day – news that had been received most gratefully by the woman. She hadn’t of course told Peter about her personal day, since he knew about Ulf’s visit, and had dressed as if for a normal work day. As soon as first Peter and then the kids had left the house, at around ten past eight, she popped upstairs and took off her sensible white cotton blouse. She was about to replace it with her royal blue satin blouse with bowtie and narrow plunging neckline, when she thought she’d put on some scent. Peter had bought her a bottle of her favourite Givenchy perfume for her birthday and there was still plenty left. Going into the bathroom, wearing her white push-up bra, she applied it to the key spots: behind her ears, on her neck, on her wrists, behind her knees and just a touch on her navel.
‘In for a penny, in for a pound,’ she thought, taking off her skirt and her bra and putting on a grey lingerie set that matched her high-waisted figure-hugging grey skirt with ornamental black belt. She fished out a pair of low grey heels, added a few spots of Givenchy to her clothing, then headed downstairs and placed the shoes by the kitchen door, ready to slip into when she heard the key turn in the lock. It was 8.25am, so she had only five minutes left to wait, if Ulf was on time. She poured herself a mineral water and sat at the kitchen table checking her messages.
I suppose you could call it fashionably late, but for Sophia the wait was agonising. As the clock ticked around to 9 o’clock, she thought about going upstairs and changing into sweatshirt and jeans. She felt as if she had been stood up. She had just turned on the De’Longhi coffee machine when she heard the door being opened. She froze like a deer in the headlights, before telling herself to snap out of it. She had planned the whole thing down to the last detail and now she had to execute those plans. With head held high, she breezed out of the kitchen into the hall and coughed to attract the attention of Ulf, who had his back to her, as he placed the final load of shelving planks next to the others, which were leaning against the wall.
Turning round, he greeted Sophia with a laconic ‘Good morning’, as if her sudden appearance was nothing out of the ordinary. Sophia wasn’t sure, but she fancied he gave her the once over before sitting down on the doormat in order that he might take off his boots. Then, without a word, in relays he took his large bag and the planks through to the study, the entrance to which was only a matter of yards down the hall. He was wearing a carpenter’s tool belt, which housed various screwdrivers and other implements, as well as a tape measure.
He muttered his assent to Sophia’s offer of a coffee, telling her he took it black with no sugar. Sophia went off to make it, wondering if the whole idea had been a big mistake. Had she been misinterpreting his signals? Had he actually been sending any signals? When she brought him the coffee together with a piece of deli bought carrot cake, he thanked her and asked her if she was going out.
Sophia could sense the sexual tension. He had ratcheted it up with one question – not a real question seeking an answer, but a challenge to test her mettle. She was literally aquiver with desire. Holding onto the door handle to give herself support, she replied that she had much to do around the house and hoped that he would excuse her. She would bring him refreshments at eleven and they could have lunch together at one o’ clock if that suited him. He told her he had brought sandwiches and she offered to put them in the fridge for him if he’d like that. He said there was no need and she left him and went upstairs to fetch her laptop, before resuming her place at the kitchen table, so she could respond if he wanted anything. Yes, she thought, anything.
SEVEN
She was so wound up that she could barely concentrate on the emails she needed to respond to or the documents she needed to read. When she looked at the clock, it wasn’t yet ten o’clock. She badly wanted to go and check on his progress, to watch as he used his drill and his screwdriver. Drill. Screwdriver. The very words caused her to tremble. She felt herself getting wet fantasising about him carrying her upstairs and ravishing her on her bed.
About him ripping her satin blouse into shreds, about him undoing her belt with unnecessary force and hurling it across the room, about him sending the six buttons that fastened her skirt flying all over the floor as he wrenches it down to the floor, about him pushing her bra up without unfastening it to reveal her breasts, about him yanking her panties down as far as they will go before they wedge against her garter straps.
After that, he takes his dick out and, refusing to let her touch it, drives it into her pussy as he stands beside the bed, manhandling her all the while as if she were a rag doll. After using her, he packs up his things and leaves her. This part she doesn’t like. But those are the breaks. This is her fantasy and it has taken on a life of its own. She no longer owns it; it owns her.
Excited and disturbed in equal measure, Sophia pretends she needs to get a book from the study. He doesn’t acknowledge her, doesn’t turn around, doesn’t stop his planing and his sanding. He works fast. Maybe he will be finished before lunch. Maybe he has had second thoughts about betraying Petsi. Maybe he never had any first thoughts. She asks him if he’d like a glass of mineral water. He thanks her but says no – he has his own water. She asks him what he would like for elevenses: Earl Grey, Ceylon tea, peppermint, another coffee, something cold. He says Earl Grey would be fine – milk, one sugar. She decides she’ll bring him a couple of Petsi’s macarons. She doesn’t know why. He will know that she has baked them. Well, if he wants to call the whole thing off over some macarons, then let him. She’ll find herself a real man. There must be plenty out there.
She brings a tray to the study at eleven o’clock and they take their mid-morning refreshments together. He’s noticeably more communicative and she catches him looking at her ankles and calves, while he pretends to be randomly running his eyes over the carpet as he bites into his macaron. She responds by uncrossing and recrossing her legs. She watches him as his eyes move up to her thighs and beyond. Progress is definitely being made.
She asks him what time he thinks he will be through, and he says he will probably have everything done by lunch, bar the first coat of the resin-tung oil with which he will coat the wood. Sophia’s heart leaps when she realises that he is creating a pretext for spending the afternoon with her; she knows coating the shelves isn’t a time-consuming job. He tells her he will need to come back and apply a second coat over the weekend. That means meeting Peter. Well, she is a good enough actress to pretend that she is meeting him for the first time too.
She leaves him to his work and prepares herself a salad for lunch, just to occupy her mind and calm her nerves. She puts it in the fridge and returns to her work with her equilibrium almost fully restored, able to concentrate on the latest compliance report drafted by members of her team, to mark up the changes that need making and request the drafting of additional sections. Around half past twelve, she puts on a pair of sneakers and pops down to the nearest shop to get some mints, which she might suck on after lunch. When she returns, it is almost one o’clock – the witching hour, the time for extraordinary events to occur.
She waits in the kitchen while Ulf washes up in the downstairs bathroom. When he comes in, he has lost his bulky belt and carries the pleasant oaky aroma of his work. They sit opposite each other, eating the food they have prepared, drinking mineral water. Sophia makes the first move, rubbing his foot with her shoe. He looks her in the eye. Something Sophia can’t identify is in his look. It’s not passion per se; it’s more like the state that precedes passion. In meteorological terms, it’s like the darkening of the sky that precedes the first faint rumblings of thunder.
She brings her other foot into play, so that both her feet (still in their shoes) are rubbing each of his. He wipes his hands on his napkin, moves the plates and glasses out of the way, and, taking Sophia’s hands in his, pulls her across the table and kisses her fiercely. He remains seated while she, the shorter partner, is in a half-standing position, her stomach pressed – not unpleasantly – against the table’s rounded edge. He runs one hand through her hair, while the other – the more impulsive one – seeks out her breast…both breasts.
Letting hold of her for just a moment, he walks around the table, helps her to her feet, lifts her up and carries her upstairs. When they get to the landing, she whispers ‘left’ into his ear and he takes her to her bedroom and lays her gently on the bed. He takes her shoes of and kisses her stockinged feet. ‘God, this is going to be good,’ she thinks.
Leaving her lying on her back – her legs slightly bent for comfort, her arms pulled back so that her hands could play with her hair – Ulf began to undress, never taking his eyes off Sophia as he did so, as if afraid she might vanish. He was wearing nothing beneath his blue cotton twill shirt (hardly something a carpenter normally wore, Sophia thought). Sitting on the bed beside her, he took off his socks and then his jeans, then stood so she could get a good look at his muscular body. Sophia noticed that he was virtually hairless on his chest and in the lower abdominal area. Of course, she also noticed the bulge in his briefs.
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