There was one lone light on in her cottage which stood in darkness, no light to reflect off the snow as the moon was sheathed in cloud. The only sound was their feet puncturing the freezing snow, even the barn owl having hidden away, its dinner currently on ice.

Zack stood behind her, his arms around her waist, shielding her back as she rummaged through her bag for her keys.

“You didn’t save a set?” she murmured. “It’d be so handy right now if you had a spare key in your pocket.”

“You nearly murdered me when you thought I’d kept a key last time,” Zack said as she eventually pulled out a massive bunch of keys with a huge pompom attached. They were probably going to get hypothermia while she worked out which key it was.

“Are you holding on to me because you’re cold or are you trying to be a gentleman and keep me warm?” she said, her voice containing something akin to melted chocolate and whisky.

“Honey, what I’m planning on doing to you tonight won’t be anything gentleman-like,” Zack whispered in her ear.

He felt her press back against him as she inserted what he hoped was the right key in the lock. Her shoulders visibly tensed and he realized she was nervous, worried maybe.

The door opened and he ushered her through, closing it behind them, removing his touch from her. He studied her for a moment as she removed her scarf and coat, the sole light catching on her hair and making it glimmer. He’d never seen someone with such silky hair. She’d told him she’d been picked on at school for having red hair, but then as she’d gotten older it had gone darker, to the sort of colour that most people dreamed of. He couldn’t imagine hair he wanted to thread his fingers through more, to watch her expression as he wrapped it round his hand and made her scream his name.

“You’re looking at me like I’m chocolate,” she said, shaking her hair over her shoulders.

“You taste better than chocolate,” he said. “I remember.”

Her cheeks reddened, and not from the sudden change from the cold to the warm inside, and her lips curved upwards in a slow, knowing smile.

Zack took off his coat and hung it up. Sorrell leaned against the wall, watching him. She was nervous, he could tell, and unsure. He covered the few feet between them in three strides and pulled her gently into his hold.

“I can have a coffee and go home,” he said quietly, as if there was anyone to overhear what he was saying. “Or I can stay and we just talk…”

Her hands moved over his sweater, over his chest and then to his face where she gently pressed her fingers against his jaw, directing his gaze so he looked her in the eye.

“It should’ve been my wedding day,” she said. “I’m so glad it wasn’t.”

Then Sorrell moved her lips to his and kissed him so softly he wasn’t sure it was real. As she moved back, he shifted his hold, pushing one hand through the back of her hair and gently encouraging her lips back to his.

This time the kiss was deeper, longer. It hunted for something he hadn’t identified and didn’t know was missing before. Her mouth opened for him and as the kiss became more demanding their hands began to wander, crossing covered territories and searching for skin.

Somewhere between the hallway and her bedroom he lost his sweater and the T-shirt underneath. Her top was discarded along with her bra and he only made it to her bedroom door before his lips and teeth tracked down the soft, delicate skin of her neck to her tits, taking one puckered nipple into his mouth and sucking softly before moving to the other, crouching before her.

Nails dug into his scalp and he heard her whimper over the sound of his own heartbeat. The urge to hurry was insistent and he pulled himself back from lifting her over his shoulder and depositing her onto the bed. Instead, he undid the zip on her jeans, pulling them down like they were a second skin and exposing the pale, creamy flesh of her legs.

He looked up at her, wanting her to see the needful expression on his face, the one that he hoped would tell her how much of a twat her ex had been to lose a woman like her and how his loss was Zack’s gain.

Sorrell’s eyes were hooded and heavy, her lips slightly parted and her hands were still in his hair. Zack gave her a wicked smile then pulled the pink panties she was wearing down enough so that she was exposed to him. She was musky and sweet, his new favourite perfume and the mewl she made when he flicked his tongue against her clit was his new favourite sound.

He focused on that one spot, licking, sucking, his hands on her ass, holding her to him like a thirsty man would a bowl of water.

She tensed and then broke around him, her legs buckling as her body pulsed. He gave her one last lick and lifted from his kneeling position, trailing his fingers up her body to her breasts as he stood, tweaking her nipples and hearing her cry.

“Coffee?” he said into her ear, then took a hand away to wipe his mouth.

Sorrell shook her head, her hands now on his stomach, the tips of her fingers curling under his jeans.

“Take them off,” she whispered. “I want you.”

Her words made his vision go blurry, the need to possess her making him lasso every ounce of self-control he had.

Then her hands found momentum and she started to unbuckle his belt and unzip his fly, her hand automatically cupping his cock through his underwear, her fingertips grazing his balls and making him catch his breath.

Her bed was just feet away but he wasn’t sure how he was going to get there. Taking her against the door was an option and about the only one he had right now as there wasn’t enough blood in his brain to think of an alternative.

“Zack,” she said.

“Huh?” It was almost a sentence. He wasn’t capable of any more.

“Bed. Behind you.” She directed him backwards, his jeans attractively round his ankles, but when he fell back against the bed he didn’t care.

Sorrell shucked her own jeans off and managed not to fall, although being skinny jeans they still needed peeling off at the ankles. Whoever had designed them hadn’t thought about the mechanics of stripping off erotically whilst wearing them.

Zack was lying on the bed on his back, his eyes fixed on her. Her uncoordinated strip clearly hadn’t dimmed his arousal as his cock was standing thick and hard, pre-cum forming at the tip.

Returning the favour and going down on him had crossed her mind, but she wanted him in her to the extent she ached. She straddled him, standing tall on her knees so he could see every inch of her, his reaction increasing her confidence.

His big hands held her hips and his thumbs brushed over her stomach. Then one slipped down, fingers sweeping over her still sensitive clit and he pressed the tip of a digit inside her, in and out, in and out, mimicking fucking her.

“You’re tight and you feel so hot,” he said, finally finding his words.

Her hips moved slightly, riding his hand. She wondered if she should feel embarrassed at her reaction to him, at her movements, needing something of his to fill her, but his eyes told her that at this moment, she was his everything.

Then he moved his hand away, bringing both to her tits and cupping them, raising his head to suck each one in turn, his tongue strumming her nipple. Sorrell moved back her hand and found his cock, feeling the vibrations of his groan around her. She angled her hips so she could rub his cock against her clit, moving it further back each time to push near to her entrance, coating the head in her wetness.

She was on the pill, they’d had a roundabout conversation to do with contraception, one where they avoided saying anything directly. Condoms were there, somewhere in her bedroom, but they weren’t needed and she was glad, wanting something rawer, wanting the feel of him in her without even a thin layer of rubber in between them.

Slowly, she pushed down on him, his mouth leaving her nipple and instead staring up at her as if she had descended from heaven. She let him fill her gradually, unused muscles remembering their function. Zack’s hands were firm on her hips, helping her find a rhythm that suited them both.

He was thicker than she’d had before and it took her a few seconds to adjust to the stretch. Then the initial pinch became pleasure and she began to ride, watching his face, feeling his hands touch her breasts, tease her nipples and then his words, dirty whispered words telling her how beautiful she was and how she felt around him.

His finger found her clit and pushed her towards a release that fractured her into small pieces from which she was sure she couldn’t recover. He had made the world a fraction easier, fragmented pieces of her life seemed to fit back together a little smoother.

And then he flipped them round, laughing at her lack of resistance, as if she was boneless, and entered her, holding up her hips so he could move deeper inside her.

His pace was slow and careful; he was watching her every expression, reading her to see what she liked, what didn’t work. But he was holding himself back and she didn’t want him to. She wanted him to lose himself in her.

She clenched his cock with her inner muscles and heard him groan. Then she dug her nails into his ass, urging him to move quicker, wanting to find the words but unable to say them. Her legs wrapped around his waist, his hands moving her hips to his rhythm, his lips parted, saying her name and she felt him start to unravel, to come apart.

“Fuck, Sorrell!” he said as he thrust more violently this time, his head tipped back as he came.

She felt him pour into her, and her body responded, finding another climax that reordered her universe. His hands froze on her hips and then his lips met hers. The kiss wasn’t sweet or tender, it was demanding and held a passion she hadn’t realised could still be there afterwards.

Zack held himself above her on his forearms and looked at her expression. “You look…” He smoothed her hair from her face. “Amazing.”

He was still inside her; they were still connected. Sorrell wondered how she could feel so much closer to him after knowing him just a few weeks, closer to him than she had to anyone before, including her ex. His biceps bulged either side of her, keeping him just far enough above her so that she could see his face, see his eyes and how reverently they looked at her.

She moved her hands to his back, pulling his chest so it was skin to skin with hers, his arms still supporting all of his weight.

“Was that okay for you?” She realised how lame she sounded, how needy.

Zack rolled off her and on to his side, leaving her empty. She reached to find something to act as a cloth.

“Come here,” he said. “I’ll take the wet patch later.” He pulled her close and cuddled her into him, wrapping her in his arms.

“I didn’t think you’d be a cuddler,” she said.

“Why?” He whispered it into her hair. “Aren’t men allowed to need something afterwards?”

She knew she shouldn’t talk about her ex straight after having sex with another man so instead she tried to pull that confident streak from somewhere, from the place where her self-belief had been hiding. “That’s very stereotypical,” she said, twining her legs around his.

“Why wouldn’t I be a cuddler then?” He tucked her in closer to him.

The sensation of being close to someone without clothes felt foreign to her. With Mark, he got out of bed quickly afterwards and pulled on shorts at least. Then he’d rolled away from her and fallen asleep. They’d never had intimacy.

“You’re a shouty, demanding manager. I didn’t think you’d be a cuddler.”

She heard him give a quiet chuckle, his hand sliding down her back to her ass. “I like cuddling. It means I get to touch you some more and make sure you can’t get away quickly.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you had any problems with girls wanting to get away,” she said.

His arms kept her close, his hand holding her ass. “Honey, why do I want to talk about other girls when I have you in bed with me? I’m not thinking of anyone but you right now and how much I can’t wait to fuck you again and find out even more about what you like and how good we can be together.”

She felt herself get choked up, hiding her face in his neck. Her other lovers had taken what they needed and expected her to do the same. None of them had thought about whether they were too rough or held back, or whether she came even once.

His hand left her ass and moved to her hair, smoothing it down. “I love this,” he said. “It’s like silk. Growing up on a farm meant that our hands were always rough from the work we’d do to help dad out. This feels like something really special and perfect.”

“It’s just hair,” she said, laughing.

“Hair I keep imagining spread over my pillow.”

“I should go clean up,” she said, not moving from him, not sure of what to say, because all this seemed too perfect.

“Me too. Shower?”

She giggled this time, getting the gist of where this conversation was going. She wanted to run and hide because this felt scary and surreal, but a bigger part of her understood that this was right.