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“I wanted to apologise for zealously representing the interests of my client, at your expense.”

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He slid the door open and looked at her, she took off her sunglasses slowly and smiled at him. He hesitated, a hand on the door ready to slide it closed again and walk away, that feeling of being used and humiliated still lingered. She held his gaze and waited. He pushed door wider and stepped back, inviting her in. She stepped into the coolness of his workshop and he closed the door behind her.
“So, what brings you all the way out here?” She turned and looked at him, he was leaning against the door, arms folded across his chest.
“I wanted to apologise for zealously representing the interests of my client, at your expense.” She leant back against a work bench.
“That doesn’t really sound very apologetic.” She shrugged.
“No. No, I suppose not from where you’re standing. I can appreciate that.”
“Was there anything else?” he wasn’t going to make this easy for her. She looked him up and down and sighed.
“Maybe.” She set down her purse and walked over to him. She stopped in front him, her breasts level with his folded arms, almost touching. He swallowed. She held his gaze, stepped closer. Disconcerted, he uncrossed his arms and she stepped in closer still, her breasts resting against his chest. He rested his hands on her hips, unsure whether to push her away or pull her closer. She rested her hands on his, leaned in and gently kissed him. He didn’t respond at first, the confusion and resentment lingering. But he didn’t pull away or push her away either, which she felt was a good sign. She moved her lips softly against his, testing his resolve. He closed his eyes and responded, slipping his arms around her and pulling her close, opening his mouth to hers. She slid her hands slowly up his arms to his shoulders, enjoying the warmth and the strength of him, pressing her body against his. He held her tighter, slipped his tongue between her lips, felt her smile against him. He felt annoyed again, but this time at himself. He wanted to be mad at her, to push her away and show her how much she’d hurt him after he’d tried to help her. But she’d come all the way out here, all soft and warm and sexy – the tight-fitting dress, the elegant make-up, the expensive perfume – she looked, smelled and tasted amazing. He wanted her. It was just that simple. He kissed his way along her jaw and she tilted her head back to give him better access to her neck. God, she wanted him so much. It had been that way from their first night together - such a good fit. Each quietly, patiently, teaching the other where and how to touch, kiss, stroke – one of the advantages of being older, none of the ego, the doubt or the anxiety. Just honesty, the relationship new but the sensations pleasurably familiar. The connection deep, the pleasure deeper.

She slipped her arms from his shoulders, down his chest, circling his nipples through his shirt before moving lower, slipping her hands under the hem of his shirt, untucking his t-shirt and stroking his stomach. He kissed her harder, pulled her closer, sliding one hand slowly down her back to squeeze her ass and the other slowly up her back to unzip her dress. He felt her breathing quicken as he slowly slid the zip down. She slowly unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his jeans, slipping her hand gently inside to stoke him. He swallowed hard, feeling himself harden more with every slow stroke. She started to push his jeans and shorts down with her other hand, giving her better access, allowing her to wrap her fingers gently around him. He moaned into her mouth and pushed her backwards towards the work bench. She felt the cold steel against her bare back and shivered. He pushed her dress up and ran his hands gently over her panties, hooking his fingers over the top and sliding them gently from her hips, over her thighs and letting them slide silently to the floor. He pushed his knee between hers to open her to him and stroked the soft, warm skin between her thighs before moving upwards, gently parting her folds and stroking her clitoris. She moaned against him at the first touch and widened her stance. He stroked the length of her slowly, feeling her wetness increase with each stroke. She moved against his hand and moved her hand on him to the same rhythm. He buried his head in her neck, breathing hard, knowing he wouldn’t last much longer. He eased her hand away and rubbed his length against her clit, up and down, slowly covering himself in her wetness. She moaned, breathing fast, shallow breaths, needing release as much as he did. In one smooth stroke, he slid into her, felt her muscles grip him gently and he started to pump into her. She came quickly, he felt her body contract as she whispered his name, moving faster against him. He matched her speed, then pumped harder and faster, surrendering to his own release. They rocked against each other gently, enjoying every last bit of pleasure they could before he gently slid out of her, leaning against her and kissing her again.
“God, we do good make-up sex” she smiled, nuzzling his neck. He leant back and looked at her, all seriousness, and frowned.
“Well, you might feel better but I think you’ll find I’m the wronged man here. It’s going to take more than a quick bang in my workshop to make me feel better.” She smiled, tried not to laugh.
“What else will it take?” He thought for a moment.
“At least a few more.” She smiled and shrugged.
“Well, I’ve got time, and my overnight bag in the car. And I do owe you - you put a lot of time into that reconstruction, didn’t bill me for the effort and helped me win my case so…..where next?”