The Wrong Address

The Sat-Nav had been insistent—three miles north, turn left, third house on the right. I checked the label on the parcel one more time as I pulled into the driveway. Yes, this was the correct address. The driver had been off by exactly three miles yesterday, delivering to my doorstep instead.

I could have just left it with the courier company, let them sort out their mistake. But something compelled me to make the drive myself. Maybe it was the boredom of a Saturday morning with my wife visiting her sister. Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe it was just the hassle of dealing with the courier.

The house was modest but well-kept, with flower boxes in the windows and a tidy front garden. I rang the doorbell. I heard footsteps inside, and then the door opened.

The woman who answered was stunning in an effortless way that made my breath catch. Mid-thirties, I guessed, with short light hair and eyes the colour of honey. She wore jeans and a simple white blouse, but the way they fit her curves was a true joy to behold.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice warm and slightly puzzled.

I held up the parcel. "I think this is yours. The courier delivered it to my place by mistake yesterday—I'm about three miles south. I thought I'd bring it over rather than send it back through the system."

Her eyes widened with recognition, and a flush crept up her neck. "Oh! Oh my god, thank you so much. I was going crazy wondering where it was." She reached for the package, and our fingers brushed. The contact sent an unexpected jolt through me.

"I'm Donna," she said, meeting my eyes. "Thank you so much for taking the trouble."

"Andy." I smiled, not quite ready to leave yet. "Glad I could help."

She bit her lip, seeming to make a decision. "Listen, this is really above and beyond. Would you like to come in for coffee? It's the least I can do."

I should say no. I should get back in my car and drive home. But instead, I heard myself say, "That would be nice. Just black please."

Donna's living room was tastefully decorated—soft greys and creams, with touches of colour in the throw pillows and artwork. She gestured for me to sit on the sofa while she disappeared into the kitchen. I settled into the cushions, my heart beating faster than it should.

She returned with two mugs of coffee, handing me one before sitting down—not across from me in the armchair, but on the same sofa, close enough that I could smell her perfume. Something floral and subtle.

"So," she said, cradling her mug between both hands. "You drove three miles just to deliver a stranger's package. That's either very kind or very curious."

I laughed, watching the way her fingers wrapped around the ceramic. "Maybe a bit of both. My wife's out for the day, visiting her sister, and I had nothing better to do."

I'd said it deliberately, establishing the boundary. I'm married. But instead of creating distance, something shifted in Donna's expression—a flicker of understanding, maybe even relief.

"My husband's away on business," she said, her voice casual but her eyes locked on mine. "He usually is. Three weeks out of every month. Sometimes more."

"That must be difficult," I said, taking a sip of my coffee. It was good—strong, the way I liked it.

"It is what it is." She shrugged, but I could see the loneliness in her eyes. "We've been married eight years. The first few, he was around more. But as his career took off..." She trailed off, then seemed to catch herself. "Sorry, I don't usually unload on strangers."

"I don't mind," I said, and I meant it. There was something about her openness that made me want to reciprocate. "I've been married ten years. And honestly? Most days it feels like we're just room mates. Going through the motions."

Donna nodded slowly, her gaze thoughtful. "When did that happen? The shift from partners to just... people who share a space?"

"I don't know. Gradually, I guess." I set my mug down on the coffee table, leaning back slightly. "We used to talk for hours. About everything, nothing. Now we mostly discuss bills and whose turn it is to put out the bins."

"God, yes." Donna laughed, but there was sadness in it. "When David's home, we barely speak. He's exhausted from travelling, I'm busy with work. We eat dinner in front of the TV and go to bed at different times." She paused, her eyes meeting mine. "When was the last time she really looked at you? Really saw you?"

The question hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning. I felt my pulse quicken. "It's been a while," I admitted quietly.

"Me too." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of our confessions settling over us.

"So, what do you do?" Donna asked, breaking the spell slightly. "For work, I mean."

"Marketing. Corporate stuff, mostly boring." I smiled ruefully. "I used to be a photographer, actually. Years ago, before I needed a steady wage to arrange the mortgage."

Her eyes lit up. "Really? What kind of photography?"

"Portraits, mostly. Some fashion work. I loved it—the creativity, the connection with subjects, capturing something real." I shook my head. "But it didn't pay the bills consistently, so I moved into marketing. Still use the skills sometimes, but it's not the same."

"Do you miss it?" She shifted slightly, turning more toward me. Her knee was now just inches from my thigh.

"Every day," I admitted. "There's something about creating art, you know? About seeing beauty and preserving it. Marketing feels like... selling someone else's vision instead of creating your own."

Donna nodded. "I get that. I'm an interior designer—I love what I do, but sometimes clients want safe and boring instead of something with real personality." She gestured around the room. "This is mine. My space. I can do what I want here."

"It's beautiful," I said, and I wasn't just talking about the room. I watched as she tucked that errant strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture unconsciously graceful.

"Thank you." She held my gaze, and I saw her pupils dilate slightly. "You know what I miss most? Being seen as more than just a wife, or a designer, or someone's plus-one at corporate events. Being seen as myself. As a woman."

The air between us thickened. My mouth had gone dry. "Well, I can certainly see the woman in front of me." I said, my voice rougher than I intended.

"I know." Donna's lips parted slightly. "I can feel it."

She reached for her coffee mug, and as she brought it to her lips, I noticed the slight tremor in her hand. She was nervous. So was I. But beneath the nervousness was something else, something deeper.

"This is crazy," Donna said softly, setting her mug back down. "You're a complete stranger."

"I know."

"You're married. I'm married."

"I know that too."

She turned to face me fully now; her body angled toward mine on the sofa. "But I haven’t been able to relax and chat to someone like this for ages. Just sitting here, talking to you, being looked at the way you're looking at me right now..."

I leaned in slightly, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in her eyes. "How am I looking at you?"

"Like you want me." Her voice was barely audible. "Like you're imagining what it would be like to touch me."

My heart was pounding so hard I was sure she could hear it. "Would you be wrong?"

"No." She swallowed hard. "Would I be wrong if I said I was imagining the same thing?"

The confession hung between us, impossible to take back. We both knew we'd crossed a line, moved from innocent conversation into dangerous territory. And neither of us wanted to retreat.

My hand moved almost of its own accord, reaching out to brush that strand of hair back from her face. My fingers grazed her cheek, and she inhaled sharply at the contact. Her skin was soft, warm.

"We shouldn't," she whispered, even as she leaned into my touch.

"No," I agreed. "We shouldn't."

But neither of us pulled away. We sat there, frozen in that moment of possibility, both knowing what was about to happen and powerless—or unwilling—to stop it.

The tension was almost unbearable now; a living thing coiled between us. Every breath felt significant. Every glance loaded with meaning. Finally, Donna set down her mug and picked up the parcel from where she'd placed it on the coffee table. "I should probably check if this actually fits," she said, her voice light but her cheeks flushed. "I need it for an event this weekend."

I raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

She met my eyes, a challenge in her gaze. "Lingerie."

The word hung in the air between us, loaded with possibility.

"Well," I said, my voice lower now, "you should definitely try it on. Make sure it fits. Otherwise, you'll have to return it, and that's always a hassle."

Donna's lips curved into a slow smile. "Are you daring me?"

"Maybe." I smiled.

She stood, the parcel in her hands, and for a moment I thought she might laugh it off, might break the spell. But instead, she said, "Wait here," and disappeared down the hallway.

My heart hammered in my chest. This was insane. I should leave right now, before this went any further. But I didn't move. I couldn't.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. I was starting to wonder if she'd changed her mind when I heard her footsteps in the hallway.

And then she appeared in the doorway.

The lingerie was black lace, delicate and intricate. The bra cupped her breasts perfectly, the lace barely concealing her nipples. The thong was little more than a whisper of fabric, and the suspender belt emphasised the curve of her hips, the straps trailing down to where they would attach to stockings. But she wasn't wearing stockings—just the belt, the thong, and the bra.

"I think it fits. But do you approve?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

I couldn't speak for a moment. My mouth had gone completely dry. "It's simply perfect," I managed.

She walked toward me slowly, and I could see the rise and fall of her chest, the way her nipples had hardened beneath the lace. She stopped a few feet away, turning slowly so I could see every angle.

"You know," I said, my voice rough, "I think I should be that photographer again today. Would you... would you let me take some pictures? Just so you can see how it looks. How you look."

She hesitated, and I could see the war playing out behind her eyes. This was the moment where we could still pull back, still pretend this was innocent.

"Okay," she said finally. "But just a few for you." 

I stood, moving around her, finding angles with my phone in my hand. Through the camera lens, she was even more breathtaking. I directed her gently—turn this way, lift your chin, put your hand on your hip. She was nervous at first, self-conscious, but gradually she relaxed into it. She was a natural – a photographer’s dream.

Her movements became more fluid, more sensual as she became more relaxed and confident. She ran her hands through her hair, arched her back, let her fingers trail down her stomach.

"You're beautiful," I murmured, still taking pictures.

Donna's hands moved to the clasp of her bra. She held my gaze as she unhooked it, letting it fall away. Her breasts were perfect, full and round, her nipples tight peaks, aroused and hard.

I lowered the phone slightly, my breath catching.

She reached for the suspender belt next, unfastening it and letting it drop to the floor. Then her thumbs hooked into the sides of the thong, and she slid it down her legs, stepping out of it gracefully.

She stood before me completely naked, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths.

I set the phone down on the coffee table. She crossed the distance between us in three steps. Her hands went to my shirt, fingers working the buttons with deliberate slowness. She pushed it off my shoulders, then moved to my belt. I stood still, letting her undress me, the anticipation almost unbearable.

When she'd stripped me down to my boxers, she could see the evidence of my arousal straining against the fabric—thick and hard, the outline unmistakable. She looked up at me, her eyes dark with desire, pupils dilated. Her lips parted slightly as she held my gaze, and then, with deliberate grace, she sank to her knees before me. The sight of her kneeling there, completely naked, her breasts rising and falling with each breath, sent a jolt of pure electricity through my body. This beautiful woman, on her knees for me, looking up with such raw want in her eyes—it was almost too much to process.

Her fingers hooked into the waistband of my boxers, and she pulled them down slowly, teasingly. My cock sprang free, fully erect and already glistening at the tip. Donna's breath hitched as she took in the sight of me, her tongue darting out to wet her lips in unconscious anticipation. She wrapped one hand around my shaft, her fingers cool against my heated skin, and I groaned at the contact. Her touch was firm but gentle, exploratory. She stroked me once, twice, learning the feel of me, the weight and hardness in her palm. Her thumb swept over the head, spreading the bead of moisture there, and my hips jerked involuntarily.

"God, Donna," I breathed, my hands moving to her hair, fingers threading through the soft strands.

She looked up at me, maintaining eye contact as she leaned forward. Her breath was warm against my length, teasing, promising. Then her tongue extended, and she licked me from base to tip in one long, slow stroke that made my knees nearly buckle.

"Oh my God," I gasped.

She smiled at my reaction, clearly pleased with the effect she was having on me. Then she opened her mouth and took me inside. The sensation was exquisite. The wet heat of her mouth enveloped me, her lips forming a tight seal around my shaft as she took me deeper. Her tongue pressed against the underside of my cock, tracing the prominent vein there, and my grip in her hair tightened reflexively. Donna started with shallow movements, taking just the head into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the sensitive crown. She paid special attention to the ridge, that spot just beneath the head that made me groan and tighten my fingers in her hair. Her hand continued to stroke the base of my shaft in rhythm with her mouth, creating a dual sensation that had me fighting to maintain control.

Then she took me deeper.

Inch by inch, she slid me further into her mouth, her lips stretched around my girth. I could feel the back of her throat approaching, feel the way she relaxed to accommodate me. When she had taken as much as she could, she held me there for a moment, her nose nearly touching my pelvis, and the sight of it—this gorgeous woman with my cock buried in her mouth, squeezing my balls, nearly made me come right then.

She pulled back slowly, her cheeks hollowing with suction, and the drag of her lips along my length sent sparks of pleasure racing up my spine. A thin strand of saliva connected her lips to my tip when she released me, and she used her hand to spread the moisture, making her next descent even smoother.

Donna established a rhythm now, bobbing her head up and down my length with increasing confidence. Her technique was masterful—she varied her pace, sometimes taking me deep and slow, other times quick and shallow. She used her hand in conjunction with her mouth, stroking what she couldn't fit, twisting slightly on the upstroke in a way that made my toes curl.

I groaned, my voice strained. "That feels incredible."

She hummed in response, the vibration travelling through my cock and making me gasp. Her free hand moved to cup my balls again, rolling them gently, adding another layer of sensation that had me struggling to stay upright.

I looked down at her, and the visual was almost as overwhelming as the physical sensation. Her lips were swollen and slick, stretched around me. Her eyes were half-closed in concentration, but every few strokes she'd look up at me, making eye contact that felt impossibly intimate. Saliva glistened on her chin, and there was something primal and erotic about seeing her like this—dishevelled, eager, completely focused on my pleasure.

She took me deep again, and this time she didn't stop. She pushed past her gag reflex, taking me into her throat, and the tight, convulsing heat of it made me cry out. My hips bucked forward involuntarily, and she took it, held me there, her nose pressed against my pelvis, her throat working around me. When she finally pulled back, gasping for air, strings of saliva connected her mouth to my cock. She looked up at me with watering eyes and swollen lips, and she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

"You're going to kill me," I managed.

She smiled wickedly and took me back into her mouth, this time with renewed enthusiasm. Her pace increased, her head bobbing faster, her hand stroking in perfect rhythm. She alternated between taking me deep and focusing on the head, her tongue doing wicked things that had me seeing stars.

I could feel my orgasm building, that familiar tightening at the base of my spine, the pressure mounting. My breathing became ragged, my grip in her hair almost painful, but Donna didn't slow down. If anything, she intensified her efforts, sensing how close I was.

"Donna," I gasped, trying to warn her. "I'm going to— slow down"

She responded by taking me even deeper, her throat opening for me, her hand moving faster on my shaft. The wet sounds of her mouth working me filled the room, obscene and arousing. I could feel her enthusiasm, her desire to bring me to completion, and it pushed me closer to the edge. My thighs were trembling now, my entire body taut with the effort of holding back. I wanted this to last, wanted to savour every second of her mouth on me, but the pleasure was too intense, too overwhelming.

She pulled back at the last possible moment, releasing me with a soft, wet pop. Her hand continued to stroke me, keeping me right on the edge but not pushing me over. She looked up at me, her lips swollen and glistening, her eyes dark with desire.

"Not yet," she whispered, her voice husky. "I want you inside me when you come. I want to feel you lose control while you're buried deep inside me."

The words, combined with the sight of her kneeling before me, nearly undid me anyway. My cock twitched in her hand, a bead of moisture forming at the tip. She leaned forward and licked it away, her tongue swirling around the head one more time, making me groan.

"Bedroom," she said, her voice thick with need. "Now."

I pulled her to her feet and kissed her for the first time, deep and hungry. She melted against me, her naked body pressed to mine, and I could feel the heat of her, the need. I broke the kiss and dropped to my knees, my hands on her hips. Donna gasped as I leaned forward, my breath hot against her inner thigh.

"Your turn first," I murmured.

I tasted her, my tongue exploring her folds, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves that made her cry out. She was already wet, already ready for me, and the knowledge sent a surge of desire through me.

I worked her with my mouth and tongue, my hands gripping her thighs to steady her as she began to shake. She threaded her fingers through my hair, holding me against her, her hips moving in rhythm with my ministrations.

"Oh god," she moaned. "Oh god, Andy, I'm—"

I felt her tense, felt the tremors beginning, but before she could tip over the edge, I pulled back.

"Bedroom, now."

We barely made it down the hallway. We kissed frantically, stumbling, hands roaming over each other's bodies. Donna pushed open a door, and we fell onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs and desperate need. I positioned myself above her, my weight on my forearms, looking down into her flushed face. "Are you sure?" I asked, giving her one last chance to stop this.

"Yes," she breathed. "God, yes."

I entered her slowly, savouring the sensation of her body accepting me, the tight heat enveloping me inch by inch. Donna's eyes fluttered closed and she moaned, her back arching off the bed.

"Look at me," I commanded, and her eyes opened, locking with mine.

I began to move, establishing a steady rhythm. Each thrust drew gasps from her, her nails digging into my shoulders. The forbidden nature of what we were doing—both of us married, both of us betraying vows—only heightened the intensity.

"Harder," Donna whispered. "Please, harder."

I obliged, increasing my pace, driving into her with more force. The bed creaked beneath us, the headboard tapping against the wall. Donna wrapped her legs around my waist, changing the angle, and we both groaned at the deeper penetration. I could feel the pressure building, but I wasn't ready for this to end. I slowed my movements, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in with agonizing slowness.

"Fuck me forever," Donna gasped.

"I'll try," I murmured against her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. I rolled us over in one smooth motion, my hands gripping her hips as I manoeuvred us, so she was on top, straddling me. The shift in position made us both gasp—I slipped even deeper inside her from this angle as she sat upright, and Donna's eyes widened at the sensation.

For a moment, she just sat there, adjusting to the feeling of me buried completely inside her, her thighs spread wide across my hips. I looked up at her, and the sight stole my breath. She was magnificent—her skin flushed and glowing with a sheen of perspiration that caught the afternoon light filtering through the bedroom curtains. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath, nipples still hard and peaked. Her hair was tousled, falling around her shoulders in wild waves. There was something powerful about seeing her above me like this, in control, yet completely vulnerable in her nakedness and desire.

"Ride me," I said, my voice rough with need. "I want to watch you come."

Donna placed her hands on my chest for balance, her palms flat against my skin. She lifted herself slowly, rising until just the head of my cock remained inside her, and then sank back down with equal deliberation. The sensation was exquisite—from this angle, I could feel every inch of her tight heat sliding along my length, could feel the way her body gripped me, reluctant to let me go even as she rose up.

"God, you feel so big," she breathed, her eyes half-closed in pleasure.

She began to establish a rhythm, rising and falling on me with increasing confidence. Her movements were fluid, sensual, her hips rolling in a way that had me gripping the sheets beneath me. Each time she sank down, taking me to the hilt, she would grind against me slightly, stimulating her clit against my pelvis, and the small gasps of pleasure she made drove me wild. My hands moved to her hips, my fingers digging into the soft flesh there. I could feel the flex and release of her muscles as she moved, could feel the slight tremor in her thighs from the exertion. I guided her movements slightly, helping her find the angle that made her moan, but mostly I let her set the pace, let her take what she needed.

Her breasts bounced with each movement, hypnotic and erotic. Her torso undulated, her stomach muscles flexing as she rode me. Sometimes she would lean forward, changing the angle, her hands braced on my chest, her hair wet with sweat. Other times she would sit up straight, her back arching, her head thrown back in abandon, and I could see the long line of her throat, the way her pulse fluttered there.

The sounds filling the room were obscene and beautiful—the wet slide of our bodies joining, the slap of skin on skin, our mingled breathing and moans. The bed creaked rhythmically beneath us, the headboard resuming its tapping against the wall. But more than that, there was the intimacy of facing each other, of being able to see every expression of pleasure that crossed her face, every flutter of her eyelids, every parting of her lips.

"You're so beautiful," I groaned, my hands sliding from her hips up to cup her breasts, my thumbs brushing over her nipples. "So fucking beautiful like this."

Donna's pace increased, her movements becoming more urgent. She was riding me harder now, faster, taking me deep with each downward thrust. Her inner muscles clenched around me, creating a friction that had me fighting not to come too soon. I could feel her getting wetter, could hear it in the slick sounds of our coupling.

Donna's eyes opened, locking with mine, dark with desire and something like gratitude. One hand left my chest, trailing down her own body—over her breast, across her stomach—until it reached the junction where our bodies met. Her fingers found her clit, and she gasped at the contact, her rhythm faltering for just a moment.

"That's it," I encouraged, my hands returning to her hips, helping her maintain her pace. "Make yourself come on my cock."

She circled her clit with her fingers, her movements matching the rhythm of her hips. I could feel the occasional brush of her fingers against the base of my shaft as she rode me, could see the concentration and pleasure on her face. Her other hand pressed harder against my chest, using me for leverage as she moved faster, chasing her release.

The sight of her touching herself while impaled on me was almost too much. Her fingers moved in tight circles, occasionally dipping lower to feel where we were joined, to spread her wetness. Her breathing became ragged, punctuated by small whimpers and moans that went straight to my cock.

"Oh god," she gasped, her movements becoming erratic. "Oh god, Andy, I'm almost there"

"Come for me," I urged, thrusting up to meet her downward movements, driving myself deeper. "Let me feel you come. Let me feel that tight pussy squeeze my cock."

Her fingers moved faster on her clit, her hips grinding down hard against me. I could feel the change in her body, the way her inner muscles began to flutter around me, the way her thighs tensed against my hips. Her back arched, her breasts thrust forward, and her mouth fell open in a silent cry. Then her orgasm hit.

Donna's entire body went rigid for a heartbeat, suspended in that moment before the wave crashed over her. Then she convulsed, her pussy clenching around me in powerful, rhythmic pulses that squeezed my cock like a fist. She cried out, her voice breaking with the intensity of it. Her hips jerked against me, grinding down hard, her fingers still working her clit to prolong the sensation.

I watched in awe. Her face was a mask of ecstasy, her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth open, her entire body trembling. I could feel every contraction of her orgasm, feel the way she pulsed and clenched around my cock. The sensation was overwhelming, the visual even more so. The feeling of her coming, the sight of her lost in pleasure, the sound of her cries pushed me over the edge.

"Fuck, Donna," I groaned, my fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave marks. "I'm coming—"

I thrust up into her hard, once, twice, three times, driving myself as deep as possible. My orgasm exploded through me with an intensity that bordered on painful. My cock pulsed inside her, releasing in powerful spurts, and I could feel her still-contracting muscles milking every drop from me.

"Yes," Donna moaned, still grinding against me, prolonging both our orgasms. "Yes, fill me. I want to feel it."

My hips jerked with each pulse of my release, my hands holding her down on me, keeping her impaled as I emptied myself inside her. The sensation seemed to go on forever, but finally, the intensity began to ebb. Donna's movements slowed, became gentler, her hand falling away from her clit to brace against my chest again. My grip on her hips loosened, my hands sliding up to her waist, then her back, pulling her down to me. She came willingly, collapsing onto my chest, both of us gasping for air, our hearts pounding against each other.

I was still inside her, softening now, but neither of us moved to separate. We lay there, bodies joined, skin slick with sweat, trembling with aftershocks. I could feel the occasional flutter of her inner muscles around me, the last echoes of her orgasm, and each one sent a small spark of pleasure through my oversensitive cock.

Finally, Donna rolled off me, curling onto her side. I turned to face her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. We lay there for several minutes until Donna looked at the clock.

"Gosh - I'm supposed to be meeting a girl friend"

"I should go," I said quietly, though I made no move to leave.

"I know," she replied.

We lay there for another few minutes, neither wanting to break the spell. But eventually, I forced myself to sit up, to gather my scattered clothes. Donna watched me dress, laying there naked, gently stoking her breasts.

When I was fully clothed, I sat on the edge of the bed. "That was..."

"I know," she said again, a small smile playing at her lips.

I stood, and Donna rose too, wrapping the sheet around herself. She walked me to the door, and we stood there awkwardly, the weight of our actions and our separate lives pressing down on us.

"Thank you," Donna said softly. "For bringing the package."

I laughed, the absurdity of it all hitting me. "Anytime."

She bit her lip, that same gesture from when we'd first met. "Actually," she said, her voice taking on a playful tone, "I've been thinking about ordering a new basque. Something in red, maybe. But I'd need to make sure it fits properly. Would you be available to check it for me?"

Our eyes met, and I felt that same jolt of electricity.

"Well, you know, for quality control purposes."

Donna agreed and passed me a business card with her number on from a box near the door, her smile widening.

I kissed her one more time, soft and lingering. Then I pulled back, opened the door, and walked to my car afraid to look back in case it was just a dream.

As I drove away, I could see her in my rear-view mirror, standing in the doorway wrapped in a sheet, watching me go. My phone buzzed with a text from my wife—Be home around 6. Want to order a takeaway?

I texted back a quick affirmative, then glanced at the house one more time before it disappeared from view.

Three miles. That's all it had taken. Three miles and a wrong delivery, and my carefully ordered life had tilted on its axis.

I should feel guilty. I should feel terrible.

But all I could think about was a red lace basque and the promise of another afternoon.