The Monday morning traffic was heavier than usual, a slow-moving chain of cars and frustration that crept along the motorway at a pace that saw my anxiety creep up the scale with each passing minute. My wife sat beside me in the driver's seat, her hands relaxed on the wheel, completely unaware of the tension building inside me.
"It's unusual for you to have to go see a client like this," she said, glancing at the brake lights ahead. "I thought most of your meetings were virtual these days."
"They are," I replied, keeping my voice casual. "But this is a special project. Big potential client. They insisted on face-to-face meetings, the old-fashioned way. You know how some of these European firms are, they like to see who they're working with."
"Mmmm," she murmured, her attention already drifting back to the road. "Well, I hope it's worth the trip. Three days seems like a long time for a pitch meeting. Must be important if they are doing it over so many days I guess."
"There are several stakeholders involved, and they don’t want us bumping into the incumbent agency. They don’t know they are being given the boot." I said, the lie flowing smoothly now, practiced over the past few weeks. "Multiple presentations, site visits, that sort of thing. It's a comprehensive pitch and they want us to get to know their offerings at the same time."
She nodded, accepting it without question, and I felt the familiar twist of guilt in my stomach. But it was distant, easily pushed aside by the anticipation thrumming through my veins. In a few hours, I’d have a full three days of freedom. Three days I didn't have to watch the clock or worry about being discovered.
The traffic ahead came to a complete stop, and my wife sighed, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.
"What's going on?" I asked, craning my neck to see ahead.
"Looks like there’s been an accident," she said, pointing to the blue flashing lights in the distance. "Hopefully we get past it soon."
My heart sank. I checked my watch: 7:45 AM. My flight was at 9:30, and we were still twenty minutes from the airport, in normal traffic. At this rate, it was going to be tight. Very tight.
"How long do you think?" I asked, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.
"Hard to say. The satnav is suggested ten minutes delay so we should be there in half an hour." She glanced at me. "You'll be fine. You've got plenty of time."
But I didn't have plenty of time. I had hand baggage only, which would help, but security could be unpredictable. And if I missed this flight, the entire carefully constructed plan for my days of freedom would collapse. The thought of watching the minutes tick by, wondering if I'd make it, made my stomach clench.
The traffic inched forward, stop and start, stop and start. Each minute felt like an eternity. I watched the clock on the dashboard tick over: 7:50, 7:55, 8:00. My wife seemed completely unconcerned, humming along to the radio, while I sat there trying to appear calm, my mind racing through contingency plans.
Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably only fifteen minutes, we passed the accident, a crumpled Vauxhall being loaded onto a recovery truck, police cars and an ambulance blocking two lanes. Once past it, the traffic opened up, and my wife accelerated, the car surging forward with blessed speed.
"See?" she said. "Told you it would be fine."
We reached the airport at 8:25. She pulled up to the departures drop-off, and I grabbed my carry-on from the back seat.
"Have a good trip," she said, leaning over for a perfunctory kiss. "Text me when you land."
"I will," I promised, already opening the door. "Thanks for the lift."
"Good luck with the pitch."
I closed the door and watched her pull away, merging back into the traffic. Then I turned and ran. The terminal was busy, the usual chaos of business travellers and holidaymakers. I made my way through the crowds, my carry-on case bumping against my leg, heading for security, offering a silent prayer of thanks to online check in. The queues weren't terrible, but they weren't great either. I joined the shortest line and tried to breathe, checking my watch again: 8:30. An hour until take off. It would be fine. It had to be fine.
Security seemed to take forever. The family ahead of me had apparently never flown before, fumbling with their bags, forgetting to remove their laptops, setting off the metal detector repeatedly. I stood there, forcing myself to remain patient, to not tap my foot or sigh audibly. Finally, they were through, and it was my turn.
I'd done this a thousand times. Laptop out, liquids in a clear bag, belt off, shoes off, everything in the tray. I walked through the scanner without incident, collected my things on the other side, getting dressed in public once again, and started moving again, faster now, checking the departure boards as I went.
Gate 12. Boarding. The word flashed next to my flight number, and my heart rate kicked up another notch.
I half-ran through the terminal, dodging slow-moving tourists and stopping only briefly to check the gate number again. Gate 12 was at the far end of the terminal, naturally. I kept moving, my case rattling behind me, my breath coming faster.
When I finally reached the gate, they were boarding the last passengers. A handful of people stood in line, and the gate agent was making an announcement about final boarding call. I joined the queue, fishing my boarding pass out of my pocket, trying to catch my breath. The ground staff scanned my pass without comment, and I walked down the tunnel, my heart still pounding. I'd made it.
The plane was nearly full, passengers settling into their seats, stowing bags, the usual pre-flight bustle. I made my way down the aisle, checking seat numbers: 20, 21, 22, 23. There it was. 23B.
The window seat was occupied, a woman with short hair looking out at the tarmac. I couldn't see her face, but something about her posture was familiar. I opened the overhead bin, stowed my bag, and slid into my seat, still slightly breathless from my dash through the terminal.
I turned to acknowledge my neighbour and smiled.
"You were cutting it fine, Andy," Donna said, her eyes sparkling with amusement and relief.
"You're telling me," I replied, unable to stop the grin spreading across my face. Her appearance always made my heart beat a little faster, and it was doing that now.
She looked beautiful. She wore a simple navy dress with a light jacket, her short hair styled perfectly, minimal makeup that enhanced her natural features. But it was her eyes that held me, warm, knowing, full of the same anticipation I felt.
"Traffic?" she asked.
"Accident on the motorway. I thought I was going to miss it."
"I was starting to worry," she admitted, her voice low. “I got your text telling me to go ahead and board without you. I kept watching the door, wondering if you'd make it. I was worried I would be starting the holiday alone while you were trying to book the next plane."
"I'm here now," I said, reaching over to take her hand. The gesture felt bold, public, but the plane was filling with the noise of final preparations, and no one was paying attention to us.
"And I am so glad you are," she agreed, squeezing my fingers.
Just a few minutes later, the doors had closed and the plane was being pushed back to begin its journey to the runway. The flight attendants began their safety demonstration, and we were forced to release hands, to sit back and pretend to pay attention. But I could feel Donna beside me, the warmth of her presence, the subtle scent of her perfume. Three days. We had three days together.
The plane trundled along the taxiway and finally took its place at the end of the runway as the engines began to increase their note before we were accelerating, the engines roaring, the ground falling away beneath us. I watched through the window as the airport grew smaller, the city spreading out below us, and then we were above the clouds, on the way to our destination.
Once the seatbelt sign was turned off, Donna turned to me, and without a word, we leaned toward each other and kissed. It was soft at first, tentative, aware of our surroundings. But then it deepened, became more urgent, weeks of anticipation and planning pouring into that single moment of connection. When we finally broke apart, we were both breathless, and I could see the flush on Donna's cheeks, the brightness in her eyes.
"I've been wanting to do that since you got on the plane," she whispered.
"Me too," I said. "It’s been a while since our last meet."
We settled back into our seats, but Donna kept her hand in mine, our fingers intertwined on the armrest between us. It felt significant, this public display of affection, even if no one around us knew we were anything other than a normal couple traveling together.
"How did you manage it?" I asked quietly. "What did you tell David?"
"A design conference and exhibition," she said. "Three days of workshops and networking. He barely looked up from his laptop when I told him. Just said 'have a good trip' and went back to his emails."
"My wife thinks I'm pitching to a potential client in Trieste. Multiple meetings, site visits, the whole elaborate story."
"Do you think she believed you?"
"She didn't question it," I said. "But then, she never does. I could probably tell her I was going to the moon, and she'd just ask if I'd remembered to pack enough socks."
Donna laughed softly, but there was sadness in it. "It's strange, isn't it? How easy it is to deceive them. How little attention they pay."
"Maybe that's why we're here," I said. "Because we were tired of being invisible."
She looked at me, her expression serious. "I see you, Andy. I hope you know that."
"I do," I said, bringing her hand to my lips and kissing her knuckles. "And I can certainly see you, Donna."
The flight was just under three hours, and we spent it talking quietly, occasionally kissing when the flight attendants weren't looking, existing in our own private bubble despite being surrounded by strangers. We talked about Trieste, about what we wanted to see and do, about the hotel we'd chosen, a boutique place near harbour, with views of the Adriatic. But mostly we just enjoyed being together, the anticipation building with each passing mile, each minute that brought us closer to our destination.
When the plane began its descent, Donna squeezed my hand tighter, and I could see the excitement and nervousness in her eyes. The landing was smooth, and soon we were taxiing to the gate. The moment the seatbelt sign turned off, passengers jumped up, grabbing bags, crowding the aisle in the usual post-flight chaos. Donna and I waited, in no rush, letting the crowd thin before retrieving our bags and making our way off the plane.
Trieste Airport was smaller than I'd expected, efficient and modern. We moved through it together, side by side, and it felt natural, right. At passport Donna went through ahead of me, and I quickly followed as she waited for me.
We both just had the small cases, so did not have to wait for the carousel of luggage, and made our way through customs without incident. Then we were out, in the arrivals hall, and Donna turned to me with a brilliant smile.
"We made it," she said.
"We did," I agreed, pulling her close for a quick kiss. "Now let's get to the hotel."
We took a taxi, the driver loading our bags while we climbed into the back seat. As the car pulled away from the airport, heading toward the city, Donna slid close to me, her head on my shoulder, my arm around her. Through the window, I watched the Italian countryside roll by, rolling hills, vineyards, the occasional villa with terracotta roof tiles.
"It's beautiful," Donna murmured.
"It is," I agreed, though I was looking at her more than the scenery.
The drive took about forty minutes, and then we were pulling up at our hotel in the heart of the old city. We checked in as Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, the same alias we'd used at the countryside hotel, and the receptionist handed over our key cards with a warm smile.
"Room 412, fourth floor. The lift is just there. Breakfast is served from seven to ten in the breakfast room, and if you need any recommendations for restaurants or sights, please don't hesitate to ask."
"Thank you," I said, taking the keys.
The lift took us to the fourth floor, and we quickly found our room halfway down a quiet corridor. I slid the key card into the lock, and the door clicked open.
The room was beautiful. Larger than I'd expected, with high ceilings and tall windows that looked out over the city toward the sea. The décor was elegant but comfortable, a king-size bed with crisp white linens, a sitting area with two armchairs and a small table, a writing desk, and through an open door, a spacious marble bathroom.
But I wasn't really looking at the room. I was looking at Donna.
We set our bags down, and for a moment, we just stood there, looking at each other. Then Donna stepped forward, and I met her halfway, and we were kissing, deeply, urgently, all the pent-up desire from the journey pouring out.
My hands found the zipper of her dress, and I pulled it down slowly, feeling the fabric loosen. I pushed it off her shoulders, and it fell to the floor. Underneath, she wore simple underwear, a pale pink bra and matching knickers, and she was breathtaking.
"You're so beautiful," I murmured, my hands tracing the curves of her body.
"So are you," she replied, her fingers working at the buttons of my shirt.
We undressed each other with deliberate care, taking our time despite the urgency we felt. When we were both naked, I took her hand and led her to the bed. I laid her down gently on the white sheets, and she looked up at me. I covered her body with mine, supporting my weight on my forearms, and kissed her deeply. Our bodies pressed together, skin to skin, and I could feel her heart racing against my chest. My cock was already hard, pressing against her stomach, and Donna reached down to wrap her hand around it, stroking slowly.
"I need you," she whispered. "I've needed you since we got on that plane."
"I know," I said, positioning myself at her entrance. "Me too."
I pushed forward slowly, feeling her body open for me, accept me. We both groaned at the sensation, the heat, the tightness, the perfect fit. I started to move, establishing a slow, deep rhythm, and felt Donna wrapping her legs around my waist once more.
This wasn't the frantic coupling of stolen moments. This was different, slower, more deliberate, more intimate. We had time. We had three days. We could savour every thrust, every gasp, every feeling of pleasure. I made love to her slowly, thoroughly, watching her face as pleasure built across her features. Her eyes stayed locked on mine, and there was something profound in that connection, something that went beyond the physical.
"Andy," she breathed, her arms wrapping around me. "Oh god, Andy."
I could feel her excitement rising and getting closer to her erotic peak, her inner muscles settling around my cock. I reached between us and found her clit, rubbing it in time with my thrusts, and helped her excitement go over the edge. She came with a cry, her body twisting in pleasure beneath me, her pussy gripping me in excitement.
The sensation of her orgasm was enough to set me off in sympathy. I thrust deep and held there, my cock pulsing inside her, filling her with my thick cum. We stayed like that for a long moment, lying in each other’s arms, both recovering our breath, not wanting to separate.
When I finally softened and slipped out of her, I rolled onto my side and pulled her against me. We lay there, holding each other, letting our bodies come slowly back down to their normal state.
"Welcome to Trieste," Donna said with a breathless laugh.
"Best welcome I've ever had," I replied, kissing her forehead.
We dozed for a while, tired from the early start, and sated, wrapped in each other's arms. When we finally stirred, the afternoon sun was slanting through the windows, painting the room in golden light.
"Shower?" Donna suggested, stretching languidly.
"Together?"
"Is there any other way?"
The bathroom was spacious and modern, with a large walk-in shower that could easily fit two. Donna turned on the water, adjusting the temperature, and we stepped under the spray together.
The hot water felt incredible, washing away the travel fatigue and the evidence of our lovemaking. I reached for the shower gel, something expensive and Italian that the hotel had provided, and poured some into my hands. Then I began to wash Donna's body, starting with her shoulders, massaging gently, working my way down her back.
She sighed contentedly, leaning into my touch. "I’d forgotten how good that felt."
I washed her with care, my hands exploring every curve of her body. I stood behind her and when I reached her breasts, I cupped them gently, my thumbs brushing over her nipples. They hardened under my touch, and Donna's body pushed back into mine.
"Careful," she warned playfully. "Or we'll never make it out of this shower."
"Would that be so bad?" I murmured, but I continued my washing, moving down her stomach, her hips, her thighs.
When I was finished, Donna took the shower gel and returned the favour, her hands exploring my body with the same deliberate care. She washed my chest, my back, my legs, and when her soapy hands wrapped around my cock, I groaned.
"Just making sure you're thoroughly clean," she said with a mischievous smile.
"Very thorough," I managed, my cock hardening in her grip.
But she released me, rinsing away the soap, and we finished our shower with gentle touches and soft kisses. We dried off with the plush towels the hotel provided and returned to the bedroom to dress.
I watched Donna as she dressed, pulling on fresh lemon underwear, a simple summer dress in a soft green that brought out her eyes. She applied minimal makeup as usual, just enough to enhance her natural beauty, and ran her fingers through her damp hair.
"You're staring again," she said with a smile.
"Can't help it," I replied, pulling on dark trousers and a casual shirt. "I just can’t believe how lucky I am to have the view."
We left the hotel as the early evening settled over the city, the air warm and fragrant with the scent of the sea. We walked hand in hand through the narrow streets, exploring, getting our bearings. Trieste was beautiful, a city of grand squares and elegant buildings, of narrow alleys and hidden courtyards, of coffee houses and bookshops.
We found a restaurant near the main Piazza, a small place with tables outside overlooking the square. The waiter showed us to a corner table, and we settled in, studying the menus.
"What do you fancy?" I asked.
"Everything," Donna said with a laugh. "It all looks amazing."
We ordered our food. Fresh pasta ravioli for me, grilled fish for her, a bottle of local white wine to share. As we waited for our food, we talked, the conversation flowing easily.
"This is surreal," Donna said, looking around at the square, the people strolling past, the lights beginning to twinkle as dusk fell. "Being here with you. Being able to do this, sit at a restaurant, hold hands, just be together without worrying. No chance of anyone who knows us walking by."
"I know," I agreed. "It feels like we're so far from our normal lives. Our real lives don't exist here."
"Maybe they don't," she said softly. "Maybe this is the real life, and everything else is the dream."
Our food arrived, and it was delicious, simple, fresh, perfectly prepared. We ate slowly, savouring each bite, sharing tastes from each other's plates from each other’s forks. The wine was crisp and well chilled, and as we drank, we relaxed further into this fantasy of being a normal couple on holiday.
"What do you want to do tomorrow?" I asked.
"I don't know," Donna said. "See the city, I suppose. The castle, the cathedral. Maybe take a walk along the waterfront."
"Sounds perfect."
"But mostly," she continued, her eyes meeting mine, "I just want to be with you. Everything else is secondary."
"I feel the same way," I said, reaching across the table to take her hand.
We finished our meal and ordered coffee, sitting there as the evening deepened around us, watching the life of the square unfold. Couples strolled past, families with children, groups of friends laughing and talking. We were just another couple among many, unremarkable, invisible in the best possible way.
Eventually, we paid the bill and walked back to the hotel, taking our time, enjoying the warm evening air and the beauty of the city. When we reached our room, Donna turned to me with a look that made my pulse quicken.
"Give me a few minutes," she said, grabbing something from her suitcase and disappearing into the bathroom.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my heart rate climbing, anticipation building. I could hear water running, the soft sounds of movement. Then the bathroom door opened, and Donna emerged.
She wore black lingerie, a lace bra that lifted and displayed her breasts beautifully with most of the breast and nipple on clear show, matching knickers that sat low on her hips, and sheer black stockings held up by a garter belt. Her hair was slightly tousled, her lips painted a deep red, and she looked like every fantasy I'd ever had.
"Jesus, Donna," I breathed.
She walked toward me slowly, deliberately, her hips swaying. When she reached me, she pushed me back on the bed and straddled me, her hands moving to my shirt buttons.
"My turn to undress you," she murmured.
She unbuttoned my shirt slowly, pushing it off my shoulders, her fingers trailing across my chest. Then she moved to my belt, unbuckling it, unzipping my trousers. I lifted my hips so she could pull them down, along with my boxers, and then I was naked beneath her.
Donna slid down my body, her lips trailing kisses across my chest, my stomach, moving lower. When she reached my cock, already hard and straining, she wrapped her hand around it and looked up at me with those warm eyes.
"I've been thinking about having this as dessert all through dinner," she said.
Then she lowered her head and took me into her mouth.
I groaned, my hands moving to her hair as she worked me with her lips and tongue. She took me deep, her hand gently cupping and squeezing my scrotum, and the sensation was incredible. I watched her, this beautiful woman pleasuring me, and I felt overwhelmed with desire and something deeper, something that scared me with its intensity.
"Donna," I gasped. "If you keep doing that, I'm going to come."
She pulled back, releasing me with a soft pop. "Then I’ll have to do it again," she said with a wicked smile. "I'm not done with you that easily."
She climbed back up my body, and I rolled her onto her back, kissing her deeply. My hands moved to her breasts, cupping them gently, feeling her nipples harden. I unclasped her bra and tossed it aside, then lowered my head to take one nipple into my mouth.
Donna moaned seductively as I sucked her nipple and teased it with my teeth, her hands gripping my shoulders. I lavished attention on her breasts, sucking and licking each in turn, pulling away from her with the nipple held firmly between my teeth. Meanwhile my hand slid down her stomach and slid over her knickers. I could feel the heat of her through the lace, and when I pressed against her, she moaned.
I hooked my fingers into the top of her knickers and gently pulled them down, leaving her in just the stockings and garter belt. The sight of her like that, spread before me, made my cock throb even more. It was a matter of a few seconds to kiss my way down her body, and when I reached her thighs, I pushed them apart gently. She was already wet, glistening with arousal, and definitely was not resisting. I leaned forward and tasted her.
"Oh, my word," Donna gasped, her hips writhing on the bed.
I explored her with my tongue, finding her clit and circling it, then sliding lower to taste her deeply. I slid two fingers inside her, curving them upwards to find her G spot, and I worked her steadily, building her pleasure.
"Andy," she moaned, her hands fisting in the sheets. "Oh god, Andy, don't stop. Make me cum."
I continued to work her with my mouth and fingers until her thighs were trembling, until her breathing was growing ever quicker, until she was right on the edge. Then I sucked her clit hard, and she came with a cry, her pussy clenching around my fingers, her juices flowing into my mouth and tasting like nectar. I didn't intend to give her time to recover. I wanted more from her quickly and I climbed up her body and positioned my hard cock at her entrance and thrust inside her with little mercy.
We both groaned at the sensations. I started to move, gentle and slowly this time, drawing it out until I was almost leaving her, and then pushing all the way back in again to full depth, making each thrust last. Donna lifted her legs around me, still in those stockings, and the feel of the silk against my skin was incredibly erotic.
"You feel so good," I murmured against her neck. "So perfect."
"Harder," she gasped. "I want to feel you all the way inside."
I increased my pace, thrusting deeper, and Donna met me stroke for stroke. I was making the running and finding the perfect rhythm, our bodies slick with sweat, the sounds of our lovemaking filling the room and flying out through the shuttered windows.
I knew my orgasm was building and fast approaching, but I wanted Donna to come again before I got to the point of no return. My efforts were working well, and she was soon crying out once more, her pussy clenching around me as she came, biting my shoulder.
It was all too much. My cock had seen a lot of action inside her and I finally thrust hard and deep several times and then held there. My cock started pulsing inside her at full depth, filling her with my white cum. Then I looked deep into her eyes, and told her,
“I love you”
"I love you too," Donna whispered back
My softening cock slipped from its new home once more, and we lay side by side, staring up at the ornate ceiling
"You're incredible," I replied, turning to kiss her once again.
We lay there in the evening darkness, listening to the sounds of the city drifting through the open window. Voices speaking Italian, the distant sound of music, the occasional car passing on the street below. It was peaceful, intimate, perfect.
"Andy?" Donna said softly.
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For this. For making this happen. For three days where we can just be us."
"Thank you," I replied. "For being here. For seeing me. For making me feel alive again."
She turned in my arms to face me, and even in the darkness, I could see the emotion in her eyes. "I think I'm falling for you," she whispered. "I know I shouldn't. I know this is complicated and messy and probably going to end badly. But I can't help it."
My chest tightened with emotion. "I'm falling for you too," I admitted. "Have been since that first afternoon in your kitchen."
We kissed, soft and lingering, and then we settled back into each other's arms. The sounds of the city continued around us, a gentle lullaby, and gradually, wrapped in each other's warmth, we drifted off to sleep.
Tomorrow would bring new adventures, new moments to steal and treasure. But for now, we had this, each other, this room, this city, and three precious days where we could pretend that this was our real life, and everything else was just a dream.
