Missy was a regular customer at the craft store, and since I had moved to full-time, I saw her even more than before, which proved to be a big distraction for me.

She was tall and curvy and had a penchant for snug sweaters and flared jeans. Her dark hair was always twisted up in some kind of messy topknot as if she were too damn busy with her creations to worry about things like hair. She wore very little makeup; she didn’t need it. And she always smelled like peaches.

As I gawked at her, she must’ve assumed I was checking out her basket of fake flowers because she grinned and said, “Can you believe these are on sale? Poinsettias. Just in time for the holidays. The girls are going to love them.”

“Girls?” I asked, swiping each cluster of fake blooms over the register’s scanner.

“I volunteer, teaching crafts to the local Girl Scout troop,” she said. “My kids are in college and way too cool for centerpieces and Christmas wreaths.”

She winked at me, and my cock jerked in my jeans.

At the end of her parade of flowers was a scented candle. Peach.

“That’s a little treat for me,” she said, digging out her wallet. “For the long night ahead.”

I cleared my throat and asked, “Big date?”

I managed to utter the words as if I hadn’t fueled many late-night, jerk-off sessions by conjuring images of this hot older woman in my head.

She laughed long and loud, and her good-natured attitude made me laugh along with her.

“Oh no, honey,” she said. “I have to make a sample centerpiece for the girls and then prep all this stuff for my next class.”

“Ah,” I replied. “So the candle is your reward.”

She pushed her credit card into the reader and added, “Well, that and a bottle of red.”

“Need any help? Want any company?” I blurted out. “I don’t work tonight.”

She studied me for a moment, and I felt my face grow hot. I was 20-something to her 40-something, and I figured she’d laugh in my face and leave. Instead, she queried, “You mean it?”

I swallowed hard and replied, “Yep.”

“Hmm,” she said. Then another smile lit up her face. “A handsome young man like you with no plans?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Well, you’ve got some now. Have a pen?”

I gave her a ballpoint, shoved her receipt in her bag and waited. She grabbed a flyer off the counter, flipped it over, scribbled her address on it and then handed it to me.

“See you tonight,” she said.

I watched her ass as she made her way out of the store—until a grumpy old lady cleared her throat and impatiently asked, “Can you wait on me now?”

The rest of my shift was filled with daydreams about things I hoped would happen, followed by a quick jerk-off in the men’s room to clear my head.

That evening, Missy answered her door in a well-worn band tee and a pair of black leggings. The combination showed off her perfect tits and her even more perfect ass. Her hair was up in a ponytail, and she was barefoot. Flames roared in the fireplace, and some reality TV program played noisily in the background.

“Do you like wine? Or do you want beer instead?” She cocked her head. “Are you even old enough drink? I guess I should have asked that first.”

“I am, and wine is fine,” I said.

She took my coat and let her hand slide down my forearm. Goose bumps broke out along the flesh she’d stroked, and I sighed before I could catch myself.

“You always were my favorite,” she said, handing me a glass.

“Favorite?”

“At the store. You’re helpful and nice and funny, but never make me feel like I’m bothering you.”

“You are never a bother,” I assured her.

“And you’re easy on the eyes, too,” she flirtatiously added.

Heat flooded my cheeks, and when she stepped a hair closer, I figured I might as well take my shot. If I was wrong about her signals, it’d be best to know right away and beat a hasty retreat.

I took her soft ponytail in my hand, held it lightly, leaned in and kissed her.

When her free hand slid down the front of my jeans and cupped my already hard cock, I figured that was a clear sign I had read her signals correctly.

I tugged her ponytail gently, and she groaned into my mouth. She broke our kiss, and I thought I’d gone too far. But she simply plucked the wineglass from my hand, set it on the coffee table and led me to her bedroom.

Feeling clumsy but not caring, I tugged her tee up over her head and revealed her phenomenal breasts. They were unencumbered by a bra and even more lovely than I’d imagined. They were a handful each—no waste there—and topped with rosy nipples. I stroked one, and when she sighed, I reached up and stroked the other. I cupped her tits and took turns suckling each of her nips, making her writhe with delight.

Missy wrapped her arms around me, forcing me to stand up straight, and then kissed me hard. Her curves pressed to my body, her pussy grinding against my denim-covered erection.

I started to say, “I never thought—”

But she cut off my sentence by plunging her hand past the waistband of my jeans and into my boxers. When her cool fingers curled around my cock, I stopped talking altogether.

“Me neither,” she said, stroking my rod. “But here we are.”

My pants felt too tight. Too cumbersome. I unbuttoned the top button, tugged and the whole line of buttons on my fly gave up the ghost.

She took the hint, pushed my jeans and boxers down, then surprised me by squatting and taking my dick in her mouth. Just the tip at first. She swirled her tongue over it before lapping at it with great care. She was making me nuts, so I took her ponytail again and gave it a sharp little tug.

Hissing softly around my cock, she looked up at me with her big blue eyes. But without missing a beat, she slid her mouth down the length of my shaft. I could tell she was pushing as far as she could, striving to get her lips to the base of my cock. Her eyes watered a little as she went past her comfort point.

It was the hottest fucking thing I’d ever seen. I stayed there, briefly frozen. But I came to my senses and broke the connection. I was afraid I’d come right then and there, and our time would be over. But I held it together.

Missy pushed down her leggings and the tiny scrap of her black panties. Naked, she was spectacular.

“You’re very hard, and I’m very wet,” she said, stroking my dick.

I nodded because I didn’t know what to say.

She climbed onto the bed and braced herself on her hands and knees. I could see the red blush of her glistening cunt.

Looking over her shoulder, she said, “Come on and fuck me. I’m dying for it.”

I almost died right there. But I didn’t. Instead, I got right behind her, running the head of my cock along her slippery slit. She sighed and groaned and pushed back against my pole.

I slid into her just an inch and was delirious with pleasure. Wet, tight, slick. She was everything I’d imagined and more. I pushed in slowly, but she grew impatient and lurched backward, fully impaling her pussy on my rod.

We both froze and groaned, and then we started moving together.

I grabbed the luscious flare of her hips. Holding tight, I yanked her back with my hands with each energetic thrust of my dick.

I plunged in deep, reaching the hot depths of her pussy where pleasure waited. I was doubtful I’d make the long haul that night; I was too turned on. But I was fine with that. If I had any say in the matter, our hookup would not be a one-time event. I’d love to be invited back for more crafting. And more wine. And more fucking.

Her pussy clenched around me, and I felt her using her internal muscles on purpose. Milking me. Squeezing me.

“There. Right there,” she said, slamming back to take me. “That’s perfect.”

I held on to her hips for dear life, fucking her fast and hard—and making sure to hit the spots that did it for her. And I know I succeeded because her slick tunnel grew tighter around me. Her juices drenched my cock, and that extra slide was everything to me.

Each thrust was heaven. Every time I hit bottom, I held my breath. It was all so good. So fucking good. Too good.

She tossed back her head, and I grabbed her ponytail again. I held it and her ass and fucked her for dear life.

“I’m going to come,” I said.

“Yes, come in me. Just fill me up,” she moaned. “Then I’m going to make you lick me clean.”

The words caused a visceral reaction in me. She was horny and dirty and gorgeous—and fuck, I was a lucky guy.

I came with a loud growl, surprising even myself at my animalistic reaction. I continued to pump into her as my cock softened and I caught my breath.

She dropped to her belly and rolled onto her back. Her nipples were like stubby pencil erasers, and she squirmed wildly on the bed like a woman possessed.

I spread her toned thighs and dove between them. I licked her pussy with an eagerness that startled even me. I could taste the salty ocean flavor of my cream on her lips. Lapping at her clit, I pushed two fingers into her pussy, which was slick with my leavings. I fucked her with my digits, sucked her clit and drew on it intensely as she bucked and sighed.

“More,” she demanded.

I added a third finger, stretching her and feeling the slippery channel of her pussy grip my fingers. I hooked my digits, working her cunt as I licked her clitoris.

Her cries bounced around the room, her back bowed, and her thighs trembled. I repeated what seemed to please her, and her hands were suddenly in my hair—stroking, tugging and twisting.

Her orgasm rolled through her like a storm, and her pussy tightened around my fingers. The wetness of her juices graced my hand, and she shivered as I continued to lick her until her shudders lessened.

Looking down at me, she asked, “Would it be a poor joke to say you’re a crafty guy?”

“Yeah, but it’s still funny.”

I sprawled next to her on the bed. Her hand stroked my skin, and I had a feeling the night wasn’t over yet. And I was right.