The exchange student

Linda had never been the sort of woman to panic when someone new was coming to stay. She’d hosted fundraisers, church bake sales, even her husband’s dreadful colleagues, and she knew how to put on a smile and bustle about the house like the perfect middle-England hostess.

But this, this was different.

The moment she opened the front door, her heart fluttered like a schoolgirl’s.

“Hi, ma’am,” came the warm, easy drawl.

There he stood, Marcus, the American exchange student who’d be staying in their spare room. Tall, broad-shouldered, carved out of muscle, the kind of man who filled the doorway without even trying. His smile was polite, almost shy, but the way his T-shirt clung to his chest made her pulse skitter.

“Oh!” Linda squeaked, instantly flustered. She smoothed down the front of her summer dress, far too short for such a moment and laughed too brightly. “Do come in, darling. I’ve made up the room for you, fresh sheets and everything. I do hope you like sponge cake, I’ve baked one.”

She was babbling. She knew she was babbling. But it was his fault—his size, his looks, the way her belly gave a warm tingle just being near him.

Her son was in the USA studying and as part of the exchange she had to open her doors (and possibly more) to an exchange student.

She fussed about with his bags, bending to pick one up. The hem of her skirt flipped treacherously high. A cool breeze kissed her bare cheeks. Oh God. She froze, certain he’d seen everything, before tugging the fabric back down.

“Oops,” she giggled, pink in her cheeks. “Silly old me, shouldn’t be bending in a dress like this, should I?”

Marcus just gave a gentle smile. But Linda swore she saw his eyes flick down, just for a second, and her thighs clenched in guilty delight.

The afternoon blurred into a flurry of hostessing. She showed him around the house, chattering about towels, cupboards, and tea bags. Wherever she went, she could feel him behind.

In the kitchen, she reached for a high shelf. The hem of her dress climbed scandalously as she stretched up on tiptoe, arse sticking out, pale thighs glowing in the sunlight. She heard his breath shift, just slightly and her pulse spiked.

“Here we are,” she said too brightly, thrusting a glass into his hand. “I really ought to get a stool, but where’s the fun in that?”

Ridiculous. She was being absolutely ridiculous. But every tiny accident, every flash of skin, made her nipples harden under the thin cotton of her dress.

Dinner was a simple roast chicken, she’d fussed over it far too much and afterwards she padded upstairs for a shower. The steam left her glowing, hair damp and clinging to her cheeks. She wrapped herself in her white robe, soft and fluffy, but she never tied it quite right.

When she came downstairs again, Marcus was lounging on the sofa, big frame relaxed, watching the television. She hovered in the doorway, suddenly aware that her robe had parted at the thigh, baring smooth skin all the way to the crease of her hip.

“Just thought I’d check you’re settling in,” she said brightly, voice wobbling.

His gaze lifted. For the briefest moment, it lingered. Heat shot straight to her core.

Linda fumbled with the sash as though she hadn’t noticed. “Oh dear, can’t seem to tie a bow to save my life,” she giggled, breasts shifting beneath the loose fabric. The robe slipped just enough for her nipples to peek, stiff and needy. She saw the flicker in his eyes, just a shade darker, and the wetness between her thighs turned slicker still.

She perched beside him, far too close, robe gaping with every breath. His scent made her head swim.

For a few minutes, she pretended to watch the television. But every nerve in her body was focused on him. On whether his thigh brushed hers. On whether he could smell her arousal seeping into the sofa cushion.

She crossed her legs primly, and the robe fell wider. Cool air kissed her bare slit. She flushed, biting her lip, heart hammering.

Marcus didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. Just sat steady and calm, letting her fluster and fidget beside him.

Linda felt like she might combust.

When she finally rose to go upstairs, the robe betrayed her. It slipped clean off her shoulder, baring the swell of her breast, nipple stiff and aching.

She gasped, clutching the fabric back up. “Oh heavens, how clumsy of me!”

Her cheeks flamed, but her pussy throbbed so hard she thought she might faint. She scurried up the stairs, robe clutched tight, heart galloping.

In her bedroom, she collapsed onto the bed, pressing a trembling hand between her thighs.

And worse, the bulge she’d noticed, stretching his jeans when he’d shifted on the sofa.

Linda bit her lip, shameless heat flooding her as she rubbed herself. He’d seen her. He must have seen her. And the thought of that hard shape between his legs made her clench and spasm, wickedly delighted.

Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tomorrow she’d be just a little sillier. Just a little more careless.