Try out a new place for coffee.

The next week Michael's youngest son came to stay with him. By Tuesday, the sight of Erica in the office and their ongoing exchange of sexual emails had him near fever pitch. That evening they kissed passionately in the parking lot.

"Let's go to your place for an hour," he breathed.

"I can't. I've always been too scared to bring a man there, afraid my parents will hear," she smiled. "If you haven't noticed, I'm a little loud."

"Let's get a motel room then."

"Patience lover. I want it just as much as you do, but not tonight. Let's see what tomorrow might bring." She gave him a final lingering kiss and sauntered to her car, twitching her hips, grinning at him over her shoulder.

The next morning she dropped by his desk, ostensibly to ask a question. She wore a short flouncy yellow skirt that showed off her tanned bare legs to perfection.

"I want to go someplace different for coffee today," she said, her fingers touching his hand for the barest moment. He nodded, smiling, wondering.

At coffee time she came smiling to his desk and they strolled together down the hall to the elevators. Instead of pushing a button, she opened the stairwell doors and smiled again at him, leading him upwards.

"They're renovating the next floor," she told him as they emerged into the detritus of construction. There were distant sounds of work being done but no one in sight. Erica took his hand and led him down the hallway, past coils of wire and sheets of drywall. She paused against the door of a women's washroom and grinned at him, pulling him in with her.

"This is where I want my coffee," she told him and was in his arms, her mouth welcoming him. He pushed her back against a wall, fumbling under her skirt, finding a whisper of a thong and pushing it aside to slide his fingers into her. Gasping, she writhed against him, one hand struggling to free his cock.

They drank each other's breath, their hands everywhere, then she had him free, tugging him towards her eager moisture. He pulled her thigh up, then invaded her, filled her, and she stifled her cries by biting his shoulder as her hips and ass moved to take him deeper. Striving against her, feeling her contractions, Michael felt immortal as his own orgasm struck him, his cock pulsing inside her.

Finally, panting and staring wide eyed at each other, they separated with hungry wet kisses, grinning and giggling like teenagers.

"I thought you'd like my idea for coffee," she laughed, holding his shoulders to gently nibble his chin.

They had 'coffee' twice more that week, and he started calling her 'Espresso' because she was small, hot, dark, strong and Italian. She grinned salaciously whenever he said it.

On the Friday they had lunch together and talked about movies and the news, a laughing, bantering, meaningless exchange of words that warmed Michael.

"What?" she asked him. "You have that smile on your face, the one where you're the only one getting the joke."

"Nothing. I was just enjoying this." He made a vague gesture with his hands.

"This?"

"Being here, being together, talking. Being friends." She smiled at him, touching the back of his hand lightly, one finger stroking for a moment.

"Me too," she said. She blinked, her eyes moist for a moment. She turned her head aside, then grinning turned back to him. "Doesn't hurt that the fucking is so good either."

He grinned back at her, two fingers touching her wrist. "You're like therapy for me. Nice to know I can still get around on the high hard one." She gave him a puzzled smile.

"Baseball analogy," he explained.

"Guys," she snorted, shaking her head.