Forbidden Lunch

Chapter 1: The Spark at Noon

The restaurant was a quiet little bistro, tucked away from the bustling city streets, with dim lighting and intimate booths that practically begged for secrets to be whispered. Ellen sat across from me, her sharp green eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and challenge. At 43, she carried herself with the kind of confidence that could command a boardroom or unravel a man’s resolve. Her auburn hair was swept into a loose bun, a few strands teasing the nape of her neck, and her tailored blouse hinted at curves that her husband probably took for granted. I’m 48, seasoned enough to know better, but reckless enough to flirt with danger over a shared bottle of Pinot Noir.

‘So, tell me,’ Ellen started, her voice a low purr as she leaned forward, elbows on the table, ‘do you always take your colleagues to places this... cozy, or am I just lucky?’ Her lips curled into a smirk, daring me to match her energy.

I chuckled, swirling the wine in my glass, meeting her gaze without flinching. ‘Only the ones who can keep up. You’ve got a reputation for being a shark in the office. Figured I’d test if that bite extends to lunch.’

She laughed, a throaty sound that sent a jolt straight through me. ‘Oh, honey, you have no idea how sharp my teeth are. But careful—I don’t play nice when I’m hungry.’ Her eyes flicked down to my mouth for a split second before returning to lock with mine. The air between us crackled, charged with something far more intoxicating than the wine.

We bantered through the meal, each quip sharper than the last, slicing through the pretense of professionalism. She teased me about my tie—‘Looks like it’s choking you. Need me to loosen it?’—and I fired back about her heels—‘Those are weapons, Ellen. Planning to stab someone’s heart today?’ Her reply was a wicked grin. ‘Only if they’re asking for it.’

By the time dessert arrived—a shared slice of decadent chocolate cake—our knees were brushing under the table, an accidental touch that neither of us pulled away from. Her fork lingered near her lips, her tongue darting out to catch a stray bit of frosting, and I felt my pulse kick up a notch.

‘You’re trouble,’ I said, voice rougher than I intended, leaning in just enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume—jasmine and something darker, sinful.

‘And you’re not?’ she countered, her foot nudging mine deliberately now, a slow slide up my calf. ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t know what you were signing up for when you asked me here. I’m married, not dead. And you’re looking at me like I’m the main course.’

I grinned, heat pooling low in my gut. ‘Guilty. But can you blame me? You’re sitting there like a goddamn challenge, and I’ve never been good at backing down.’

Ellen’s eyes darkened, her breath hitching just enough to notice. She set her fork down, her hand brushing mine as she leaned closer, her voice a whisper meant for me alone. ‘Then stop talking and do something about it. I’m not here for games.’

The tension snapped like a taut wire. I stood, tossing a few bills on the table, and she followed without hesitation, her stride matching mine as we slipped out of the bistro and into the narrow alley beside it. The second we were out of sight, I had her against the brick wall, her hands fisting in my shirt as our mouths crashed together. Her kiss was fierce, all teeth and demand, her body pressing into mine with a hunger that matched the ache building in me. I could feel how hard I was already, the heat of her through her skirt as she ground against me, her breath hot and panting against my ear.

‘Don’t waste my time,’ she growled, her nails digging into my shoulders. ‘I’ve got an hour before I’m missed. Make it count.’

And I intended to. My hands slid down to grip her ass, pulling her tighter against me, her gasp turning into a low moan as I felt how wet she was through the fabric. This wasn’t just lunch anymore—it was a collision, and we were both ready to burn.