Chapter One

She was hot, smoking hot. If she was on fire, she'd burn.

She was out of my league, that much was certain, but I kept seeing her, the hot girl on the daily commute. In the mornings, she'd often get on the express bus where I'd be sitting up the back, having boarded at the park-n-ride further out. Common sense meant those who got on first went straight to the back seats so the bus could fill quickly. When it was crowded, passengers would stand in the aisle, swaying back and forth, hanging from the straps.

Over several weeks, I saw her waiting in the queue to board, sitting down nearer the front of the bus, standing when it was crowded. Once, and it only happened the once, she came up the back and stood in the aisle right next to where I was sitting.

"Would you like a seat?" I asked. I judge my courtesy quickly and nearly always get it right - many older women these days are willing to get an older man's look, and many younger women quite like the charm.

"No. No thanks, I'm fine. I can stand. The city's not far. But thank you, it's thoughtful to ask. People never do." Her voice was surprisingly low, even husky. I'd imagined a lighter voice.

She touched my shoulder - to reinforce her thank you, to give me a gift in return, I didn't know. But when a woman touches a man's shoulder, one remembers. I'm remembering now. She smiled down at me, then turned away to her phone.

Because she was scrolling through her phone in the way that only women seem to do, red-painted fingernails flicking quickly, she kept her balance on the swaying bus with a firm grip on the seat handle in front of me. I studied her fingers, slim and quite long, rings on her middle and ring fingers. It was her right hand, and I glanced at her left hand, skittering on the phone. Not obviously married, and she liked gold.

I saw how the back of her hand was lightly freckled, the veins like a river on a map, and ever so slightly blue. Her skin was quite pale. A long scar ran along the side of her little finger, and I imagined some childhood accident, a young girl running inside to find mother, when only a father would do. I saw a tiny pulse on a vein near her wrist, and counted her heartbeats. Her pulse was quite quick, and I lost count at twenty-two.

Her belly was so close, a firm swell in her tight corporate skirt, and if she'd been naked, I'd have kissed it. Instead, I watched her torso tighten and flex, holding herself steady against the sway of the bus.

Her thighs brushed against my arm, and she turned. "Oops, sorry. It's a tight squeeze, isn't it? It's crowded, this bus."

"Too crowded, but I'm luckier, getting on before you. It means I get a seat."

She smiled. "I should have accepted your offer. Too late now." She grimaced, glancing across at the big guy who was crowding her, too fat to be healthy. His size made her seem smaller than she really was.

"Maybe next time," I said, conspiring with her against the crowd.

"Maybe next time. I see you often."

"Me too. On the same bus." Of course, we're on the same bus. What an odd thing for me to say.

She laughed, and her eyes were bright, and her gaze was steady. "On the same bus nearly every morning, and now we're chatting. It's nice." She deliberately put her phone in her bag. "I don't need my phone, not really. It just gives me something to do. In the mornings."

"On the bus, before you chat to the stranger. Who's on the bus, too." I smiled up at her, and noticed how careful she was with her make up. She was several years older than I'd first thought, creases in the corners of her eyes.

I looked up at her, and we smiled together, and I looked at her lips. She saw me looking, and her smile widened, showing her teeth, which were slightly crooked. I wondered what she'd look like waking slowly on a pillow next to mine, her deep brown eyes opening slowly, my eyes the first gaze she saw.

I realised she'd look like this, the way she looked at me on the bus in the morning.

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Chapter Two

Well that's bloody annoying, I thought, as I moved away from the bus stop, having just discovered a snap stop-work had been called by the drivers' union. Services would resume in an hour. I couldn't be bothered getting a taxi or Uber, so I resigned myself to wait. At five o'clock, though, most of the city cafés were already shut.

I crossed the road to a small square surrounded by trees, with small patches of lawn and some sad flower beds in raised concrete surrounds, and found an empty bench. That's when I saw her, the smoking hot girl I saw on the bus in the mornings. The girl with the slightly crooked teeth who'd put her phone away and chatted to me, her thighs pressing against my arm as the bus swayed. She'd kept her balance with her hand on my shoulder as the bus made the long left-hand turn onto Hobart Terrace.

"Hey," I called to her, catching her attention. "The buses aren't running, not for an hour."

"What's not running? An hour? What do you mean, not running?"

"The buses. There's a stop-work. They're not running. The drivers have gone out. It's this rolling stoppages thing." I gestured for her to come sit beside me. "They'll be running again at six. I'm waiting till then."

"Waiting?"

"Yes, waiting."

"God, that's tedious. All I need." Her shoulders slumped. "No buses."

"Long day? Waiting doesn't help." I placed my hand on the bench beside me. "Here, join me. We can wait together. Here on this bench."

"Like on the bus in the mornings, then? But in the afternoon. On your bench?" She was recovering from the news of a delay, understanding what I was trying to say. She sat beside me, placing two shopping bags at her feet and a handbag in her lap. The pleated lines of her skirt, white and black stripes, swirled and fell with her movement. She rested hands with long fingers on the handbag, and was still. The skirt shimmered, made of some satiny material.

"It's not mine." I patted the timber seat. "It can be our bench, if you like."

"Our afternoon bench? That's nice. I'm Delilah, by the way. Delilah from the bus in the mornings."

She'd remembered too, her hip against my shoulder as the bus lurched and swayed.

"Adam," I replied. "Adam in the afternoon."

"That's a whole day done then, Adam." She said my name and took possession of it, making it hers to keep if she wanted it. "It's nice to meet you. I'll know what to call you now, if I see you in the mornings." She turned towards me and her gaze was steady, looking me straight in the eye.

I noticed again how careful she was with her make up, and found myself wondering how old she actually was. Not a girl as I'd first thought but a young woman, now that she sat closer to me. Maybe late twenties, very early thirties even, but blessed with very good genes.

She wasn't classically beautiful, her nose was just a little too big for that, but she was striking.

A woman who could walk into a room and be noticed. She had a certain hauteur about her and a sway in her walk. Less sway at the end of a day when she was tired, perhaps, but still, her clothes moved beautifully on her. But of course, she moved beautifully and her clothes merely followed. How lovely she would look, her clothes falling to the floor.

"May I say, your skirt is beautiful, that shimmer when it turns." I went on, "That's why I first noticed you: your lovely clothes, the way you hold yourself."

"Lovely? Nobody's called my clothes lovely before."

I meant you.

"You're an attractive woman, Delilah. You make my mornings much better when I'm on the bus."

She took my compliment graciously, smiling right to her eyes. Some women only smile with their mouth and their eyes are cold, but Delilah gave me creases at the corners of her eyes, and her gaze held me steady. She touched her hand to mine, on my knee.

"Thank you, Adam. You're honest, what you say. That's unusual. Most men look but are silent. It can be unsettling, taking me with their eyes. You appreciate women, I think, and your look... it's... for me."

What could have been a stumble became a step, and we turned in towards each other and kept talking. Time passed quickly, too quickly, and soon it was six o'clock.

"Look, there are some buses. Shall we go?" I'd rather stay.

"I suppose we should." Delilah reached for her carrier bags on the ground.

"Please, let me." I gestured for the bags, to give my hands something to do, when what I wanted to do was to touch her.

"Of course. That's sweet." I saw her slightly crooked teeth as she smiled. "Thank you."

We made our way across the street and stood, side by side, for the bus. She climbed aboard first, then turned aside in the aisle. "You should sit by the window. I get off first."

"You do. But at least this time, you get a seat."

"I do. Next to my stranger from the mornings."

The bus lurched away, and she bumped against me. She reflexively placed her hand on my thigh to steady herself, and left it there somewhat longer than necessary, before clasping her hands around the handbag on her lap. Maybe she did those things. I'm not sure.

Coming up to her stop on the bus-way, she turned to me. "Thank you for waiting with me. That was nice, at the end of a long day."

"My pleasure," I replied, and it was. Her smile, oh goodness, those dark eyes as she appraised me.

"Adam," she said, as she stood and I handed her the two bags. "Our bench. Will you be there another afternoon, perhaps, and we can wait again? I'd like that."

"I'd like that too, Delilah," and we exchanged our names like coins.

"Till then," she said, and moved down the aisle, the black and white skirt clinging to her legs, before being set free to shimmer and turn as she stepped off the bus. Adjusting her bag on her shoulder, she turned towards me, raising her hand in a wave.

She smiled, and blew me a kiss as the bus moved away.

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Chapter Three

"That can't be good," I said to my colleague Rachel, late on a Friday afternoon. The lights had flickered, dimmed twice, then recovered.

"The storm, it's getting worse. Look how dark it is outside."

She was right. Outside, the rain pummelled in gusts against the windows, and across the alley a broken downpipe spilled water, spiralling down then blowing away in the wind. The rain came in sheets between the tall buildings. Far distant in the hills, I could just see the three red lights on top of the radio towers, steadily blinking on and off.

I glanced at my screen, the power surge not quite enough to crash the computer. I had a feeling though and saved what I was working on, then clicked to shutdown.

"Just in case." I said. "I think I'll go early, get ahead of the queue for the bus."

"You're right," Rachel replied. "Me too. I'll pick Claudia up early."

As she turned to her computer, the screen went black, and the lights brightened then went out completely. "Bugger. I don't think I saved it."

"Too late," I replied. "That was a power surge. Something's gone down, big time. It's not just this building, look." Outside, it was dark. The sound of wind and rain were louder, but it was the silence inside that made the difference. "Don't take the lift," I said, "just in case the back-up power falls over. Use the stairs. The emergency exits always open."

"You go. I'll ring Claudia first, let her know I'm coming."

I waited, watching her face in the dim light. Rachel looked up, concerned, then held her phone up. "The phones are down. There's no reception."

"Come on," I said, "get your things. We're getting out of here, ahead of the rush. This is going to get worse." I turned for the door, turned back. "Switch the power off at the wall." It wouldn't make much difference, but I remembered a report saying most computer fires in government buildings were caused by power surges from the mains. And we'd definitely had one of those.

Outside our shared office, in the open plan space, staff were moving around. "Jo, use the stairs, don't use the lifts." Our project officer gathered her coat and bag and we made our way to the fire stairs. On the stairs, several like-minded people were already walking down.

"Glad I'm not on the top floor," said Rachel, as she moved down the stairs ahead of me.

"The Minister's got legs like the rest of us, she can walk," someone commented.

At the bottom of the stairs someone had already banged the emergency exit open, and we looked out into the gloom.

"Hope Claudia's okay," I said, before venturing outside. "Jesus, that wind's fierce. I'm going. See ya."

"You too," replied Rachel. "You in the car-park?" she asked Jo. Jo nodded, and they went off together.

Keeping close to the buildings, staying under eaves and sheltering balconies wherever I could, I made my way across several blocks to the bus stops on Jefferson Street. It was eerie, the dark buildings cold and silent, their windows reflecting distant clouds, sheened bright with rain. The wind buffeted, sending water in strange directions down the streets and small lanes. My jacket was thoroughly wet.

Huddling figures, some hopelessly struggling with umbrellas turning inside out, moved quickly through the streets. Far off, some alarms wailed in a sing-song crescendo, triggered no doubt by the loss of power. Closer, I heard police sirens. The only lights were from vehicles in the streets, a line of headlights and flickering indicators at corners. The traffic was moving slowly, allowing people to cross in blocks, their feet careful on the slippery roads. Water was rushing in the gutters, and car wheels splashed, catching those who stood on the curb.

Crossing Jefferson Street to get to my usual stop, I could see that the queues were far longer than usual, but the buses were still moving at least. At the end of the block, a police car was parked, lights flashing. The cop began to direct traffic. Everything moved silently, slowly like hearses, and the only sounds were the wind and rain, and the rush of wheels in the wet. Even bus engines seemed muted.

I looked at my watch. Twenty minutes. This one, I thought, this one is going to be all night. At least I can get out of the city. I looked up, and the sky was dark, no lights reflecting anywhere. Not just the city sub-station, then. I wondered if the inter-connect had failed completely, and this blackout was everywhere. Above me, a big jet moved silently across the sky, its landing lights and flashing wing lights pulsating like heart beats, beating time.

I felt a hand on my arm. "Adam, it is you. Can I stand with you?"

"Delilah. Are you okay? This is unbelievable, isn't it?"

"It's horrible. Look at me, I'm drenched."

Delilah stood beside me, her hair and shoulders wet from the pouring rain. Her blouse was clinging wet to her breasts, the lacy cups of her brassiere, also wet, curved shadows on her skin, revealing everything. It was cold and her nipples were hard. I looked away.

"This thing, it is useless, completely broken." She showed me a bent and torn umbrella, before dropping it into a bin. "This storm, it's frightening. I had to get out of my building using stairs. The fire exit. Four floors down."

She stood right next to me for security, for shelter. I couldn't say which.

"You're cold," I said. "And wet through. Here, take my jacket. It's wet on the outside, but the lining's dry. It'll be warmer."

"But you'll get cold, I mustn't."

"You must. I insist."

Delilah looked up at me. She was bedraggled, yet her eyes smiled. "You're a kind man, Adam. First you offer me a seat in the morning, but I'm silly, I don't take it. Then you wait with me on a bench under a tree, and we talk about this and that..."

And you blew me a kiss.

"And now it is cold, and you give me your jacket to be warm."

As she spoke, I realised something about Delilah, the way she talked. She had a slight accent, a very precise way with her words, a non English lilt to her speech. She wasn't a native English speaker, Slavic maybe, or east European. My mind suddenly flashed back several decades, remembering a Russian girl on a train, a blonde woman from Leningrad going west to model, to be in magazines.

"You are a proper gentleman, Adam. And I will look neat in your jacket."

"Better on you than on me, that's for sure." I slipped the jacket from my back, and held it open for Delilah to put on. She put one arm into a sleeve, turned a little, then slid her other arm into the other sleeve. The jacket was too big for her, so she doubled it across her torso, hiding those lovely breasts. I'd looked away, but of course I'd seen her curves.

"I can feel your warmth on my back. I won't be so cold in a minute." She looked around, and the queue was longer now. "But Adam, you will be cold. That cannot do. We will share your jacket for a little while."

And Delilah opened up the front of the jacket and quite deliberately stepped forward until her body pressed against mine. In her heels she was tall and she fitted perfectly against me, her hair against my cheek. She was so close. I smelled her perfume, or maybe her skin. I didn't know which was which.

"There," she said, "our bodies will now be warm, and we shall get on the bus together."

"When it eventually comes," I replied.

"When it eventually comes," she repeated. "But first, we are wet in this rain together. It doesn't matter now, because we look after each other. Protected by your jacket."

With your soft breasts against my chest and your thighs against mine.

I put my arms around Delilah to keep her warm. And she put her arms around me, and still the rain came down.

"We are perfectly wet together, you and me." Delilah tilted her head to look at me, and her gaze was the same steady appraisal she'd given when she'd asked if I'd wait in the square, on another afternoon. She smiled, and in that moment the street seemed to disappear. "I think, Adam, that we shall need to get dry. After the bus eventually comes."

At that moment the rain was relentless and everything moved more slowly.

A guy from the transit company came past, telling the queue that bus travel was free and they were putting more buses on, to clear the city centre as fast as they could. "Thank you for your patience."

"Go slowly," said Delilah, and at first I thought she was talking about us. But the queue was beginning to move, as first one bus filled, then two, and she wanted to be steady. Her breath was warm on my ear.

"Room for one more," the transit man said, as we reached the front of the line.

"No, we're together," I replied. "Ask someone else."

He looked at us, huddled together under our jacket. "Go on, squeeze on. Stay behind the line."

I got on first and backed up against the rear of the driver's space. I reached for Delilah's hand, and she leaned back against me, taut on her legs for balance. The bus moved away slowly, but even so, she swayed against me. She reached back and found my hand, placing it about her waist.

"Hold me," she said, "so I don't spill over."

I wrapped both my arms around her waist to stop her lurching forward every time the brakes grabbed. She rested one hand on my hands, and held a grab pole with the other. She pressed back against me, her body fitting against mine.

"Lucky we are used to a crowded bus," Delilah said. "Keeping my balance is easy, with my morning man to hold me."

I looked down at her long fingers resting on mine, and marvelled how still Delilah could be.

Out the front of the bus, the two long beams of its lights were the only illumination. The city was completely dark, the clouds lowering and closing in. The bus was a small isolated place, silent now, for the phones were still all dead.

"It's the whole city," said the driver. "Apparently."

"I wonder what the hell happened," I commented.

"I don't think anybody knows yet."

"At least you've got us out of the city centre."

"My job, just doing my job."

The bus swung on to the bus-way, and ahead of us I could see the tail lights of more buses, each one self-contained, a myriad separate stories. Ten minutes up the track, the driver slowed for the first stop.

"Adam," said Delilah, "you're getting off here, with me. I'm not going home by myself."

"Where are you parked?" I asked, as the bus pulled away, its internal lights casting flickering shadows of Delilah and me onto the pavement. Other commuters, dark figures in the night, moved quickly into the gloom.

"The top car park. It is close. Up there." She pointed, but there was nothing to be seen but the darkness. Rain blew in under the shelter, and Delilah automatically pulled my jacket about her body for protection. Her skirt blew against her legs, clinging to their slender length. I was warm inside, from standing body against body in the crowded bus, but my clothes were wet through, as were hers.

"Follow the path then, don't slip. Come on, let's go."

Delilah took my arm and we stayed close together as we walked quickly up the path, the click of her heels a steady step.

"There," she said. "The little blue one." She knew the car was blue, but in this gloom without colour, it was black. I heard the zip of a bag and a tiny clink of keys. "Always in the right place," she said, and I knew then that she was a methodical woman, tidy in her actions, not wasting time. My car keys were in the pocket of my coat, so she had them.

With a press of the remote the driver's door unlatched, and the car's headlights came on, along with the interior light. She pressed the remote again, and the passenger door unlatched. "It is for my safety, how the lights come on. Quick, we are wet. Get in."

She pulled her skirt in around her legs. I closed the door and went around the back of the car. She'd leaned across to push the passenger door open, and I got in. I reached down for the seat slide, to push it back.

"I'm sorry," Delilah said, "I'm not used to a man. In my car." She smiled at me with that quiet smile of hers, her slightly crooked teeth revealed, and I knew she'd said those words filled with precise meaning.

"Here, take this." She placed her bag in my lap. Delilah started the engine and turned around, her arm across the back of the passenger seat so she could see clearly out the rear window. It was an automatic gesture, I'm sure, done a thousand times, but I felt I was caught within it. The interior light dimmed and finally went off, and I saw the blackness of her eyes and her lips were black too, in the dark. She reversed, and straightened the car up between the rows. She brushed wet hair away from her face, then placed the car into drive. "My place, Adam, and we get dry, out of these wet clothes. It isn't very far."

Delilah concentrated on her driving in the dangerous conditions. The streets were black and the only distance was in her headlights; everything else was uncanny, mysterious. I thought of four dark riders, and wondered if this was how the apocalypse started. I still didn't know what had happened, other than the city was black and the rain fell.

I looked at Delilah, seeing her face in the glow of the dashboard lights. She sensed me looking. "Nearly there, Adam." She had my name, she had my keys, she had me in her car, and we were nearly there. I didn't know where we were going, but Delilah drove me there.

She pulled up in front of a group of small apartments, a mirrored pair in each block. "I have a garage around the back, but it's more convenient to park out front."

The parking bays were paved with brick, and the car wheels rumbled as Delilah came to a halt. She sat still for a moment after the engine fell silent, then touched my arm. "You're cold without your jacket, Adam. I'm thinking what I have to keep you warm." She looked at her hand, then patted my arm twice, as if to check I was solid. "But look at us, sitting in my car. One last dash through the rain, and we're inside. Are you ready?"

I wasn't sure if Delilah meant ready for the dash, or ready for the door. "You go first, Delilah, since you know the path. I don't think I can get lost between here and there, can I?"

"Between here and there? It might be a wild garden, Adam, full of strange creatures with terrible teeth. All this rain, anything might grow."

"If the wild creatures are sensible, they'll be in small caves or sheltering under bushes. Only crazy creatures would be out in this storm."

"We'd better go in then. I wouldn't like to be a crazy creature."

We got out of the car and she clicked the remote. "The lights, they stay on for a minute."

"Mine turn off straight away."

I followed her to a little porch, and held the light on my phone so Delilah could find the lock. Opening her front door we entered darkness, but finally, we were out of the weather. I shivered, dripping water on her floor. Delilah slipped out of her shoes, placing them under a small stool. Crouching down, her skirt in a wide circle on the floor, Delilah undid my shoe laces, tugging them loose. She tapped my ankle, lift your foot. I watched her perform such a simple task and remembered my own children, when they were small. She stood, and touched my shoulder again, patting it twice as if to confirm I was there.

"We are lucky, I have gas for hot water and my kitchen. The water should flow, shouldn't it, even if there's no power? The little flame, what is it called? The little blue flame that never goes out?"

"The pilot light. Yes, your hot water should work, and matches will light your stove."

At the mention of a kitchen, I realised indeed I was hungry. Getting here had taken some time - leaving Rachel and Jo in the rain seemed long ago. I'd been a long time on my feet, too. I could happily fall down.

Just then, a beep beep beep started sounding. "Oh, the alarm. I forgot it." Her fingers quickly flickered over the key pad, and the warning fell silent. "There. We're safe now. Even if it is still dark. But Adam, come with me. You must have the first shower to get warm, and then we will find something to eat. I'll find candles."

She took my hand and led me up a flight of stairs to a bathroom. "Get under the shower, and I'll find a towel and something for you to put on." She touched my arm again. "It is nice, Adam, to have a man here." She turned away. "I won't be long."

As I undressed I smiled. Delilah was still wearing my jacket.

Feeling around in the dark, I found an empty towel rail and folded my pants and wet shirt over it, then placed my underwear and socks on the floor. The shower door was a sliding one, a little bit tight on its runner. I suddenly pictured Delilah naked in the mornings, struggling with it, putting up with something slightly broken. I made a point to look at it later, to get it running smoothly.

My god, warm water! Adjusting the tap with one hand, and measuring the temperature with the other, I stepped under the flow. Such simple bliss. Standing under the shower head, I let the warmth soak over me. In the darkness I felt for some soap, or a bottle of something to make a lather. I found a bottle - it might have been soap, it might have been shampoo, I didn't know. Whatever it was, it was delicate and feminine. I grinned. I smelt like Delilah's hair. I lathered myself all over. My balls were shrunk small from the cold and my cock was small.

Over the rush of the shower I heard the bathroom door open, and the tap of Delilah's fingers on the glass. She gestured, over there, pointing to a towel on the vanity basin. She was just a shape as she went out the door, closing it gently behind her. She was still wearing my jacket, even though it was wet. Perhaps she'd thought about it already and would hang it here in the bathroom, as she undressed.

It only occurred to me later, as I was drying myself, that Delilah had seen me naked in her shower. I smiled to myself, thinking she'd probably be quite matter of fact about that. I remembered the scar on her little finger as her hand gripped the handle on the bus seat, and the way her hands were so still.

I folded the towel over the edge of a high tub, and felt in the dark for the clothes she'd found me. It was in fact a dressing gown, probably hers from the morning. On Delilah it would have been long, nearly to her feet, so on me it was shorter, leaving me with cold ankles. Ah, bless the woman, she'd found some thick woollen socks for my feet. The gown smelled of Delilah, and I wrapped myself in her scent, breathing her deeply in. I tied the tie around my waist, and walked out into Delilah's little house.

"Down here, Adam." She called up from downstairs. "I've found candles. Do you drink wine? I have a bottle here, we can have a glass before I cook. After I make myself warm. How was the shower."

"Perfect. I feel human again. And thanks for the gown. It's warm on my skin."

Delilah came up to me, with her dark eyes and her appraisal. She leaned in close to smell my cheek. "You smell of me, I think. Did you find my shampoo?"

"I must have. A bottle of something, I couldn't see what it was."

"I hope you don't mind. I don't have anything for a man."

You do, but I knew what she meant.

"But please, be comfortable. Take your weight off your feet. I won't be long, and then we'll see what's to be done."

Delilah pointed to a bottle on the counter, shadows flickering in the light of five candles. I looked around the small living room, seeing how it was simply but tastefully furnished. It was an intimate room, pulled in close by the steady glow of the candles. They were scented, aromatic. I pulled Delilah's gown around me, and settled onto a couch.

"It's nice," she said, "having a man in my room." She was still for a moment, looking at me quite seriously. As she went past me to go up the stairs, she touched my shoulder, then moved on.

I heard her movements upstairs, some doors or drawers sliding open, then closed. I heard the shut of the bathroom door, the sound already familiar, and after a moment, the rattle of the shower door. Hearing the muted rush of the shower, I tried to imagine Delilah naked, but all I could see in my mind was the sheer cling of her wet blouse and her erect nipples under it, and the long swirl of her skirt as she swayed on the bus.

I held the collar of Delilah's gown to my nose, and breathed in her scent. That was enough. I felt my cock thicken.

* * * *

"Adam, are you asleep?"

I heard Delilah's low voice, and perhaps I had dozed, as I'd not heard the shower go off, nor the opening and closing of doors. I didn't know how long she'd been standing there; it might have been a moment, it might have been minutes.

"No, I just closed my eyes for a second. How was your shower?"

"Delicious. Truly wonderful. I'm warm now. But you, how are you? My gown, it's not very thick. Are you warm enough? Usually, on a night like this..."

"I wouldn't mind a blanket, if you could."

"Of course."

I watched her as she went back upstairs, the sway of her hips as she took the steps. From what I could see in the low light, she was dressed comfortably in a pair of soft pants, pyjamas maybe, and what appeared to be a fine woollen sweater. She'd pulled her hair back from her face into a tight pony tail, and looked younger.

Watching her return, a blanket in hand, was a pleasure. Delilah moved silently, sinuously, and I saw the slight shift of her breasts, probably braless, swaying under the sweater.

She watched me watching her, and smiled. "Here, Adam, snuggle under this. You must stay warm." Delilah spread the blanket over me. "There. That's better."

She went to the kitchen. "Now, what can we eat?"

She opened the fridge and clicked her tongue, because of course, the light didn't go on. She laughed. "I forgot. There's no power."

Delilah shifted to one side so that the light of the candles would help her see. "Eggs, do you eat eggs? I thought omelettes, they'll be quick and no fuss."

"That sounds lovely, yes. Can I help, do something useful?"

"No, I don't think so. I know where everything is. You'll just get in the way. I can do it."

She turned to look at me. "But you can look after me later. I think I'd like that."

She turned back to her task, and left it at that. I watched her quickly and efficiently prepare our meal, and wondered if she lived her life the same way: getting what she wanted without fuss.

"Now, Adam, let's eat."

The food was delicious, cheese melted into a mix of finely chopped onions, mushrooms and capsicum, lightly fried, wrapped with a perfectly made omelette. The red wine was not quite right but that didn't matter. Both of us were hungry, then contented.

Outside, the rain still fell, blowing in gusts against the windows. Delilah crossed the room to peer out. "It's black as black. I can't see a thing." She pulled the curtains closed.

She walked the few steps to where I sat on a stool by the bench, the blanket held around my shoulders. With a look of certainty in her eyes, Delilah took the glass from my hand and put it on the counter. Then, with her long fingers she untied the tie of the gown and placed her hands at my waist, her fingers warm on my skin. She moved forward a step, between my thighs, and the swell of her breasts pressed against my chest, the soft wool warm with her heat.

My hand, which had held the glass, slid in under the soft fold of the sweater, up Delilah's back. As I'd guessed, I felt only her smooth skin. I pulled her in towards me, and before we kissed, she sighed.

"Your hands are so warm, Adam. My skin..."

My cock rose, and in her matter of fact way Delilah took it in one hand and placed it in under her jumper, against her belly. "It's nice, Adam, that you want me."

We kissed, and with her slow fingers she explored my face, discovering the contours of my cheeks, my throat. I placed my other hand around her back, inside her top. She swayed, once, twice, slowly; and I eased a hand down inside the back of her pants, curving it over her bottom. Delilah wasn't wearing underwear. She eased her feet slightly apart, and her body moved.

"It's like I'm on the bus. Sometimes, when I stand, the movement turns me on. When I get to work I find myself a little bit wet." She continued to sway as I held her. "There's a man on the bus, I see him often, the way he looks at me. I wonder if he knows. We've only spoken a few times, because we get on at different stops. I said to him once, 'can we meet again, one afternoon after work?'"

"How did he reply, Delilah?"

"He didn't. Then one night there was a terrible storm and all the lights went out, and the man stood by me in the drowning rain and gave me his jacket to stay warm."

"What happened next?"

"I drove him home and cooked him a meal. I gave him my gown and he smells of me."

"What happened then, Delilah?"

"The man took me over to the couch and we cuddled up under a blanket, because it was cold outside."

I got up from the stool, and took Delilah's hand. We went over to the couch where I leaned back in one corner, and she curled against my body, her hands on my chest, my arms around her. I pulled the blanket about us for warmth.

"What happens next?" I asked.

"I don't know. I haven't got to that part."

I might have been dreaming.

Delilah made herself comfortable against my body, she made herself fit. Her back was against the couch and she lay curled, her legs slightly bent, in such a way that with one hand I could caress the curve of her backside; and with the other touch her breasts, under the soft woollen top.

She wasn't too big, she wasn't too small, her breasts fitted nicely in my hand. I cupped a breast in my palm, feeling its weight, feeling its curve. She moved slightly, shifting the breast a little so that a firm nipple was centred in my palm.

"Mmmm," she purred, and I needed no words to know what she liked. We stopped kissing and our sole concentration was my hand on her breast, the tug of arousal between her nipple and mine, the slow way I curved my fingers around the warmth of a soft breast. More than a champagne glass for Marie Antoinette, but maybe a pencil would drop.

"She's jealous," she said, for her other breast ached for attention and I slid my hand across to it, all my sight unseen. I gazed down at Delilah's eyes and they were closed, her lips slightly parted, the golden light of the candles glowing on her skin.

"Ahhh, that's right. You know what to do..." and Delilah fell into my hands. My left hand rested on her hip, my fingers spread wide to measure myself on her skin. I needed to know every curve.

As I slowly learned the shape of Delilah's breasts, and heard a faint intake of breath when I twisted a nipple between my finger and thumb, oh so you do like that, I felt Delilah's hand on my cock and she too was slow. She moved a little to find a more comfortable place, and lay her palm and her long fingers against my shaft, pressing it to my gut.

"Mmmm, that's very good." She opened her eyes, looked up at mine, and smiled. "You'll fill me properly, I think."

Delilah closed her eyes, and still she was slow with her hands. She held me and felt the heat of my cock. With her fingers gently squeezing and running over the head, she looked up at me again, watching my reaction as her fingers explored. She saw me gasp, heard my quick intake of breath, as she got a movement just right. Delilah smiled. She licked her lips, wickedly, like the snake in the garden seeking heat.

"Ohh, I see... you like it just there..." and she found the spot again, stroking her fingers like butterflies falling. As I closed my eyes to feel my pleasure without the distraction of sight, I'm sure she smiled again, her languid smile. Oh fuck, she did it again. And again. I opened my eyes to see her delight, I had to see her joy as she fondled and played with me.

"Adam, what's wrong? Don't you like me... doing that...?"

Sweet god, Delilah. She did it again. She knew what to do, and I wanted it done.

She let me go, giving my shaft a little pat as if to say, I won't forget about you, my beauty, and moved her hands up to my face to cradle my cheeks. She studied me, and god help me, I ached for that look, that slow careful look, whilst Delilah made up her mind. I wanted her, and my heart filled with longing. It might have been lust, but it felt quieter than that.

I was held by her gaze, and my hands stopped moving. I was in Delilah's hands and reliant completely on her. She held me powerless and helpless as she studied me. Her eyes creased, and I knew then I was going to be hers.

"I don't often take a man to my room, Adam, but for you I'll make an exception."

I smiled, thinking of Leonard Cohen and Janice - I usually don't like handsome men, but for you I'll make an exception.

Delilah disengaged herself from my arms and got up from the couch. "Leave the blanket down here, we won't need it." She looked back at me. "But leave my gown on. Seeing a man how a man sees me, looking beautiful with softness around him." She touched my arm. "I like that in a man. A gentle man. I'll be treasured, I think, by you."

She went across to the counter, and I followed, my cock following her, my erection rigid, tight up against my gut.

Delilah turned, her eyes bright with delight, and she dropped to her knees, taking me into her mouth. She didn't suck hard. Gently cradling my balls in both her hands, she eased her mouth onto my shaft, exploring my length. She looked up at me with a classic porn star look, then pulled back away and grinned. "Fuck me with your big cock, Adam, fuck my face." She laughed. "That's not so sexy for me. We won't do that, Adam. It's... what do they say, full of cheese? It is cheesy, yes?"

"Cheesy, cheap, yes," I replied.

"Good. It is good we have similar taste." Delilah licked her lips.

It was my turn to laugh. "But Delilah, I've not tasted you yet. I don't know your taste."

She didn't say a word, but eased her hand down inside her pants. She looked at me steadily, then took her hand out. "Now you do." She tasted like dark honey, on her fingers.

We each held a candle as Delilah took me up to her room. She carried a jug of water from the dark fridge, and I took the two glasses she got from a cupboard. I followed her up, admiring the sway of her hips as she climbed the stairs. At the top, she turned around and was the same height as me. She kissed me, and it might have been a token, to let me in.

Once in her room, Delilah placed the candles on a dressing table, where they were reflected in a mirror to make four points of light. She went to the window and pulled open the curtains. It was still raining outside, but far off the clouds seemed thinner and there was a faint glow from the the moon. I remembered - it was a day or two off full.

Delilah turned down the bed and plumped up the pillows. I passed her the glasses and she placed one on each side of the bed.

"Now, Adam. We're not wearing much, but it's time to undress, don't you think?"

Delilah undressed first, swiftly pulling the sweater up over her head to reveal bare breasts and a slim torso. She didn't pose, she didn't preen, she simply revealed herself naked. She stood unashamedly before me. A small gold cross hung on a fine chain between her breasts, resting in the gently valley of her cleavage. Her skin glowed golden in the glow of the candles, but I thought she was probably quite pale, sheltered from the sun. Her nipples were full, pulling up the flesh of her breasts into small peaks.

She turned a little and caught me watching. She smiled. "I like how you look at me. It's, how do you say, watchful? Wanting me but not saying it out loud. I have to look closely, to know."

Thus, Delilah explained her stillness and her quiet appraisal.

She slipped her pants down her legs, shucking them away with her feet. Delilah carried herself as if being naked was the most natural thing in the world. There was no false modesty, no flirtation, just a woman comfortable in her own skin. She came to me and placed her hands inside the gown which was still around me. "You don't need this any more," she said, as she dropped it back from my shoulders.

I held Delilah in my arms, and she placed her arms around me. She smiled, then reached down between us to place my shaft upright between her belly and mine. "That's better for you, Adam? It's hot on my belly."

We swayed slowly together, as if we were on a very slow bus, for a minute. Then Delilah turned, took my cock in her hand and led me to her bed. "Come, my beauty, you've got places to be."

She wasn't talking to me.

Delilah pulled back the covers of the bed and patted the mattress. "Please..."

I was welcomed to Delilah's bed, and she gently steered me onto my back. She sat over me, her thighs on each side of my hips, her sex hot along the shaft of my cock. She hardly moved, sliding back and forth a little, as if to find the perfect place. In the dim light of the candles her eyes were black, and when she leaned forward to place both hands on my chest, the little cross on its chain swung low.

The wind had dropped and the rain had stopped, and the only sound was a low tick, tick, tick of drops in a distant gutter, dripping down.

I held Delilah's waist in both hands and looked up to her face. She smiled, then looked quite serious for a moment, as if she was remembering something. She eased herself up, put her hand between us, and carefully positioned the head of my cock between her lips. She eased them apart, licked her fingers for moisture, and held herself there.

"I'm wet, Adam, but I might need to be wetter." She put her fingers, sweet with her honey, to my mouth, and took some of my spit.

"We can stop. We're not in a rush." I smiled up at Delilah, loving her serious look. "We've not got a bus to catch."

She laughed, and the quick movement broke through the tightness between us, and the tip of my cock entered her, sliding a little way in. Delilah's eyes opened wide as she held herself poised over my shaft. Her fingers gripped my chest to hold on. I held her hips gently, and felt her body quiver.

"Sweet goodness," she whispered. "Mmmm... that's better than the bus, however much it sways and rocks."

It was my turn to smile. We'd met on the bus, we'd chatted waiting for a bus, and we'd escaped the chaos of the storm riding on a long bendy bus. And here we were in Delilah's room, starting to make slow gentle love, and still talking about buses. It was a strange thing to do, but travelling together defined us somehow, so far. We knew nothing about each other except as comfortable strangers, seeing each other almost daily on our regular commute. We'd never have met, if we drove cars.

Delilah eased herself slowly down my long shaft. She was wet enough to take me in deeply, finding a slow, wonderful rhythm, until finally she had my whole length inside her, hot as fire inside her sex. If she were any hotter I'd burn.

Impaled on my shaft, she sat upright and arched her back, pressing herself down on me. Then she fell forward, her breasts against my chest, holding my head in her hands.

"Fuck me gently, Adam, nice and slow. My arousal, it is sometimes slow, sometimes quick. Tonight is not so quick."

I didn't answer her words with words. I moved into her with long, slow thrusts, and soon she began to moan, little whimpers from the back of her throat, as I began to dictate the rhythm. She fell forward again, her lips on my neck. We found a faster fuck, but it wasn't hard enough for Delilah.

"On me, be on me, in me, I'm..." and she twisted and wriggled, and slid off me onto her back so I could fuck her deeper and harder, faster and deeper. Delilah looked up at me with wide, amazed eyes as we found a smoother rhythm. "Oooh yes, that's..."

I made love to her faster and still she gazed at me, her eyes black. Then, as if some sudden switch had been switched or some point had been reached, Delilah closed her eyes, gripped the sheet with both hands, and let out a low sigh. "Oh God, sweet man, I'm..."

"Going to come, Delilah? How close? How far away?"

"Ohh beauty, that's right, keep... loving me... oh god oh god oh god..." Delilah uttered each prayer like a plea, urging me on as I pumped into her, her voice urging me on, "oh god oh god ohhhh... yes, yes, yes... mmmm."

She grabbed frantically at my head, pulling my mouth down to hers in a fierce kiss. Fuck, I'd thrust so hard that when I pulled back I fell out of her. She grappled between her legs, found me, placed me back inside her lips, took me back in, took me all in. I hooked Delilah's knees with my elbows, opening her wide, pulling her thighs up to get deeper in. I leaned into her with all the length of my fuck, took her deep and deeper and from her throat I heard a low croon, and in the dark night up in her room, Delilah came, her sex tightening around mine.

"Don't," she managed to say, the denial coupled with a quick jerk and a shudder throughout her body. "Don't you... not yet," and Delilah soared into her orgasm, going there alone as I managed to hold myself back. Not yet, urged Delilah, not yet, but she said no words. Her pleasure was for both of us, and mine would be too, later on, when Delilah made love to me.

Delilah's eyes were still closed, and I saw a softness come over her face as her peak subsided, with a beautiful, radiant smile, a blissful smile; and I knew she'd want to see that same softness come over me, when I came. She looked so young, such an innocence. I moved in her slowly, cooling myself down, slowing my own pleasure to give her a quiet landing, the best of quiet places. Delilah's room was quiet, for the wind had dropped.

"Adam," she said, but didn't finish the thought. It didn't matter, because I lay inside Delilah, holding my weight off her, on my elbows. I cradled her head in the palm of my hands. The little gold cross had risen high on her throat, so I moved it down between her breasts, kissing her tenderly there. I kept my long sway up into her, and eventually Delilah opened her eyes. "You're looking at me with that look," she said, "when you're watching me."

"Of course I am, Delilah, just as you look at me."

"What is it you see, Adam?"

"Someone I'd like to know better."

She smiled gently. "Me too. There's no rush."

I still moved inside Delilah, and she tightened herself around me. "Now, my beauty," she whispered, "where are you now?"

Inside you, Delilah, burning with my heat.

She rolled onto her side, taking me with her. She positioned a leg high on my hip, opening herself up to me. She moved and wriggled, finding an angle where she could urge herself against me, and at the same time, play with herself. It was still dark, so I could see only the paleness of her breasts in the low candle light, and the glow of a slender thigh over mine.

Delilah kissed me, and began a clench on my cock, gripping me tight inside her. "It is my dancer's training, Adam, when I was a young girl. 'Hold and tighten, Delilah,' my teacher said, 'these exercises, you will remember them, girl, you'll see.'" She laughed her low laugh. "I think she was right, my teacher."

I linked my fingers through Delilah's, and she moved against me, her body taut and her sex gripping mine. "Yes, your teacher was right."

She smiled at me, and was so gentle, so peaceful, so calm. She propped herself up on one arm, resting her head on her hand, and studied me. All the while she played with her clit, teasing the little hood open, circling her fingers around. Every now and then she wet her fingers in my mouth, or hers, to make herself wetter. Her cunt clenched and I'd respond, tightening my shaft up inside her.

We lay that way for a good ten minutes, whispering sweet nothings, until Delilah's passion rose again, her fingers all wet between us, her kisses hungrier. She pushed me onto my back, back where we'd started.

"I wanted it harder before, your beautiful cock, but now I take you my way. Lovely and slow. Is it all right Adam, that I fuck you my way?"

And as she spoke, Delilah put actions to her words and began to ride me, easing herself up and down on my shaft. She sat up, her breasts high and firm, the little gold cross lying between them. She took one of my hands and placed it on a breast, and I tugged on the nipple, twisting it between my forefinger and thumb. She hissed in her breath and turned, wanting the same on her other breast. I placed both palms high up, and she leaned forward to give me her weight.

She found another angle, and began to slide on me faster. I held her sides and pushed my fuck up into her, and we edged closer, our breath coming faster. Her breasts bounced as I thrust harder. "Oh god, oh god, oh god," she whispered her prayers once again, "I'm soo... yes, yes, yes, oooo, that's... oh fuuuck, please please..."

But she was taking me, taking me, and at the base of my spine I felt that familiar surge, that... ahhh, fuck, fuck, fuck, take me Delilah, I'm...

"Come with me beauty, oh god, yes, I'm..."

Coming.

And with a high squeal of pleasure Delilah came, and her finish finished me, pulling up huge spasms as I jetted come into her, deep into her, ohh fuck... Delilah thrust her body down hard onto my cock, grinding her clit down on me for a final, shuddering surge, before falling forward onto my chest, into my arms. She shuddered again, twice, and I hugged her so tight I couldn't breath; then I could, gasping.

Still inside her, I eased Delilah onto her side, and we lay face to face, stroking each other with soft, wondrous fingers, both of us finding the quietness in the other.

"Thank you," I whispered, stroking her cheek.

"My pleasure," she replied, stroking mine.

Between us, we tugged the cover up and she snuggled into my arms. "That was very lovely, Adam. I'm glad there was the storm and the rain and I got all wet."

Outside, the rain started falling again, blown in a light clatter against the window.

"When will it stop?" I wondered. But Delilah was falling asleep and didn't answer, so I held her, gently stroking her hair.

"Adam," she whispered, but it might have been the same thought as before, because she didn't say any more.

Later, I awoke, and found myself on my back with Delilah's head on my shoulder. At some stage earlier she must have stirred, for the candles were out and the curtains were drawn. The room was completely dark.

Later again, I woke, and was spooning her. She fitted perfectly, curled with her back against my chest, her breathing slow and steady.

In the morning when I woke, I found her looking at me. She smiled as she watched me wake up. I looked at her lips. She saw me looking and her smile widened, showing her teeth which were slightly crooked.

I'd wondered what she'd look like, waking slowly on a pillow next to mine, her deep brown eyes opening slowly, my eyes the first gaze she saw.

Delilah looked at me the same way she did, the way she looked at me on the bus in the morning.

THE END

A Girl on the Bus