She did so, hitching the delicate silk up to her hips, pushing down her drawers, kicking them off one foot impatiently, as she straddled his lap. Guy unbuttoned his trousers, his penis springing hard and erect as she sank down slowly astride him, taking him deep within her.

She caught her bottom lip with her teeth as she felt him move high inside her, his full length buried to her core, her thighs pressing hard against his. He moved his hands to her waist, holding her lightly, moving upward even as she circled her hips around him, lifting and lowering herself, her head thrown back, her eyes closed as the moment of climax crept up, hovering in the background, holding her in a suspended anticipation. Guy seemed to know exactly what she was feeling, seemed to know as the moment crept closer and her breath came fast. He stopped moving and held her still, poised on the brink of ecstasy, watching her face, watching for the moment when she could bear the suspense no longer, and at that moment, he drove upward, holding her waist firmly, bringing her down upon him as he rose within her.

Petra’s world shattered. She lost all sense of herself, of her physical presence, of the rhythmic clatter of the train’s iron wheels on the rails, she fell forward, her head dropping onto his shoulder until the ecstatic tempest finally rode itself out.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all afternoon,” Guy said as she raised her head from his shoulder. He traced the curve of her cheek with a fingertip. “Heaven help me, my sweet, but I can’t seem to get enough of you.”

The train whistle shrilled and the train began to slow. Hastily he dropped his hands to her waist again. “Lift up now.”

She did so, yanking up her drawers and smoothing down her silk skirts. “I didn’t think I’d ever make love with my hat on,” she observed, standing on tiptoe to look at her image in the little mirror under the overhead rack.

He laughed, adjusting his own dress as the train pulled into the gloomy, steamy, noisy chaos of Waterloo Station.

Petra hastily pulled up the window blinds. Guy moved her aside so that he could lower the window. He leaned out to open the carriage door, stepped onto the platform and held up his arms for her to jump down from the high step.

“I’m parched,” she declared, accepting the invitation, and for a moment clinging to him, her arms around his neck. “It must be the champagne, don’t you think?” Quickly she kissed his mouth before he let her slip through his hands to the platform.

“That or something else thirst-provoking,” he said lightly. “Can you wait until we get home?”

“Yes, I suppose so. The tea’ll probably be stewed in the station café anyway.”