When a storm knocks the power out in her vinyl shop, curvy owner $name1 finally stops pretending she doesn’t want the electrician who’s been flirting with her for months, and he fucks her slow and deep on the listening-room sofa by candlelight.
The rain had been coming down sideways since four o’clock, and by half past six $name1 had given up on customers.
She flipped the sign on the door of Second Spin Records to CLOSED and stood for a moment watching the water run down the glass. Thirty-four years old, owner of the only proper vinyl shop left on the high street, and soaked to the ankles from running out to drag the sale crates in.
Her cardigan clung to her. She peeled it off and hung it over the counter. Underneath was a black vest top that had been fine when she got dressed that morning and was now stretched tight and damp across her heavy breasts, the outline of her bra showing through.
She didn’t bother fixing it. There was nobody left to see.
Except that was a lie, and she knew it, because Tom was still in the back.
Tom the electrician. Thirty-eight, broad through the shoulders, forearms like he’d spent his whole life lifting things. He’d been coming in every few weeks since spring, first to rewire the old listening booths, then to fix the fuse box, then because the lights in the back room flickered, and then, honestly, for no reason she could name except that he liked flicking through the soul section and making her laugh.
He’d started bringing her coffee. He always remembered she took it with oat milk. He called her “boss” in a voice that made her stomach drop.
And every single time, she’d told herself he was just being friendly. Men like Tom didn’t look at women like her. Women with big soft bellies and thick thighs that rubbed together and an arse that needed its own postcode.
Except he did look. She caught him at it constantly. His eyes on her hips when she bent to pull a box from under the counter. On her chest when she reached up to the top shelf. He never hid it very well, and lately he’d stopped trying.
“Boss?” His voice came from the back room. “You want the good news or the bad news?”
“Bad news.”
“Your junction box is older than both of us put together.”
“And the good news?”
The lights went out.
Every single one, all at once. The hum of the fridge behind the counter died. The amp on the shelf clicked off. For a second the shop was completely black except for the orange streetlight coming through the rain on the window.
“That wasn’t the good news,” Tom said, somewhere close in the dark.
She laughed, and it came out shaky. “Was that you?”
“Swear on my life, that was the storm. Whole street’s gone. Look.”
She turned. He was right. The chip shop opposite was dark. So was the bus shelter. The rain kept hammering.
She heard him moving between the racks, then the scrape of a lighter. A small flame lit up his face, stubble and crooked grin and dark eyes that were looking straight at her.
“You’ve got candles somewhere,” he said. “You always light that one that smells like cedar.”
“You noticed that?”
“I notice everything about you, $name1.”
The way he said her name, low and slow, made her nipples go hard under the wet vest. She was suddenly very aware of how close he was, and how dark it was, and how nobody on earth knew they were in here.
She found the candles under the counter. Three of them. He lit them one by one and she carried them into the listening room at the back, the little snug with the old green velvet sofa and the good speakers and the walls lined floor to ceiling with records.
She set the candles on the shelf. The light was warm and gold and threw their shadows huge across the record spines.
“Guess you’re stuck here till it comes back on,” she said.
“Guess I am.”
He didn’t sit. He leaned in the doorway and watched her. She could feel his eyes moving over her body, slow, taking his time with it.
“What?” she said.
“You’re soaking wet.”
“It’s raining.”
“I know.” He came into the room. “I’ve been trying not to stare at you all afternoon. That top’s been driving me mad.”
Her face went hot. She folded her arms over her chest without thinking. He reached out and very gently unfolded them again, his rough fingers circling her wrists.
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t hide them. I’ve been wanting to look at you properly for six months.”
“Tom…”
“Tell me to back off and I will. Straight away. No hard feelings.”
She looked up at him. Her heart was going so hard she could feel it in her throat.
“I don’t want you to back off,” she whispered.
He kissed her.
It wasn’t polite. It was the kiss of a man who’d been thinking about it for a long time. His mouth was hot and his tongue pushed past her lips and one big hand slid around the back of her neck to hold her there. The other went straight to her hip and squeezed, fingers digging into the soft flesh, pulling her body flush against his.
She moaned into his mouth. She could feel him through his work trousers, already hard, a thick ridge pressing into her belly.
“Fuck,” she breathed when he let her up for air. “You really do want me.”
“Feel that and ask me again.” He ground his cock against her. “I’ve wanked over you more times than I’d like to admit, boss. Thinking about these.”
He cupped her breasts through the wet vest, one in each hand, and they spilled over his palms. He squeezed hard and groaned like it hurt.
“Christ. They’re even bigger than I thought.”
“Take it off me,” she said.
He peeled the vest up over her head and tossed it somewhere into the dark. Her bra was black and plain and struggling. He unhooked it one-handed, which she’d have teased him about any other time, and her breasts dropped free, heavy and full, nipples dark and stiff in the cool air.
He just stared for a second. Then he bent his head and took one nipple into his mouth.
$name1 grabbed the back of his head and gasped. He sucked hard, flicking his tongue across the tip, then dragged his teeth over it gently enough to make her knees buckle. He switched to the other one and gave it the same treatment while his hand kneaded the first, rolling the wet nipple between his finger and thumb.
“Oh God, Tom. That’s… fuck, keep doing that.”
He kept doing it. He took his time, the way he took his time over everything, licking and sucking and squeezing until her breasts were flushed and slick with his spit and she was squirming against his thigh, shamelessly rubbing her pussy against it through her jeans.
“Sit down,” he said finally.
She sank onto the velvet sofa. He knelt between her legs and undid her jeans and dragged them down over her wide hips. She lifted her bum to help. He pulled them off along with her socks and then sat back on his heels and looked at her in just her knickers, belly soft and round in the candlelight, thighs spread.
She had the urge to cover herself again. He saw it.
“Don’t you dare,” he said. “You’re fucking gorgeous. Every inch of you.”
He kissed her belly. He kissed the inside of her knee, then higher, then higher still, his stubble scratching the tender skin of her inner thigh. By the time he reached the damp cotton between her legs she was holding her breath.
He pressed his mouth against her through her knickers and breathed out hot. She whimpered.
“You’re soaked, boss. And not from the rain.”
He hooked the knickers aside with one finger and licked her.
One long, slow stroke from the bottom of her slit right up to her clit. She cried out and her hips jerked off the sofa. He did it again, slower, and then he pulled the knickers off completely, pushed her thighs wide with both hands, and buried his face in her pussy.
He ate her like he was starving. His tongue swirled over her clit, then dipped down to push inside her, then came back up to suck. He slid one thick finger into her and curled it, then a second, stretching her, pumping slowly while he flicked her clit with the tip of his tongue.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chanted, gripping the velvet cushions. “Tom, I’m going to… don’t stop, please don’t stop…”
He didn’t stop. He sucked her clit into his mouth and fucked her harder with his fingers, and she came with her thighs clamped around his head and her back arched and a sound coming out of her she’d never made in her life. Her pussy pulsed and clenched around his fingers and he kept licking her through it until she had to push his head away because it was too much.
He looked up at her, mouth and chin shining with her juices, grinning.
“Six months,” he said. “I’ve wanted to taste that for six months.”
“Get your fucking clothes off,” she panted.
He laughed and stood and stripped. Work boots, T-shirt, trousers, boxers. His body was solid and hairy and a little soft round the middle, and his cock sprang up thick and heavy, curving up towards his belly, the head flushed dark and already wet at the tip.
She reached for it without thinking. Wrapped her fist around the shaft. It was hot and hard and too thick for her fingers to meet.
“Jesus,” she said. “Where’ve you been hiding this?”
“In my trousers. Every time you bent over that counter.”
She leaned forward and licked the head. He hissed. She took him into her mouth, as much as she could fit, and sucked slow and wet, her hand stroking the base. He tasted salty and clean. He swore under his breath and wound his fingers into her hair, not pushing, just holding on.
“Fuck, $name1. Your mouth. You look so fucking good with my cock in it.”
She bobbed her head, letting spit run down his shaft, twisting her hand. She cupped his balls and felt them tighten. After a minute he pulled her off by her hair, breathing hard.
“Stop. I’m not coming in your mouth. Not the first time. I want to be inside you.”
“Then get inside me.”
He pushed her back onto the sofa. She lay down along it and he climbed on top of her, settling between her thick thighs. He took his cock in his hand and rubbed the head up and down her soaking slit, slicking it, nudging her clit until she was squirming.
“Tom. Please.”
“Look at me.”
She looked at him. He pushed in.
Slowly. So slowly. The fat head stretched her open and she gasped and he held still, letting her feel it, then fed her another inch, and another, until he was buried all the way inside her and his balls were pressed against her arse.
“Oh my God,” she breathed. “You’re so fucking big. I’m so full.”
“You’re so tight. And warm. Fuck. I’m not going to last if you keep squeezing me like that.”
He started to move. Long, deep, unhurried strokes, pulling almost all the way out and then sinking back in to the root. The old sofa creaked under them. The candles flickered. Rain lashed the window out front and somewhere a car alarm was going off and she didn’t care about any of it.
He fucked her slow for a long time. He kissed her mouth and her neck and sucked her nipples while he did it. His hands were everywhere, gripping her hips, squeezing her soft belly, sliding under her to grab two handfuls of her arse and pull her onto him harder.
“I love this arse,” he growled into her ear. “I love how much of you there is to hold onto. I want to fuck you every day.”
“Then fuck me harder,” she begged. “Please, I want it harder.”
He pushed up onto his knees, hooked her legs over his arms, and gave her what she asked for.
He slammed into her. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the little room. Her breasts bounced wildly with every thrust and she grabbed them, squeezed them, pinched her own nipples while he pounded her. The angle was perfect, his thick cock dragging over the spot deep inside her again and again.
“Like that? Is that what you wanted?”
“Yes. Yes. Fuck me, fuck me, don’t stop.”
“Rub your clit. I want to feel you come on my cock.”
She slid her hand down between them and rubbed herself fast and messy. He watched her do it, jaw clenched, hips driving. She felt it building again, bigger than the first time, rolling up from her toes.
“Tom, I’m coming, I’m coming…”
She came hard, her pussy clamping down on him in long rhythmic squeezes. He groaned like he’d been punched and kept fucking her through it, rougher now, losing the rhythm.
“Where,” he gasped. “Where do you want it?”
“Inside me. Come inside me. I want to feel it.”
He drove in deep one last time and held there, buried to the hilt, and she felt his cock jerk and pulse as he flooded her. He came for a long time, grunting her name, hips twitching with every spurt, until finally he sagged down on top of her, sweaty and heavy and shaking.
They lay there tangled on the velvet sofa, breathing. She could feel his come starting to leak out of her around his softening cock. She didn’t want him to move.
“So,” she said eventually. “Was that the good news?”
He laughed into her neck.
The lights came back on.
The fridge hummed. The amp clicked. A cold strip light in the main shop buzzed to life and spilled through the doorway across their naked bodies.
Neither of them moved to get up.
“I should probably check that junction box,” Tom said.
“You should probably fuck me again first,” said $name1.
He lifted his head and looked at her, and she felt his cock twitch inside her.
“Yes, boss,” he said, and reached over to blow out the nearest candle.
