After dancing to a few songs I got up the nerve to slow dance with her and I knew she could tell I was aroused. After we sat down to finish our drinks...she said she felt tired and wanted to get going. It was only about 11:30pm so I thought I was being blown off for the rest of the evening. When we got back to my place I asked her if she wanted to come in and have a cup of coffee or something before her drive and she agreed. Although I didn't think much of the evening I didn't want her to get a. She began grinding up against my hard cock with her hands against his chest for support as she pushed harder against me to get deeper and harder penetration. We began thrusting against each other faster and harder and we could feel my cock go in and out of her pussy faster and faster. With this, I turned her over in missionary style. With each thrust, I could feel my cock get deeper and farther inside of her. I could feel my balls slapping against her clit and it was making her go wild. I could. Please take a seat for so long!"But Mrs. Hansen didn't take a seat. Instead she just watched every of move I did with a presumptuous smirk on her red lips. Her eyes conveyed a sort of unspoken challenge. I tired to keep my expression impassive but my heart was beating faster. I looked down at my paperwork to hide my momentary anxiety, but still I felt how her observing eyes were focused on me. After a count of three I looked up again."May I offer you a cup of coffee?"Mrs. Hansen just raised her. ”She went to the kitchen to turn off the stove and then came back to the living room.“Put your shoes on. Let’s go.”I knew exactly where she wanted us to go. I slipped on my shoes, grabbed my fedora, and followed her out the door. On the way, I stopped at the same flower shop that I had two years previous and bought flowers, both from me and from the Spencers. It dawned on me that it was eight days past the anniversary of Birgit’s death — June 10th. I suddenly wished I’d made different.