"That's strange" she thought, "mail comes at 1pm. Where were mum and dad?" Intrigued but puzzled at the same time, she leant over and picked the envelope up, turned it over and looked at the address written on it. Her heart sank. There were only two words written on the envelope. "Hanna Macauley." She also noticed with dismay that there was no postmark, meaning the envelope had definitely been delivered by hand. But by whom, and when?Quivering, she walked through to the living room, envelope still in her hand, and collapsed on the sofa. She wanted, at least, to have a comfy seat before opening it. For a period of about half a minute, she sat in silence, staring at the picture of her parents on their wedding day which was hanging on the wall. Then, as if being electrocuted, she sharply took in air and sat bolt upright. With one swift movement the envelope was opened and the single sheet of paper it contained was in her hand. Unfolding the paper, she read it aloud to the empty room."I. She looked up and saw his eyes were half closed as he watched her lips and tongue on his flesh. She grinned wickedly and nipped at him. "Type!" His eyes struggled to leave her face, got trapped by her hard nipples burning against his skin, found her eyes again, saw her determination, and finally returned to the screen. The keys started to clack again and she started kissing again. She moved entirely in front of him, letting him slide the chair back. Her breasts pressed into his thighs, her hands caressed his sides, her lips and teeth teasing and kissing. He moaned, but kept typing. She wondered if he could feel the heat of her breath as the fire built inside her. Without pause, she unbuttoned his pants, and slowly pulled the zipper open, tooth by tooth, as her hand caressed the hardness beneath the fabric. He lifted his hips, and she pulled his pants and boxers down, giggling as his cock pulled loose and slapped into his stomach. Their eyes met again. "You're not typing," she.
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