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"Bugger," he cursed, loudly, as he dragged himself out of his chair for the fourth time that hour. He was beginning to wonder why he hadn't just switched out the lights and spent the evening sipping his whisky alone, in the dark, instead of being interrupted from his thoughts every five minutes by children banging on the door, screaming 'Trick or Treat!' who then seemed less than impressed with the treats he had to offer. Had he been in a more forgiving mood he might have agreed with them that a couple of digestive biscuits was a bit of a rubbish treat but, as it was, he thought they should feel lucky that he didn't send them away with a flea in their ear.

The knocking sounded again. Louder this time and more insistent. "Just a minute!" he yelled, nearly crushing the biscuits in his hand as he gripped them and marched out into the hallway. "Bloody ungrateful little gits," he grumbled, under his breath, as he made his way to the door and wrenched it open expecting to find a gaggle of ghoulish faces looking expectantly at him. "There's no need to knock the bloody door down-" he griped only to stop abruptly when he realised who was on his doorstep.

"Trick or treat, Harry?" she said, coyly, bearing a set of glow in the dark fangs at him.

"Trick?" he asked, totally confused and expecting to wake up any moment as he watched her ruby red lips draw into a pout.

"I was thinking," she whispered, seductively, holding his gaze as her nimble fingers untied the belt to her raincoat, "treat." She swallowed hard and flashed him a saucy smile as she slowly parted the coat and revealed her outfit to him, inch by inch. His ragged intake of breath combined with a soft curse was confirmation that she held his attention and her confidence grew as she saw his gaze lower to her chest and shamelessly roam her body. It should have felt wrong or indecent, standing brazenly on his doorstep in little more than her underwear, but she had never felt as sexy or as adored as she did in that moment. Every sweep of his eyes and catch in his breathing heightened her excitement and she flexed her leg drawing his attention to her stocking clad thighs.

He wanted her, of that there was no doubt in either of their minds, and the sight of her leaning provocatively against his doorframe only served to remind him of that fact. Twenty years ago he'd have dragged her inside, pushed her hard against the wall and taken advantage of what was so obviously on offer without so much as a thought but now, despite his definite interest and desire, he was worried that she was there for all the wrong reasons. When he seemed to finally regain control over his wandering gaze, hesitation seemed to grip him, and quite what to do next was beyond him.

"You're wondering why I'm here," she stated, quietly, as she watched him from her position against the door. She was suddenly very conscious of the fact that seduction over discussion might not have been the best course of action.

"I'm in no doubt as to what it is you're here for Ruth, I'm hardly blind. Or naïve." She blushed for the first time since her arrival and he decided he liked it. The contrast of her outfit and her sudden bashfulness amused him and he realised that she would never cease to amaze him.

"I thought this was what you wanted? That I was what you wanted?" she asked, struggling to remain calm when her insides were burning with shame at her brazenness and a healthy dose of fear that he was about to reject her.

"You are," he stated, grasping both her hands and leading her inside until the door was closed and she was standing in front of him and he was looking into her eyes, "but I am well beyond the point where one night of passion would be enough."

A small half smile tugged at her delicate lips. "You want more," she breathed, in total understanding.

"Much, much more," he murmured.

"And if that's what I'm offering?"

"Is it?" he demanded, voice low as he grasped her roughly by the shoulders and pinned her to the wall.

"Yes," she countered, chest heaving and pulse racing at his forcefulness, "yes it is."

"Oh my," he murmured, feeling distinctly warm despite the cold October air which still hung in the hallway.

"I take it you're pleased?" she asked, eagerly.

"More than I could possibly say," he countered, as he finally gained the courage to let his hot gaze resume. His eyes travelled up her stocking-clad legs, across her satin basque and then lingered on her breasts before he lifted his head and met her eyes. "I think, perhaps, we should move this conversation from my hallway, don't you?"

He gestured with an outstretched arm and stood off to the side to allow her through to the front room, and was rewarded with a brush of her fingers along his chest as she sauntered inside. He closed the lounge door behind them both and was acutely aware of the pounding of his heart and the adrenalin coursing through his veins.

She stood in the middle of the room, somehow a little lost after all of her bravado, and listened to the soft thunk of the closing door and the tread of footsteps on carpet. This was it.

Soft fingers gently tucked a few stray curls of hair out of the way and she felt his warm breath on the back of her neck, exactly as she had imagined it had so many times.

"I want you," she whispered, and her whole body trembled with the relief of finally saying it. "Need you. And I'm sorry."

His lips closed the gap and brushed against the nape of her neck. Slowly, she rolled her head backwards, leaning into him, and his arms moved around her, sliding under the lapels of her open coat. His fingers glided over the silk material of the corset and down until the met with the brief expanse of thigh which peeped out between suspender belt and stockings.

"Harry," she sighed, and his fingers suddenly fisted into the material of her coat and turned her until she faced him.

"Come to bed with me," he said, softly.

He would always remember the nod of her head and the smile on her face as she leant in to him and whispered, "Every night. Always."

The End

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