Deborah had been running on caffeine fumes and sheer willpower all day. Between back-to-back meetings and an endless stream of emails, she barely had time to breathe, let alone eat. As the clock ticked closer to evening, her stomach growled in protest, reminding her that she’d forgotten a meal altogether.

In a moment of desperation, Deborah fired off an order to her favorite takeout spot, requesting a hearty dose of comfort food to satiate her grumbling belly. She paced the floor while she waited, feeling the minutes drag on like hours.

Just as she was starting to wonder if her order had gotten lost in transit, a knock at the door jolted her out of her restless thoughts. Hurrying to answer it, Deborah’s anticipation for the savory aromas and warm sustenance spiked. She swung the door open, revealing the delivery guy standing on her welcome mat.

“Hey there,” he greeted with a charming smile, holding up the steaming bag. “Deborah, right? Your dinner’s here.”

Deborah nodded, reaching for the bag and her wallet at the same time. As their fingers brushed, a spark of electricity shot through her, momentarily distracting her from the food. She blinked, taken aback by the unexpected jolt of attraction.

“Uh, thanks,” she managed to stammer, handing over her credit card and receipt.

The delivery guy made quick work of processing her payment, his eyes never leaving hers. Deborah felt herself growing warmer under his gaze, her pulse quickening in her throat. She unconsciously licked her lips, and his eyes followed the movement.

“Enjoy your meal, Deborah,” he said, his voice low and smooth, like rich chocolate. “If you need anything else tonight, you know who to call.”

With that, he turned on his heel and headed back to his delivery van. Deborah watched him go, her mind reeling from the encounter. It had been so brief, yet so intensely charged.

Shaking her head, she headed back inside, still clutching the bag of food. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten in hours. She kicked off her shoes and padded into the kitchen, dumping the contents of the bag onto the counter with a clatter.

As the savory scents of her meal wafted up, Deborah’s hunger pangs receded, replaced by a different kind of ache. She glanced out the window, watching the delivery van drive away, and felt her fingertips tingle with the memory of his touch.

Her hand drifted down to her thigh, stroking the soft fabric of her skirt. A wave of heat curled through her, and she closed her eyes, imagining those strong fingers tracing the curves of her body instead of her knuckles.

Deborah’s breath caught in her throat as she pictured the delivery guy’s hands roaming over her skin, his lips trailing fire along her neck. She could almost feel his hardness pressing against her, his hips grinding into hers as he claimed her mouth in a searing kiss.

A moan escaped her lips, and she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound. It was so loud, so raw, that she knew she wouldn’t be able to hide it. The neighbors could probably hear her if they happened to be listening at their windows.

But Deborah didn’t care. She was too lost in the fantasy, too consumed by the desire that had ignited within her the moment the delivery guy walked up her path. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this intensely hungry for pleasure, this desperate to be touched and filled and loved.

With shaking hands, Deborah pushed her skirt up around her hips, baring the sleek flesh of her thighs to the cool air. She reached beneath her panties, cupping the slick heat between her legs. Her fingers danced over her clit, teasing and circling until she was arching into her own touch, seeking more.

“Fuck,” she gasped, as a wave of pleasure crashed over her. “Yes, just like that…”

As she rode the waves of her own climax, Deborah’s mind replayed the brief encounter with the delivery guy, imagining his fingers moving inside her, stroking and pumping until she was reduced to mindless moans. She could almost taste the salt of his sweat on her tongue, feel the rough rasp of his beard against her skin.

When the aftershocks finally subsided, Deborah slumped against the counter, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. Her skirt had bunched up around her waist, her panties damp and clinging to her thighs.

She knew she should clean up, put some order back into her kitchen. But Deborah couldn’t move. She was too sated, too boneless with satiety. Besides, the remnants of her meal still sat abandoned on the counter, steaming in the tropical heat of her un-airconditioned apartment.

“Later,” she mumbled to herself, turning to grab a glass of water. As she did, she caught a glimpse of herself in the kitchen mirror – flushed cheeks, glossy lips, and a look of pure, wanton satisfaction in her eyes.