Such was the rain, she hadn't realised until her children had dragged her past the pumpkin outside his door.

By then, too late – they’d pressed the bell; the door opened. She hid under her umbrella.

‘Trick – or treat,’ her kids chorused.

He winked down. 'Inside, scamps – my wife has something.’

He saw her then, stepped out. His lips met her neck, his remembered hands found an opening in her clothes – they always did. Warm and rough, under the lip of her panties.

Her head canted, stupidly. His finger was inside her already. She could only apologise.