BREATHLESS | EROTIC FICTION

When the Lights Went Out | A Power Cut Romance Story

Intro…

Most of us assume the lights will come back on within minutes. But what if they didn’t?

When a widespread power cut leaves Sophie stranded miles from home, an ordinary Thursday begins to unravel. Transport stops, phone signals fade and the familiar city outside becomes increasingly unpredictable. Fortunately, coworker Daniel lives nearby.

They’ve spent eighteen months pretending the attraction between them isn’t there.

In the darkness, with the outside world growing more uncertain by the hour and no guarantee of what tomorrow will bring, pretending starts to feel increasingly pointless.

When the Lights Went Out is a story about fear, desire and what can happen when tomorrow suddenly feels a very long way away.

When the Lights Went Out

The lights went out at 4:17 on a Thursday afternoon.

For the first few seconds, nobody moved.

Computer screens vanished. The air-conditioning stopped. Somewhere behind the glass wall of the meeting room, a printer died halfway through a page.

Then somebody laughed.

“Well, that’s one way to finish the quarterly report.”

A few more voices joined in. Chairs scraped backwards. Phones appeared almost simultaneously, illuminating faces in the fading November light.

Sophie Hart looked across the office at Daniel Mercer.

He was already looking at her.

Only for a second.

Then he lifted his phone and glanced at the screen.

“No Wi-Fi,” somebody announced.

“Tragic.”

“Mobile’s still working.”

“Give it ten minutes.”

Sophie smiled at the conversation around her, although something outside had caught her attention.

The building opposite was dark.

So was the one beside it.

Down on the street, traffic had stopped moving normally. Cars edged through a junction where the traffic lights had failed, horns beginning to sound as drivers competed for space.

“This isn’t just us,” she said.

Daniel came to stand beside her.

“No.”

They watched another building disappear into darkness further along the street.

Then another.

Neither spoke.

For the first time, nobody in the office was laughing.

The First Night

By five o’clock, they knew very little more.

The building manager told everyone to leave before the emergency lighting failed. A message circulating online claimed there had been a major fault somewhere on the electricity network. Another insisted half the country was affected. Somebody else had heard it was a cyberattack.

Nobody knew which, if any, was true.

Outside, London had become strangely disordered.

Buses were packed. Underground stations were closing. Traffic barely moved. Shops with emergency lighting were filling with people buying bottled water, batteries and anything that could be eaten without cooking.

Sophie tried calling her sister.

The call failed.

She tried again.

Nothing.

“How much battery?”

Daniel was standing beside her on the pavement.

“Forty-three per cent.”

“I’ve got sixty-one.”

“Show-off.”

Usually she enjoyed the small exchanges between them. There had been hundreds during the eighteen months they’d worked together.

Coffee-machine remarks. Glances during tedious meetings. Jokes neither of them needed to explain.

Occasionally, something more.

Once, at the office Christmas party, Daniel’s hand had settled against the bare skin at the bottom of her back while he moved behind her through a crowded bar.

It had remained there perhaps two seconds longer than necessary.

Sophie had thought about those two seconds considerably more than she should have.

Nothing had happened.

Something always prevented it.

Work.

Timing.

Other people.

Common sense.

Now she looked towards the station entrance, where an employee was pulling a metal barrier across the steps.

“I’ve got no chance of getting home, have I?”

Daniel followed her gaze.

“Not tonight.”

“My flat’s eleven miles away.”

“Mine’s twelve minutes on foot.”

She turned towards him.

He shrugged.

“I’ve got a sofa.”

“Is that your best line?”

“I wasn’t aware I needed one.”

Despite everything, she laughed.

“Come on,” he said. “You can leave when things start moving again.”

At that moment, neither of them understood quite how long that might be.

They walked.

As daylight disappeared, the city changed quickly.

Without illuminated shopfronts, office windows, streetlights and advertising screens, familiar streets became almost unrecognisable. People moved carefully along pavements using phone torches. Cars crawled through junctions. Somewhere in the distance, sirens seemed almost constant.

Daniel’s flat was on the third floor of a converted Victorian building in Islington.

The communal hallway was already black.

“Hold my arm,” he said.

“I can manage stairs.”

“I know.”

She took his arm anyway.

They climbed by the light of his phone.

Twelve Minutes From the Office

Inside the flat, Daniel immediately opened a kitchen cupboard.

“Torch.”

“You actually own one?”

“Two.”

“Daniel Mercer, survivalist.”

“Wait until you see my four tins of beans.”

She laughed again.

It felt good.

Normal.

He switched on the torch, then found another and handed it to her.

“Before anything else, water.”

Her smile faded.

“You think it’ll stop?”

“Probably not. But if pumping stations are affected…”

He didn’t finish.

Together they filled saucepans, bottles and every sensible container they could find. Daniel cleaned an old camping water carrier from the back of a cupboard and filled that too.

The bath was considered, then filled halfway.

“That’s slightly terrifying,” Sophie said, watching the water rise.

“It’s precautionary.”

“I preferred you when your emergency plan consisted of four tins of beans.”

“Three. One’s chilli.”

By seven, her mobile signal had become intermittent.

At eight, it disappeared.

Daniel’s lasted another twenty minutes.

After that, their phones became little more than clocks whose batteries they were afraid to use.

Dinner consisted of cheese, ham, tomatoes and half a tub of coleslaw from Daniel’s fridge.

“Eat the expensive things first,” Sophie said.

“Finally, someone understands my approach to crisis management.”

He produced an unopened bottle of white wine.

She stared at it.

“Really?”

“It’ll go warm.”

“That’s your justification?”

“Entirely.”

He poured two small glasses.

They ate at the kitchen table with a battery lantern between them.

For a while, it was almost enjoyable.

Then something smashed outside.

Both stopped talking.

Another crash followed.

Daniel went to the window but remained behind the curtain.

“What is it?”

“Can’t see.”

Voices rose somewhere below.

A man shouted.

Another voice answered aggressively.

Then came the unmistakable sound of breaking glass.

Sophie stood.

Daniel looked back at her.

“Stay there.”

The words were quiet rather than commanding, yet she did.

He watched through a narrow gap in the curtain.

After several minutes, the voices moved away.

“What happened?”

“Looks like someone tried getting into the off-licence.”

“For wine?”

“Water, probably. Food.”

That changed something.

Until then, the power cut had still contained the possibility of becoming an anecdote.

Remember that night the lights went out?

They would laugh about eating cheese before it spoiled. They would complain about walking home. Everyone would compare stories at work.

Now Sophie looked at the containers of water lined along the kitchen counter.

“How long do you think this is going to last?”

Daniel turned away from the window.

“I don’t know.”

She appreciated him for saying it.

No false reassurance.

No confident prediction he couldn’t possibly make.

Just the truth.

He picked up her wine and brought it across.

“But you’re safe here.”

Their fingers touched around the glass.

Neither moved immediately.

There it was again.

That thing between them.

Only now the office wasn’t around them to make them pretend it wasn’t there.

Sophie took the glass.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

When Darkness Settled In

Later, they sat beneath separate blankets on opposite ends of the sofa.

By midnight, the flat was noticeably colder.

Daniel had found an old battery radio, although most stations provided little useful information. A widespread electricity failure had affected several regions. Engineers were working to restore supplies. People were being asked to remain calm, conserve phone batteries and check on vulnerable neighbours.

No restoration time was given.

Sophie finally managed to send a text to her sister.

SAFE. STAYING WITH DANIEL FROM WORK. LET ME KNOW YOU’RE OK. X

It remained unsent for almost an hour.

Then, suddenly, it went.

Her sister’s reply arrived at 1:08.

SAFE. WITH MARK. DON’T WORRY. LOVE YOU X

Sophie stared at the message.

Her eyes filled before she could stop them.

Daniel noticed.

“She’s all right?”

Sophie nodded.

He didn’t say anything.

Instead, he opened his blanket.

The invitation was so simple that she moved before thinking.

She crossed the sofa and settled beside him.

Daniel wrapped the blanket around them both.

For several minutes, she rested against his shoulder.

Eventually, her head found his chest.

His arm settled around her.

Nothing about it felt sexual.

That was almost the problem.

It felt better than that.

“Daniel?”

“Mmm?”

“Have you ever thought about kissing me?”

His chest became very still beneath her cheek.

Sophie almost smiled.

“Well?”

“Yes.”

“How often?”

“That’s an entirely different question.”

She lifted her head.

Even in the darkness, she could see his expression.

“Often?”

He looked at her mouth before answering.

“Often enough.”

The air between them changed.

Her pulse quickened.

“So why haven’t you?”

“Because we work together.”

“Very responsible.”

“I have my moments.”

His thumb moved once against her upper arm.

Sophie felt it through her blouse.

“Any other reason?”

“Until approximately thirty seconds ago, I wasn’t completely certain you wanted me to.”

She stared at him.

“You are now?”

“No.”

That made her laugh softly.

Their faces were close.

Close enough that Sophie could feel the warmth of his breath.

For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her.

She wasn’t sure whether she wanted him to or wanted the anticipation to last another minute.

Then a siren screamed through the street below.

The moment broke.

Sophie lowered her head against him again.

Perhaps that was why nothing happened that first night.

Or perhaps both of them still believed morning would bring the lights back.

The Second Day

It didn’t.

Morning arrived grey and cold.

The electricity remained off.

So did the mobile network.

Daniel made instant coffee using water heated on the small camping stove he’d forgotten he owned until Sophie discovered it beneath his kitchen sink.

She held up the dusty box.

“You’ve been hiding resources.”

“My father gave me that ten years ago.”

“I like your father.”

“You haven’t met him.”

“At present, he’s providing coffee. I adore him.”

They drank it beside the window.

Outside, the road was quieter than either expected.

Very few cars were moving.

People walked instead.

A handwritten sign had appeared in the window of the small supermarket opposite.

CLOSED. NO POWER. NO CARD PAYMENTS.

At around eleven, Daniel suggested they go outside.

Sophie wasn’t enthusiastic.

“We need information,” he said. “And more food if we can get it.”

They left most of their belongings behind and took one backpack.

The atmosphere outside was different from the previous evening.

Less confused.

More serious.

A queue stretched along the pavement outside a corner shop operating from its doorway. Cash only. Two bottles of water per person. No batteries left.

At another shop, the shelves nearest the entrance were almost bare.

They bought bread, apples, cereal bars, two tins of soup and a packet of chocolate biscuits neither admitted choosing.

Daniel paid with cash.

“I never carry cash,” Sophie said once they were outside.

“I normally have twenty quid tucked behind my driving licence.”

“Why?”

“My mother.”

“Another member of the Mercer emergency planning committee?”

“Chairwoman.”

A burst of shouting came from further down the road.

People turned.

Two men were arguing beside a parked car. One shoved the other.

Daniel’s hand found Sophie’s.

“Come on.”

They walked in the opposite direction.

He didn’t release her hand.

Neither mentioned it.

No One Knew What Was Happening

Back at the flat, they heard their first meaningful radio update.

The outage was extensive.

Restoration had begun in some areas, but further disruption was expected. People were advised to conserve water where supplies had been affected and avoid unnecessary travel.

No explanation satisfied anybody.

Technical failure.

Infrastructure damage.

An unprecedented sequence of faults.

Online rumours, when a signal briefly returned, offered darker alternatives.

Sophie stopped reading them.

By afternoon, the taps were running more slowly.

That frightened her more than anything else had.

Daniel noticed her expression.

“We’ve got plenty.”

“For how long?”

“A while.”

“How long is a while?”

He looked at the filled containers.

“Long enough.”

It wasn’t an answer.

She knew that.

Nevertheless, his calmness steadied her.

They spent the afternoon wearing coats indoors.

Without email, television or social media, time became strange. They played cards. Sophie discovered Daniel cheated badly at gin rummy. He accused her of inventing rules.

As darkness approached, their humour faded.

Another night.

That realisation sat heavily between them.

Another Night in the Dark

After eating cold soup straight from the tins rather than wasting fuel heating it, they returned to the sofa.

This time they shared the blanket from the beginning.

No discussion.

No pretence.

Sophie’s legs rested across his. Daniel’s hand lay casually against her knee.

Every so often, his thumb moved.

Each movement registered.

“You know what’s strange?” she said.

“What?”

“I’ve probably spoken to you more in the last twenty-four hours than I did in eighteen months at work.”

“At work you spend most of your time telling me I’m wrong.”

“You usually are.”

“Comforting to know civilisation collapsing hasn’t changed you.”

She smiled.

Then the smile disappeared.

Someone at the Door

Somebody was hammering on the main door downstairs.

Both heard it.

Three violent blows.

A pause.

Then more.

Daniel sat upright.

“Stay here.”

“Don’t.”

He looked at her.

“Don’t go downstairs.”

“I’m not going downstairs.”

Another blow shook through the building.

Voices sounded in the hallway.

Sophie stood and caught Daniel’s wrist.

“What if they get in?”

“They won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No.”

His honesty frightened her.

The pounding continued.

Somebody downstairs shouted that the police had been called.

Another resident yelled from an upstairs window.

For several minutes, the entire building seemed to hold its breath.

Then the banging stopped.

Footsteps ran outside.

Silence returned.

Daniel waited.

Only when several minutes had passed did he move towards the window.

Sophie grabbed the back of his jumper.

“Daniel.”

He stopped.

She was shaking.

“Hey.”

He turned.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

“Sophie.”

Something in his voice broke through her attempt at composure.

She stepped into him.

His arms went around her immediately.

Her face pressed against his chest.

“That scared me.”

“I know.”

“Don’t tell anyone at work.”

A breath of laughter moved through him.

“Your reputation is safe.”

His hand travelled slowly up her back.

She became aware of everything at once.

His warmth.

The solid shape of him beneath the jumper.

The faint scent of his skin and yesterday’s aftershave.

His cheek resting against her hair.

Most of all, she became aware that his heart was beating almost as hard as hers.

She pulled back slightly.

“You were scared too.”

“Of course I was.”

That did something to her.

Perhaps she had needed him to be frightened.

Not because she wanted his fear, but because it made the arms around her real. He wasn’t some impossibly fearless man protecting her from a world he understood.

He didn’t understand it either.

They were both standing in a dark flat, listening to a city neither recognised and pretending they knew what tomorrow would look like.

Sophie looked at his mouth.

Daniel saw her do it.

Neither spoke.

This time there was no office Christmas party.

No meeting tomorrow.

No colleagues ten feet away.

And no sensible reason to step back.

Sophie kissed him.

No Tomorrow

The first kiss lasted perhaps two seconds.

The second erased the distance between them.

Daniel’s hand slid into her hair as Sophie caught the front of his jumper and pulled him closer.

Months of careful glances and unfinished moments suddenly seemed ridiculous.

His mouth found hers again.

Harder.

Hungrier.

Sophie felt the wall against her back and Daniel immediately began to move away.

She caught him by the jumper.

“Don’t.”

That single word was enough.

He kissed her again.

The torch on the table threw a pale circle across the ceiling. Beyond it, the flat was almost completely dark.

His hands settled at her waist.

Hers moved around his neck.

A tremor still ran through her from what had happened downstairs, although fear was no longer the only thing making her shake.

She wanted closer.

There seemed to be no such thing.

The small table beside the sofa caught Daniel’s hip.

Something toppled onto the carpet.

Sophie laughed against his mouth.

“What was that?”

“Don’t care.”

“Good.”

Her laughter disappeared when his lips found the sensitive place beneath her ear.

For months, she had wondered what kissing Daniel would feel like.

Her imagination had always made it elegant.

Reality was nothing like that.

It was breathless and impatient. Teeth occasionally met. Fingers caught in clothing. Their noses bumped once and neither cared.

His hand slipped beneath the back of her blouse.

Warm fingers met cold skin.

Sophie inhaled sharply.

Daniel stopped.

She answered by pulling his jumper upwards.

It caught around his face.

“Oh, very seductive.”

“Quiet.”

She was still smiling when he freed himself.

Then she saw him properly for the first time.

Only partly.

Torchlight caught one shoulder and the line of his chest before darkness took the rest.

Something about seeing so little made her want to touch more.

Her palms travelled over warm skin.

Daniel closed his eyes.

The reaction was small.

It affected her enormously.

He reached for her again.

This kiss was slower for perhaps three seconds.

Then whatever restraint remained disappeared.

Her blouse landed somewhere behind them.

One shoe came off in the hallway.

Sophie lost the other before they reached the bedroom.

Daniel nearly walked into the doorframe.

She caught his shoulders, laughing.

“You know this flat.”

“It’s dark.”

“You’ve lived here six years.”

“You’re distracting me.”

“Good.”

His hands tightened around her waist.

The next kiss had no laughter in it.

Outside, somewhere beyond the curtains, a siren passed through the darkness.

Neither turned towards it.

The familiar world felt impossibly far away.

There was no office.

No meetings.

No careful glances across desks.

And no wondering what colleagues might think.

There was Daniel’s mouth against hers, the heat of his hands and the intoxicating realisation that she no longer had to imagine any of it.

He drew back just far enough to look at her.

Sophie could barely make out his face.

Only his outline.

The shine of his eyes.

The sound of his breathing.

For one dangerous second, thought threatened to return.

Tomorrow.

Work.

Consequences.

She put her fingers against his lips.

“Don’t start thinking.”

“I’m not.”

“Good.”

She kissed him before another word could exist between them.

After that, there was no room for thought.

Only sensation.

Warm skin beneath her palms. His breath against her throat. Fingers tracing paths that made the cold room disappear. Kisses that became slower and then urgent again.

Every time distance opened between them, one of them closed it.

They had spent eighteen months behaving as though wanting each other was something manageable.

Now neither seemed capable of managing anything.

Clothing became an inconvenience discarded somewhere in the darkness.

The duvet was cold when they first fell beneath it.

It didn’t remain that way.

Sophie stopped caring how long the power would be off.

She stopped wondering whether trains would run tomorrow.

For once, tomorrow had no claim on her.

There was only Daniel.

Here.

Now.

His hands.

His mouth.

The darkness allowing everything except pretence.

And the way he said her name as though he had been keeping it behind his teeth for eighteen months.

When the Fear Was Gone

Much later, the room became quiet again.

Sophie lay with her cheek against his bare chest.

The cold waited beyond the duvet, but underneath it their bodies remained warm.

Neither spoke for a while.

Daniel’s fingers moved lazily along her shoulder.

“You realise,” he said eventually, “your shoe is somewhere in my hallway.”

Sophie lifted her head.

“That’s what you’re thinking about?”

“I’m trying not to think about what happened to my lamp.”

“We broke a lamp?”

“I heard something.”

“When?”

He considered it.

“Approximately blouse.”

She started laughing.

Daniel joined her.

Perhaps they needed the laughter.

It belonged to them, rather than the world outside.

When it faded, Sophie pressed a slow kiss against his chest.

His fingers slipped into her hair.

“Do you regret it?” he asked.

She raised herself onto one elbow.

“Do you?”

“No.”

“Then don’t ruin it.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“Good.”

Sophie studied him.

Something had changed.

The frantic edge was gone.

The desire wasn’t.

That mattered.

No shouting downstairs now.

No sudden rush of fear.

And no adrenaline demanding somewhere to go.

Only him.

Only her.

And only choice.

She leaned down and kissed him slowly.

Daniel’s hand travelled along her back.

Sophie smiled against his mouth.

“Again?”

He answered by kissing her.

So they stopped talking.

Morning

Sophie woke to grey light and Daniel’s arm around her waist.

For several seconds, she didn’t know where she was.

Then she saw her skirt on the floor.

Memory returned quickly.

“Oh.”

Behind her, Daniel stirred.

“Morning.”

She turned her head.

“Please tell me the electricity is back.”

“No.”

“Water?”

“Don’t know.”

“Phone?”

“Dead.”

“Mine?”

“Seven per cent.”

She closed her eyes.

“Excellent.”

Daniel tightened his arm around her.

Oddly, she smiled.

The world was still broken.

She was cold, hungry and badly needed a toothbrush.

Yet lying there felt absurdly good.

“Last night…” Daniel began.

“No.”

“I was going to say last night was…”

“Still no.”

He laughed.

“Are we simply never discussing it?”

“We can discuss it when there’s electricity.”

“Why?”

“Because electricity represents civilisation, and I would like civilisation present before we have an adult conversation.”

“Reasonable.”

She turned towards him.

His hair was a mess.

She liked it.

Probably too much.

“What were you going to say?”

“Nothing.”

“Daniel.”

“You’ve banned discussion.”

“I’ve temporarily lifted the ban.”

He looked at her.

“Last night was something I’ve wanted for a very long time.”

The humour left her face.

“How long?”

“Long enough to know it wasn’t because the lights went out.”

That landed somewhere deeper than she expected.

She touched his cheek.

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Very.”

Then she kissed him.

Not desperately.

Not because somebody was outside.

Not because tomorrow might never come.

Just because she wanted to.

A second later, the bedroom light came on.

Both froze.

From the kitchen came the sudden mechanical hum of the refrigerator.

Somewhere in the building, somebody screamed with delight.

Another person shouted, “YES!”

A television burst into life in the flat below.

Daniel and Sophie stared at each other.

Neither celebrated.

After almost forty hours of darkness, the ordinary world had returned without asking whether they were ready for it.

Daniel looked towards the ceiling light.

“Well.”

Sophie glanced at him.

“Civilisation.”

“Apparently.”

Her phone began vibrating in the other room.

Then his joined it.

Messages.

Missed calls.

Notifications.

Work.

Family.

News.

The entire world rushing back through two small screens.

Still neither moved.

Sophie looked at the man beside her.

In full daylight, there was nowhere for either of them to hide.

Strangely, she didn’t want to.

When Tomorrow Came

By Monday morning, London looked almost normal.

Trains were running. Shops had reopened. Traffic lights worked. People carried takeaway coffees and swapped blackout stories as though comparing unusual weekends.

One colleague had slept in a hotel lobby.

Another had walked nine miles home.

Someone from accounts claimed to have survived for two days on Pringles and warm prosecco.

Sophie contributed very little.

Daniel arrived at nine twelve.

Their eyes met across the office.

For a fraction of a second, the fluorescent lights disappeared.

She remembered his hands.

His mouth.

His voice saying her name in the darkness.

Then someone asked him about a client presentation.

Daniel became Daniel from work again.

At eleven, Sophie passed his desk carrying a folder she didn’t need.

He looked up.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

Perfectly professional.

She continued walking.

“Sophie?”

She stopped.

Daniel came towards her, keeping his voice low.

“Are we going to pretend it didn’t happen?”

Around them, keyboards clicked. Phones rang. The coffee machine hissed.

Civilisation.

All those things that had once seemed important were back.

Workplace complications.

Gossip.

Consequences.

Tomorrow.

Sophie looked at him.

“No.”

His expression changed.

“Definitely not?”

“Definitely not.”

“When can I see you?”

“Tonight.”

“Your place or mine?”

She thought about the lamp.

“Mine.”

“Seven?”

“Eight.”

“Why eight?”

“I have plans at seven.”

His face fell.

Sophie leaned closer.

“A very long shower.”

Daniel laughed.

Several people looked over.

She walked away before he could answer.

At her desk, Sophie opened the report she’d been working on when the power failed.

The cursor blinked exactly where she’d left it.

Her phone vibrated.

CAN’T WAIT UNTIL EIGHT.

She smiled.

Another message appeared.

ANY CHANCE OF ANOTHER NATIONAL EMERGENCY AROUND SIX?

Sophie looked across the office.

Daniel was watching her.

She typed:

NO.

Then added:

THIS TIME WE DON’T NEED ONE.

Across the room, he read it.

The look he gave her made the brightly lit office suddenly feel much too warm.

Sophie turned back to her screen.

The lights were on.

Tomorrow had arrived.

And she wanted him anyway.

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