It had beena whirlwind of a day.
Now, finally, the house was quiet. No more hugs, teasing, or sticky little hands grabbing at my bump. I couldn’t help but giggle at the chaos. In the kitchen, the dishwasher hummed softly in the background. His mum had flat-out refused to let me help, shooing me away to the outside deck with another slice of pavlova. I wasn’t complaining.
I felt full to the brim, content, though a little undone by it all. Tears hovered, because they’d welcomed me like I’d always been theirs. Kind and all-consuming, folding me into the noise and warmth, as if they’d been saving a place for me all along.
I didn’t quite know where to put the feeling, that ache of being wanted, accepted, loved simply for being me.
It was late now, the air still warm, the sky outside deepening into a shade of burnt gold. Jordan grabbed my hand and led me upstairs, still caught up in the love bomb we’d been swept up in all day.
“God, there are so many photos,” I said, eyeing the framed memories as we walked up the stairs. “None of you have changed since you were tiny.”
“Don’t tell Izzy.” He smirked. “She’ll kick off about the perm.”
We reached the end of the hall, and he pushed open a door.
“Right,” he said, flicking on the light. “This is it. Where all the magic…didn’t happen.”
I blinked, not quite comprehending what I was seeing. Then laughed. “Jesus, Jordan.”
The room was a teenage time capsule of him. Surf posters curling at the edges. Tennis trophies gathering dust on the shelves. A couple of old cricket bats in the corner. A queen-sized bed that looked like it had seen things…mostly solo, I imagined.
“You still have Kelly Slater on your wall?” I asked, mockingly dramatic.
“My first idol,” he said solemnly. “You should be honoured I’m even letting you in here.”
“Oh, I am.” I grinned, stepping further in. “I feel like I’m meeting teenage Jordan.”
“Hope you still like me after this.”
I turned to tease him again, but he’d already peeled off his T-shirt. Bare-chested and golden under the warm light, the top button of his shorts undone, low on his hips. He looked like every reason I’d ever had to said yes to him.
“You’re ridiculous,” I muttered, spreading my hands across his chest, biting back a grin.
“Yeah?” he murmured, nipping gently at my bottom lip. “You’re still here, though.”
“You gonna show me your teenage moves, Taylor?” I asked.
“Mate, I’ve levelled up.”
He spun me with a squeal and pinned me to the bed, planting a kiss on my lips just as the mattress groaned in protest.
“Shhh.” I giggled into his mouth. “Your whole family’s downstairs.”
He glanced at my bump and smirked. “To be fair, I think they know what we’ve been up to.”
He lifted my dress clean off in one smooth motion, revealing the soft cotton set I’d been in all day. His hand slid under the waistband of my underwear. He could feel exactly what he was doing to me. The look he gave me made my pulse trip.
“Katie Ashford,” he teased, eyes wide. “You’ve been walking around the house this wet for me?”
Heat flamed through me. I bit my bottom lip, a confession without words. His fingers stroked once over my wetness, maddeningly slow, before slipping inside me. The brush of his fingers against my clit had me jolting.
His mouth found mine instantly, swallowing my moan as his fingers moved into me, slow, and deep, and devastatingly perfect. He knew exactly how I liked it. Every angle, every pace. “Fuck…Jordan.”
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his forehead pressed to mine as if he couldn’t take the sight. “You really are dripping for me baby.”
His mouth crashed onto mine the second his fingers slid inside, swallowing the moan that ripped out of me. He moved slow, agonisingly slow, curling just right, pulling me apart with devastating precision.
His thumb circled my clit at the perfect rhythm, cruel and controlled, his fingers never breaking pace. My back arched helplessly. “Oh God…”
