“That’s it babe…come as hard as you need.”
He kissed me through it, soft and patient, only pulling back once I’d gone still and couldn’t take any more.
Then he stripped the rest of the way fully now, and climbed over me, his cock hard and hot against my thigh. He paused for a second, just looking at me, like I was the only thing he’d ever wanted.
“Turn around,” he whispered, his voice rough with need.
He flipped me over, hands firm but gentle.
“Jordan…” I gasped, laughing.
“Bending you over’s easier now,” he murmured against my neck. “Plus, I think this old bed is gonna give us away if we carry on.”
The bed creaked again, and we both cracked up.
“Jesus, we need to get off this thing before we fall through the ceiling,” he said, pulling me up to stand with my back against him.
He kissed down the back of my neck as his hands slid lower, circling my clit again slowly and deliciously. Still twitching from my last orgasm, my knees buckled. I grabbed the bed for balance as he gently pushed me forward, my forearms resting against the mattress.
Then he slid into me. Slowly, making sure I savoured every single inch he gave me. I gasped, not even trying to hide it. He brought his fingers to my lips as though he was trying to muffle the sound.
He moved inside me with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each thrust angled perfectly, building pressure with every stroke. I had to bite down on the duvet, trying to stay quiet, but it was impossible. Every nerve ending was lit.
His grip on my hips tightened as I came again, crying out into the mattress as he held me through it.
“Fuck, Katie,” he groaned, broken, his own restraint shattering. “You feel so fucking good.” The creaking went wild beneath us, like the bloody thing might collapse, before he buried himself deep and came with a guttural gasp, his chest pressed to my back, one hand cradling my belly.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of our ragged breathing and the faint whirr of the ceiling fan. My body trembled against the mattress. Then the absurdity hit me, the squeaking still echoing in my ears, and I started laughing into the pillow.
“Don’t,” he warned, already fighting a grin as he slipped out and tugged me around to face him.
I giggled harder, and that was it. He broke, laughing too as he kissed me, deep, and messy, and stupidly tender all at once.
“Well,” he said finally, still out of breath, his forehead resting on mine. “I’ve never done that in here.”
When Jordan finally let me out of his bed the next morning after more teasing, more kisses, and an obscene amount of groping, his mum had practically ambushed me at the bottom of the stairs.
“Right, young lady. Coffee date,” she declared, already grabbing her bag. “Girl bonding, my treat. Don’t argue.” I raised my eyebrows in delight.
Izzy arrived through the front door right on cue, handbag on and glowing, armed with sunglasses and another gorgeous linen dress.
I didn’t stand a chance before they pulled me into the fold.
I threw on one of the loose sundresses I’d packed, pale blue linen, light enough for the heat, and quickly curled my hair, slipping my feet into sandals as we headed out the door. Jordan gave me a lingering kiss goodbye and a murmured, “Good luck,” like I was off to battle.
The sun was already warm as we wandered down to a beachfront café Sue insisted was “a local institution.” The air smelled like salty sea spray and sun cream. It was strange, surreal even, celebrating the tail end of December in this kind of heat. Christmas had never looked like this for me. My childhood was full of grey skies, muddy wellies, and my dad swearing at broken fairy lights. Not surfboards, and sand, and bronzed toddlers in rash vests licking ice cream that dripped down their wrists.
The café was the kind with mismatched wicker chairs and hand-drawn chalk signs. Faded menus were stuck into clipboards, and it had a quiet sort of charm that only came from years of locals visiting on Sundays. Barefoot kids darted past our table, parents sipping flat whites with sandy feet up on stools. You couldn’t help but let yourself relax.
We found a table under a pale cream umbrella, and I let myself exhale.
Sue and Izzy didn’t come at me with questions or polite small talk, they just…included me. Casually. As if I’d always been part of the family. Giving me the family lowdown, the local gossip.
Izzy ordered us “the best coffee cake on the entire coast…trust me,” and Sue refused to let me pay, waving off my card like it was no use here.
I’d never had a sister. Gwen was probably the closest thing, and she’d been my lifeline so many times, but sitting next to Izzy, I found myself imagining what it might be like to have that relationship from the start. She was relaxed and kind, that grounded sort of Aussie calm, and radiated a warmth that was impossible not to lean into.
My bump was pretty visible now, though not as big as hers, but undeniable. And within seconds of sitting down, Izzy’s hand had found it.
