RichardsLady

The last week of term carried its usual mix of exhaustion and anticipation — classrooms half-decorated, everyone running on caffeine and leftover chocolates from the staffroom table. By Friday afternoon, my desk was buried beneath cards and gifts from parents who’d written the same polite message on every tag.

Tonight was the staff Christmas do — a private room in a pub near the river, loud and over-decorated and exactly what everyone needed after a long term. I’d promised to show my face before heading to the airport hotel. Austin was picking me up later, and tomorrow we’d fly to LA for Christmas.

Two months ago, the idea of that might’ve terrified me — stepping into his world like that, meeting the people who’d known him long before I did.

Now, it just felt right.

The pub was already heaving when I arrived, the upstairs room strung with fairy lights that cast everything in a warm, amber glow. A DJ had set up by the far wall, switching between Christmas songs and hits that had people singing along between rounds.

Zara spotted me from across the room and waved me over. She was at a table near the window, surrounded by a half-dozen colleagues, the surface crowded with glasses and the remains of shared plates. “There she is — Head of History herself,” she said, grinning as I squeezed into the seat beside her.

“Word travels fast,” I said, though I couldn’t quite stop the smile.

She shrugged, sipping her drink. “We all knew it was yours. Hannah’s already told everyone the department’s in safe hands.”

The warmth in her voice caught me off guard. I’d spent so much of the past year trying to keep everything balanced — work, life, all of it — that I hadn’t really stopped to think about how other people saw me. Hearing it out loud felt strange, in a good way.

“You’ll be brilliant,” Zara went on. “And this whole LA trip — honestly, Ange, you deserve it. Bit of glamour before the spring term.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “It’s really not that glamorous. Mostly long flights and me worrying I’ve packed the wrong thing.”

She gave me a look that said she didn’t believe a word. “Still sounds pretty good to me.” She lifted her glass. “To new titles and well-earned holidays.”

I smiled, “I’ll take that.” We clinked glasses, and for a while the noise around us filled the room — music, laughter, the low hum of voices rising over the bar. I could already picture the inevitable group photo that would end up on the staff WhatsApp by morning.

My phone buzzed against the table. Be there in five.

I glanced at the message and felt that little rush of warmth that always came with seeing his name. I finished my drink and started saying goodbyes, catching quick hugs and half-shouted promises to see everyone in January.

Then the door opened. The shift in the room was subtle — a few heads turning, a hush that rolled and then settled again. Austin. He scanned the crowd, found me straight away. His coat was unbuttoned, hair slightly mussed, eyes finding mine with that small spark of recognition that always felt like it was meant only for me.

Zara’s eyes widened slightly. “Is that—”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling before I could help it. “That’s him.”

He crossed the room, easy and unhurried, and the sound of conversation seemed to soften around us. A few people tried not to stare and failed spectacularly.

“Hey,” he said, leaning down to brush a quick kiss against my temple. “You ready to go?”

“Nearly.” I reached for my coat, catching the look Zara was trying — and failing — to hide.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” she said, standing halfway to shake his hand.

“You too,” Austin said warmly. “I’ve heard plenty.”

“All good things, I hope,” Zara teased.

He grinned. “Mostly.”

Her laugh drew a few curious glances from nearby tables. “Take care of her,” she said, half-joking, half-earnest.

“Always,” he replied, simple as that.

I slipped on my coat, turning back to wave. “See you in January.”

“Have the best time,” Zara said, lifting her glass in a small toast.

“Thanks,” I said, smiling as Austin reached for my hand and guided me through the crowd.

The air had that crisp, wintry bite as we stepped outside. The car was parked just down the street, the river catching stray flashes of light from the passing traffic as we walked. Austin opened the door for me, waiting until I’d slid into the back seat before closing it gently and circling around to his side. The driver nodded when he climbed in, and the soft thud of the door left the city noise behind us.

The car eased into motion, streetlights streaking across the glass. For a moment it was quiet — the kind that came easily now, after everything.

He glanced over, mouth curving slightly. “Good day?”

I pretended to think about it, tracing a finger over the seam of my coat. “Pretty good, yeah. Kind of a big one, actually.”

“Oh?” His eyebrow lifted, amused. “Something you wanna tell me?”

“I got the job,” I said, trying not to sound too smug — and failing.

The grin that spread across his face was instant, unguarded. “You did?”

I nodded. “Email came this morning.”

He let out a low breath, still smiling. “That’s amazing, Ange.”

“I know,” I said, laughing softly. “I keep waiting for them to realise they’ve made a mistake.”

His hand found mine, fingers warm against my skin. “No chance. You earned it.”

The way he said it — simple, sure — made something in my chest loosen. “You realise this means I’ll have full authority to slip Masters of the Air into the curriculum,” I said, a faint smile tugging at my mouth.

Amusement flickered in his eyes. “Is that right?”

“Absolutely. Might have to run a full unit on it. Historical accuracy, character development…”

He laughed, head tipping back. “Right. Because that’s exactly what nine-year-olds need — air combat and existential dread.”

“History’s history,” I said lightly. “Educational value.”

That earned another quiet laugh, his thumb brushing idly across my hand. “You really are something else.”

I tilted my head toward him, teasing. “You only just working that out?”

“Pretty sure I knew it the night I met you,” he said, voice softer now.

Something in the way he looked at me made it hard to think of anything clever to say back, so I didn’t. I just smiled, and let the warmth of it settle between us as the car carried on through the city lights.

The suite was… something else.

Beautiful, understated — the kind of place that made it hard to know where to look first. Floor-to-ceiling windows, a king-size bed that could’ve fit three of us, a table already set with bottled water and neatly folded napkins.

I dropped my bag and coat on the armchair, still trying to take it in. “This is… not exactly a Travelodge.”

Austin smiled, tossing his jacket onto the sofa. “You like it?”

“Like it?” I turned toward him, raising a brow. “It’s bigger than my flat.”

He laughed, shaking his head, and I wandered toward the window, pressing a hand lightly to the glass. The city stretched out below in a wash of gold and shadow, headlights threading through the streets like veins.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” I said softly, my back to him.

Austin’s mouth curved as he came up behind me, his hands finding my waist. “Relax. The studio’s covering it.”

“But you paid for my flight.”

He kissed the side of my neck, voice warm against my skin. “Couldn’t let you sit back in economy while I was up front.”

I smiled, tilting my head toward him. “Don’t get used to it. I’m not going to start letting you pay for everything.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured, his thumbs tracing slow circles over my hips.

“You’re as bad as Callum,” I said, glancing back at him. “The pair of you need someone to keep you in the real world.”

He gave a quiet laugh, chin grazing my shoulder. “Good thing I’ve got you, then.”

I leaned back into him, his arms closing around my waist, the quiet of the room wrapping around us. A small laugh escaped before I could stop it. “I feel like I’m in a fanfic.”

Austin’s breath stirred against my hair. “Yeah? How?”

I tilted my head slightly, smiling as I looked at our reflection in the glass — his arms around me, the city lights scattered around us like something out of a film. “I don’t know. Ridiculously beautiful actor boyfriend. Fancy hotel. First-class flights. It’s all a bit… unreal.”

He let out a quiet hum, amusement colouring his voice. “And how do you know what fanfiction’s like? You read a lot of it?”

“Worse,” I said, glancing back at him with a small, guilty smile. “I used to write it.”

That made him laugh — soft, surprised. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

He shifted, just enough that I could turn in his arms to face him. “Okay,” he said, eyes glinting. “Now I have to know — what were they about?”

I hesitated, heat creeping up my neck. “Whatever I was obsessed with at the time. Films, books… bands.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying this. “Yeah, but what actually happened in them?”

My pulse jumped. “Nothing you need to know.”

“That bad?”

I met his gaze, letting a slow smile pull at my mouth. “That filthy.”

He blinked, amused but a little thrown. “Filthy?”

“Mmhmm.” I slid my hands up his chest, feeling the warmth through his shirt. “Downright pornographic, if we’re being honest.”

His laugh caught somewhere low in his throat. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

“When I want to be.”

He brought one hand up, fingers tracing the back of my neck before threading into my hair, the warmth of his body closing the last space between us. The air seemed to thin, his voice dropping low enough to vibrate against my skin. “So,” he murmured, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, “how does this story go?”

His question sent a rush of warmth through me, the corner of my mouth lifting. “Well,” I said, matching his tone, “it starts with a normal girl who somehow ends up in a luxury hotel suite with a movie star.”

His smile deepened. “Go on.”

“She’s way out of her depth,” I murmured, my palms still against his chest. “Still not entirely sure how she got here. Thinks she probably shouldn’t stay…”

Austin’s fingers traced the back of my neck, drawing a slow shiver up my spine. “But she does?”

“Oh, she definitely does.”

He laughed quietly, the sound brushing warm against my skin as he leaned in, his breath catching at the corner of my mouth. “And what happens next?”

I let the silence stretch just long enough for him to notice. “They’ve been holding back all night,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “So he finally moves closer… until she’s pressed up against the window.”

His hand pushed my hip, guiding me back until the cool glass met my spine.

“She looks up at him,” I continued, my voice lower now, “and he kisses her like he’s been thinking about it for hours — slow at first, like he’s testing what she’ll let him take… then deeper, until she forgets her own name.”

His eyes dropped to my mouth, and his fingers flexed in my hair as he leaned in. Close enough that our lips brushed without meeting, a ghost of contact that made every nerve stand to attention. Then he pulled back the slightest fraction, teasing, his breath catching against mine.

My mouth parted on instinct — a breath, a whisper of want — and then he finally closed the gap. The kiss started soft, exploratory, the kind that drew me in before I realised I’d moved. Then it deepened — his mouth firmer, surer, his tongue catching mine in a slow, hungry rhythm that stole my breath.

My hands fisted in his shirt, dragging him closer, and he answered with a low sound that vibrated through both of us as he pressed in harder, his body aligning with mine until there was no space left to fill.

When he drew back at last, our foreheads nearly touched, his breath unsteady against my cheek, lips curved in a faint, breathless smile.

“Then what happens?” he murmured.

“He tilts her head to the side,” I said softly, “and starts kissing down her neck — from just beneath her ear to her collarbone.”

His mouth followed the words like a promise, warm breath fanning my skin before his lips found the place I’d described. Each slow kiss drew a pulse of heat through me, my heartbeat tripping as his lips grazed along the line of my throat.

“His other hand moves from her hip,” I managed, my voice catching, “down— under her dress, between her legs. He can feel how wet she is, even through her underwear.”

A low sound escaped him as his hand traced a path over my thigh. I smiled, the edge of control still mine for a moment, as his fingers slipped beneath the hem of my dress. My breath stuttered as his fingers brushed warmly against me through the thin lace.

He kissed back up to my neck, sucking at the pulse there as his touch grew bolder, thumb circling my clit with precise strokes. “Keep talking,” he urged, breath hot against my ear. “Does he make her wait, or...”

I swallowed, finding the thread of the story again even as it frayed in my throat. “No waiting,” I managed, “he pushes the fabric aside, and slips his fingers inside her, curling them until he finds the spot that makes her moan.”

Austin’s head lifted a fraction, his voice rough. “Right here? Against the window?”

My breath came out uneven, the glass cool against my back. I nodded once, the smallest movement. “Yeah — with her wrists pinned above her head. Firm enough to hold her there, but gentle… like he knows exactly how much she wants it.”

Austin's gaze sharpened, a spark of heat flashing in his eyes. He caught my wrists, guiding them upward until they met the glass, his fingers threading lightly between mine. The gesture was steady, reverent, his eyes never leaving my face as he held me there.

He shifted my knickers to the side, the brief chill hitting my skin before his fingers slid in, smooth and sure. I clenched around them right away, a soft gasp slipping out as he paused just a beat, letting me feel him there. Then he pressed deeper, hooking his fingers to hit that sweet spot inside, sending sparks through me. He started moving, steady and rhythmic, his thumb brushing my clit in lazy circles that matched each thrust. It was all heat and slick ease, my body arching up to meet him, breaths coming quicker as he kissed along my collarbone, nipping lightly to pull me even closer.

“Like this?” he murmured, his voice low, rough around the edges.

“Yes. It feels so good that—,” I gasped, pulse stuttering. “She — she can’t think of anything except his hands, and his mouth, and his…” I paused long enough for him to look up at me, brow to lifting. “And his cock. She thinks it must be huge,” I managed, voice trembling with a laugh. “He even walks like it’s heavy.”

That earned a real laugh from him — low, caught between disbelief and pleasure — his forehead dropping briefly to my shoulder as his body shook against mine.

“Oh yeah?” he breathed, amusement curling through the words. “You writing that part from experience?”

I smiled, breath catching as I tried to shift against him, wrists still pinned above my head. “Maybe I am,” I murmured, the words coming out shakier than I meant.

His laugh deepened, low and rough against my throat. ‘Then tell me,’ he said, voice dipping lower, teasing but edged with heat. ‘What does she want to do with it?’

The question hung between us, dark and amused, a challenge I could feel all the way down my spine. My pulse stuttered, his breath brushing my ear as he waited — giving me the choice to keep the story going or let it unravel completely.

“She’d tell him,” I managed, voice catching, “that she wants him closer.”

Austin shifted, the smallest movement, but it felt seismic. His body pressed in fully, the hard length of his erection straining against my thigh through his trousers, a firm reminder of his arousal that sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in my belly. His hand tightened around my wrists, holding me steady while his fingers inside me began to move again — curling and withdrawing, reigniting the slick friction and drawing a quiet whimper from me.

“Closer,” he echoed, his tone dropping until it was barely a word.

I nodded, breath catching as his fingers curled deeper inside me, that relentless rhythm stealing my focus. “She’d tell him to stop teasing—she’d tell him—” The words fractured into a moan, his touch pulling me under, making speech impossible as pleasure coiled tighter.

He smiled — I could feel it against my neck, all heat and promise. “And if he doesn’t?”

“Then,” I whispered, arching deliberately to rub along the hard line of his cock against my thigh, “she’s not above begging — pleading for him to bury that thick cock inside her, to fuck her hard and fast, until she comes undone around him, lost in how he owns every part of her.”

His eyes widened for a split second, surprise flickering through the heat in his gaze — he’d never heard me speak so raw, so unfiltered — but then a wicked grin curved his lips, his breath hitching with approval. A deep groan rumbled from his chest as he released my wrists from the glass, his hand wrapping around my throat to hold me steady, fingers pressing firm against my skin in a promise of possession. In the same breath, his mouth crashed down on mine — the kiss fierce and claiming, his tongue thrusting deep to devour the desperation I’d just voiced.

My hands were free now, and I didn’t waste a second — fingers fumbling urgently at his belt, tugging it open before yanking the zip down, the urgency burning through me like fire.

His trousers gave way beneath my frantic tugs. I shoved them open and wrapped my hand around him through the thin cotton of his boxers. He growled low against my mouth, and I clenched around the fingers still working me from inside, every nerve strung tight with need.

His hips jerked forward into my hand — instinctive, hungry. Then he pulled his fingers free with a wet slide that made me whimper, and in one smooth motion, spun me around. My palms hit the window first — cool glass biting against flushed skin — and I barely caught my breath before he pressed in behind me, body heat and muscle pinning me there.

One hand gathered my hair, tugging my head back just enough to bare my throat. The other yanked my underwear down to mid-thigh. His boxers followed — he pushed them down carelessly, cock springing free to land thick and hot against the curve of my arse, a jolt that made me gasp.

“You want this?” he murmured, voice rough against my ear. He guided himself between my legs, sliding deliberately along my folds — letting me feel the full weight of him — then paused, the head of his cock nudging at my entrance.

“Please.” I arched back into him, firm against his hips, the ache cresting into need.

His palm came down once — a sharp smack across my backside that made me cry out, more startled than hurt, heat blooming under my skin. “Fuck—” I gasped, the word melting into a moan as he gripped my hip and thrust in, deep — stretching me full in one searing rush. God, he felt huge like this, every inch claiming me, the pressure perfect and dizzying as he bottomed out.

He pulled back slow — almost all the way — before driving forward again, harder. The rhythm built fast, each thrust jolting me against the window, my dress bunching around my hips, glass cool against my skin. His fingers tightened in my hair, pulling my head back so he could mouth along my neck, teeth grazing as he drove in deeper, the slap of skin loud in the quiet suite.

The thrill of it — being taken like this, bent over and exposed to the glittering sprawl of the city — sent sparks through me. My body clenched around him, again and again, with every hard stroke.

His other hand slipped between us to circle my clit — wet, relentless strokes that matched the drive of his hips, and I couldn’t hold back the gasp that broke from me, the sound ragged and high.

When my orgasm hit, it crashed through me hard — tightening everything, making me shake against the glass as pleasure spilled out in waves. He kept going, drawing it out until my knees nearly buckled, until I was trembling, fingers scraping for purchase.

He wasn’t far behind. Three more thrusts — harder, rougher — and then he buried himself to the hilt with a groan, low and guttural, his whole body locking against mine. His forehead dropped to my shoulder as he came, arms tightening around my waist, holding me close as the last tremors worked through us both. His hips kept rolling, slow and lazy, like he didn’t want to let go — until finally, finally, he stilled.

For a few seconds, neither of us moved. I could feel his breath against my shoulder, warm and uneven, the weight of him pressing into my back like he didn’t want to let go. My forehead rested against the glass, now fogged from our breath, city lights blurred into soft colour beneath the smudged outline of my hands.

Then he exhaled — a long, quiet sound — and brushed his mouth over the curve where my neck met my shoulder. Not a kiss, not quite. More like something he needed to do. Like he was still catching up to everything we’d felt.

His arm tightened around my waist, pulling me closer, and I let my head fall back against him, dizzy and spent, my body still trembling with the last echoes of release.

“Fuck,” he breathed into my skin, low and rough and full of something I couldn’t name.

I managed a soft laugh, though it barely came out. “Yeah.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there with me, bodies pressed close, his hand splayed across my stomach like he was anchoring himself — or me. The silence between us stretched, not awkward, but heavy with everything that had passed through us in the space of minutes.

Then, quietly, “You okay?”

I nodded, still catching my breath. “I think I forgot how to stand.”

He smiled against my neck, and this time, it was a kiss — slow, open-mouthed, a little messy. His hands moved carefully then, easing away from me, fingers brushing down my sides before sliding back up to steady my hips as he slowly, gently pulled out.

I let out a shaky breath and turned toward him, dress wrinkled, hair a mess, pulse still trying to even out. He looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

I looped my arms around his neck, pulling him in close, and he folded around me without hesitation — one arm low around my waist, the other across my back, holding me like he didn’t want to let go. His forehead tipped to mine, both of us still catching up to the moment.

After a beat, I found my voice again — hoarse, a little giddy. “Not bad for a first draft.”

That earned a breath of laughter against my lips. “Yeah?” he murmured. “Think I nailed the ending?”

I smiled, brushing my nose against his. “I can see why you’re such a good actor.”

That earned a low hum of amusement. “Why?”

“You take direction well.” I traced the edge of his jaw with my thumb, voice quieter now. “That slap, though—you usually improvise?”

His mouth twitched, clearly pleased with himself. “Too much?”

“No,” I said quickly — maybe too quickly. Then, softer, “Just unexpected.”

He leaned in, his lips grazing my jaw. “But good?”

I nodded, pulse still fluttering. “Yeah. Really good.”

His mouth caught mine in a slow kiss, the last of the adrenaline easing into something quieter.

When we finally broke apart, his hand lingered on my lower back, thumb tracing circles. “We should probably…” he nodded toward the rest of the room, “clean up.”

“Probably,” I breathed, smiling. “Go on. I’ll be right behind you.”

He pressed another kiss to my temple before stepping away. The sound of the shower came a moment later, low and steady behind the bathroom door. I busied myself, gathering a few things from the suitcase, wiping away the smudged remains of makeup.

I came out of the shower to find the lights low, the room softened by their glow. He was already in bed, propped against the headboard, hair still damp, watching me with that small, lazy smile that always managed to undo me.

I slipped beneath the covers, and he reached for me right away, pulling me in until my head rested against his chest. His fingers traced slow, absent shapes along my arm, neither of us in any rush to break the quiet that had settled between us.

“You tired?” he murmured.

“Not really,” I said, my voice soft against his chest. “Too much going on in my head.”

He hummed, a quiet sound of understanding. “You nervous?”

“Maybe a bit.” I hesitated. “I just want them to like me — your friends, your family…”

“They will,” he said simply, the kind of certainty that left no room for doubt.

“I know,” I admitted, smiling faintly. “It’s just… a lot. But mostly I’m excited. To see where you live, all the places you’ve talked about. It’ll be weird having Christmas somewhere warm.”

He smiled at that, the kind that softened everything. “You’ll get used to it.”

I looked up at him. “What about you? How do you feel? You haven’t been home in two years.”

His hand drifted through my hair, thoughtful. “It’ll be good,” he said after a beat. “A little strange, maybe. But good. I’ve missed it.” Then, quieter, “Feels better going back with you.”

His words sank in quietly, the kind you don’t need to answer. I nestled back into him, tucking myself close until my cheek rested against his chest. He kissed the top of my head, then shifted us both down until we were lying properly beneath the covers, his arm still around me, our legs tangled together. I traced small, absent circles against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my fingertips.

Everything about the moment felt settled. Easy. Like whatever waited tomorrow, we’d meet it together.

Taglist:

I watched the slow rise and fall of his chest and let my thoughts drift — back to that first dinner Callum brought him to, back when Austin was still more name than person. When I didn’t even know he was coming and definitely hadn’t expected someone like him. The first conversation we had. The way he looked at me like he’d already known me for ages. That grin, a little crooked. How he offered to help with the cooking. The way he made me laugh as he dried the dishes.

And then everything else — the slow burn of it all. Brunch that Sunday morning. Texts that turned into phone calls. The way I kept trying to hold it at arm’s length until I couldn’t anymore.

Last night had shaken something loose. Not in the falling apart sense — though it had felt dangerously close for a while — but in the way it stripped everything back. No performance. No second-guessing. Just how much this mattered.

The fear hadn’t gone. But it didn’t feel like it was winning anymore.

I shifted slightly, careful not to move too much, and glanced past him at the soft morning light stretching across the room. It was early still. The flat was quiet in that way only Sunday mornings could be — no deadlines, no alarms. Just this.

His fingers twitched against my skin. Then a small inhale — the first sign of waking.

I didn’t look away.

Whatever came next — the rest of today, the weeks ahead — it could wait a minute.

Right now, I just wanted to stay here. Watch him wake up. And remember how it felt to be this close, this sure, with nothing between us but quiet.

A low sound slipped from his throat as he stirred, burying his face deeper into the pillow before blinking against the light.

“Mm,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. His arm tightened around me, pulling me closer like instinct.

I let out a quiet breath I hadn’t realised I was holding.

He tilted his head just enough to look at me, eyes half-lidded, hazy. A slow, crooked smile tugged at his mouth. “Hey.”

For a moment neither of us moved. The space between us was small, warm, filled with things that hadn’t needed saying last night — and maybe a few that still did.

“Sleep okay?” he asked, voice softer now, thumb brushing idly against my back as if he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

“Better than I thought I would,” I admitted.

“You been awake long?”

“A while,” I said, my voice low.

He blinked again, eyes narrowing slightly, like he was putting the pieces together. “You were watching me, weren’t you?”

Heat crept up my neck. “Maybe.”

His smile deepened, still lazy from sleep. “Knew it.” His thumb traced another absent line against my back. “Could feel it.”

I huffed a quiet laugh and let my fingers drift up, skimming along the line of his jaw. His stubble was rougher than last night, catching softly against my skin. He didn’t move, just watched me with that heavy-lidded gaze, like he was content to let me map him out.

“You’ve got pillow lines,” I murmured, brushing across his cheek.

“Do I?” he muttered, unbothered, eyes slipping half-shut again as my touch wandered to the edge of his hairline.

I smoothed a stray lock back, then let my touch wander down — over the slope of his temple, the curve of his cheekbone, the warm skin at the base of his throat.

I traced lightly over his chest, not searching for anything, only reminding myself he was here.

He covered my hand with his own, holding me there without saying a word. His chest rose beneath my palm, steady, certain, and for a moment it felt like enough just to match my breath to his.

His other hand shifted from my waist, gliding upward in a lingering path — over my ribs, along my arm, before it finally settled against my face. His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth in a touch so light it almost undid me.

We stayed like that, looking at each other, passing the quiet back and forth with every small touch — a kind of conversation without words. After everything, it felt like finding our way back.

Before I could second-guess it, I leaned in and kissed him. It was slow, gentle — more a promise than a pull. He kissed me back the same way, lips brushing mine once, twice more, before easing away.

The quiet felt different now, warmer, threaded through with something steady.

We stayed like that for another beat, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath, before he gave the smallest smile. “We should eat.”

I nodded, though I didn’t move straight away. It took a moment before we finally pushed back the covers and made our way into the kitchen. He trailed after me, watching while I pulled mugs from the cupboard. He slipped behind me, arms looping around my waist, chin resting lightly on my shoulder. I could feel the soft weight of him there as I filled the kettle, his thumbs stroking absently at my sides like he had no intention of letting go.

When the water boiled, he finally shifted, but not far — staying close, shoulders brushing, hips knocking gently as we moved around the small space. It wasn’t careful anymore, or distant. Every little touch felt like a reminder: still here, still us.

We ate slowly, the kind of meal that stretched out more from comfort than hunger. Our feet found each other beneath the table, a quiet tangle that neither of us shifted away from. It felt simple, grounding — like all the sharp edges from last night had dulled into something softer.

When the plates were pushed aside, he leaned back in his chair, eyes finding mine. “What do you want to do today?”

I hesitated, then gave a small shrug. “Stay in. Just… be here. With you.”

A small smile pulled at his mouth. “Sounds perfect to me.”

The day stretched in the way only Sundays could — without edges, without urgency. We drifted from the table to the sofa, mugs in hand, the quiet folding around us like something we didn’t need to break.

He sat close, thigh pressed to mine, and we talked about nothing for a while — half-finished stories, little details from set, the kind of easy conversation that didn’t require either of us to reach too far. At some point the words thinned out, but he didn’t move away. His hand found mine, idle, absent, as if he’d forgotten he was holding it.

The hours blurred in and out of each other — the low hum of the radio, the comfort of tea gone lukewarm on the table, his laugh when I told him a story about one of my pupils. He leaned his head back against the sofa, eyes on me, and I felt that tug again — the one that made the future feel less like a question and more like something we were already building.

By late afternoon, the sky had dulled to that muted grey London did so well. He shifted closer, his arm around me now, and the steady weight of him felt like the truest part of the day.

I hesitated, fingers tracing the seam of my leggings. “Can I ask you something?”

His gaze flicked to mine. “Sure.”

“My book,” I said. “You talked before about taking it further. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

His mouth curved, not quite a smile, more like he’d been waiting for me to say it. “I don’t know all the steps either,” he admitted. “Not really my world.” His thumb brushed absently against my arm. “But I could ask around. I might know someone who could point you in the right direction.”

My chest tightened. “You’d do that?”

“Of course,” he said simply. “But only if you want me to.”

I nodded, swallowing past the knot in my throat. “I do. I just… don’t want to feel like I’m cutting corners.”

“You’re not,” he said, gentle but firm. “You wrote the thing. That’s the hard part. Finding out who to send it to — that’s logistics. Anyone can help with that.”

His hand shifted, warm against my side, grounding me. “We’ll figure it out together.”

And somehow that was enough — not a plan, not a map, but a place to start.

Evening settled in without us noticing. At some point we’d given up on cooking and ordered in — nothing fancy, just easy food you didn’t need to think about.

I carried two plates into the living room, balancing cutlery on top. Austin was half-sunk into the sofa, phone in hand, brows lifted like he’d just read something that pulled him straight out of the room.

“What’s that face?” I asked, setting the plates down.

He blinked, then looked up — not startled, exactly, but like he hadn’t quite landed back yet. “Email from my agent.”

I paused. “Good or bad?”

His mouth curved, more stunned than smug. “Denis Villeneuve wants to meet.”

I stopped halfway to sitting down. “Dune?”

He nodded, still dazed. “Yeah. Wants to know when I’ll be back in LA so we can meet in person. Doesn’t want to do it over Zoom.”

Something warm flickered in my chest. I remembered him holding the book months ago, telling me he wanted to be ready just in case. “That’s amazing,” I said, grinning before I could stop myself.

“Yeah,” he breathed, shaking his head like it still hadn’t sunk in. “I guess… it’ll have to be when we break for the holidays.” His eyes flicked back to mine. “You’ll be off school too, right?”

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “We get two weeks over Christmas.”

He hesitated, then added, softer, “Come with me. Meet my friends. My family. See where I actually live.”

For a second I just stared at him. “You mean—”

“I mean come with me,” he said, steadier now. “To LA. Spend Christmas there. I don’t want to spend the whole break away from you. And… it’d mean a lot, you seeing that side of my life.”

My pulse thudded in my ears. It was one thing to imagine him in LA — friends I’d never met, streets I’d never walked, a version of him I’d only heard in stories. It was another to picture myself there too.

“You’re serious,” I said. My voice came out quieter than I meant.

“Dead serious.” He reached over, catching my hand where it rested against my leg. “You don’t have to decide right this second. I know it’s a lot. But they’d love to meet you properly.”

My chest tightened. I’d spoken to them before — faces on a screen, voices crackling through a speaker. Sweet and warm, but still distant. The thought of actually meeting them, of sitting across a table, felt entirely different.

He squeezed my hand, “And if we head to Arizona for a bit, you’ll get the full version. My dad’ll cook, my sister will talk your ear off… it’ll feel like home quicker than you think.”

Something caught in my throat — not fear, not even doubt, but the weight of how much this meant. He wasn’t talking about a trip. He was talking about us. About pulling me further in.

I squeezed his hand back, still half-shaken. “You really think they’ll like me?”

His grin tilted, warm and certain. “They already do. You made my birthday for me, Ange. They saw that. And once they meet you for real?” His thumb brushed over my knuckles. He hesitated then, like he wanted me to hear it fully, not as part of anything else.

“They’ll love you even more. I know they will. Because I love you.”

My breath caught; all I could do was look at him, the warmth in his eyes holding me there. He gave my hand another squeeze, his thumb steady against mine, then reached to brush a loose strand of hair back from my face.

I blinked, my throat tight. “I don’t want to leave my mum on her own. But if she’s okay staying with her sisters for Christmas…” I met his eyes, a small smile breaking through. “Then I’d love to go with you.”

For a second, his expression softened in a way that almost undid me. Then he leaned in, pressing his forehead lightly to mine, his hand still warm around mine. I could feel his smile against my skin when he whispered, “Good. Because I couldn’t picture it without you.”

His arm came around me, pulling me into his chest, and I let myself sink into it — the quiet strength of him, the certainty I hadn’t known I needed until right now. The hum of the city outside faded, the grey evening light pulling close around us.

I closed my eyes, breathing him in. For the first time in days, the weight in my chest eased. And for once, it felt simple.

Taglist:

One eye cracked open, lazy and amused. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with it being my birthday, would it?”

“Maybe,” I said softly, lowering my head again.

He gave a low hum, the sound still blurred with sleep. “Mm. Thought so.”

His fingers tightened slightly in my hair as I brushed my lips over the head of his cock — warm, still soft against my mouth. I kissed him there again, slower this time, letting my tongue trace a light line along the tip.

He let out a quiet breath, the sound deepening as I closed my lips around him, drawing him in just enough to feel the subtle pulse beneath my tongue. The change was gradual — the lazy weight of him giving way to something firmer, his body waking under my mouth.

His hand flexed in my hair, holding me close, a faint groan slipping past his lips.

I took him deeper, the movement unhurried, lips sealing around him as I worked down the smooth length and back again. Each pass drew a little more from him — the faint lift of his hips, a quiet breath catching in his throat. My tongue traced along the underside, slow and steady until he was fully hard in my mouth.

I found an easy rhythm, taking him until he brushed the back of my throat, breathing slow through my nose as I let him fill my mouth. I pulled away far enough to press slow kisses along his length, then sank down once more, his breath spilling out in quiet, uneven sighs.

He brushed my hair back from my face, gathering it loosely in his hand, fingertips skimming the back of my neck before settling again. I swallowed around him, felt the shiver roll through his hips.

The sounds from him shifted — low hums giving way to breathier catches, his chest rising a little quicker while I kept my hands anchored to him, holding him there.

When I glanced up again, his eyes were open, still heavy-lidded but fixed on me with that dark, quiet focus that always made my stomach tighten.

“C’mere, baby,” he murmured, giving a gentle pull to bring me up to him.

I let him slip from my mouth, catching the breath he’d stolen from me, and shook my head with a small smile. “Not today. You’re the birthday boy.”

That earned a low laugh, rough at the edges. “Guess thirty’s got its perks.”

I stayed with him, unhurried, my mouth moving in the rhythm I knew he liked. His thighs tensed beneath my hands, breath snagging, then breaking into a sharper exhale. A rough sound caught low in his throat as he came, filling my mouth in pulsing waves.

I swallowed, easing back slowly, my lips brushing him again before I let him go. He lay there for a moment, chest rising and falling in a slower rhythm now, one arm still crooked over his head.

When his eyes met mine, the corner of his mouth curved. “That’s one hell of a wake-up,” he murmured, voice still rough.

I shifted up the bed, and he caught me before I could settle, pulling me into a kiss that still carried the faint edge of his breathless high.

“Happy birthday,” I said against his mouth.

His laugh was quieter this time, curling between us. “Yeah,” he said, drawing me in until I was draped across him. “It is.”

His hand slid lower, over my hip, down to the back of my thigh. He shifted like he might roll me under him. “Your turn,” he murmured, mouth brushing my jaw.

I smiled and shook my head. “You’ll be late.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” His fingers slipped between my thighs, finding me wet and ready. His mouth tipped into a slow, knowing grin. “You’re already halfway there.”

I caught his wrist before he could push further, eyes meeting his. “And I can get the rest of the way while you’re gone.”

His brows shot up, eyes flicking over my face like he needed to be sure he’d heard me right. “You’d—fuck—” A slow grin spread, equal parts impressed and frustrated. “That’s cruel.”

I slipped from his grasp before he could try again. “And you’ve got work, birthday boy.”

By the time he was dressed, hair damp from the shower, he found me in the kitchen with coffee waiting. He stepped in close, stealing a kiss that was far too lingering for someone already running late.

“Tonight,” he murmured, the word landing somewhere between a promise and a warning.

I leaned against the counter, watching him go. “Have a good day.”

He glanced back once before pulling the door shut, that faint, crooked smile still on his face. I caught the way his shoulders seemed lighter than they had in weeks, the kind of ease I’d been waiting to see come back.

Austin

By the time we broke for coffee, I had already been wished happy birthday half a dozen times.

Makeup trailer. On set. Even one of the grips who barely spoke to anyone gave me a nod and a grin. It was nice — though the “big 3-0” jokes were starting to stack up.

We were between setups when Callum appeared at my side, two mugs in hand.

“Thought you might need this.”

I took one, breathing in the smell. “Lifesaver.”

“Don’t say I never get you anything.” He leaned against a lighting stand, eyes glinting. “So. Big plans tonight?”

I shrugged. “Haven’t really thought about it. Ange said we might go out, but she didn’t say where.”

“That’s… vague.”

“She likes her surprises,” I said, taking a sip.

“Mm.” Callum’s mouth twitched like he was holding something back. “Well, don’t be late getting home. Wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You know something.”

“Me?” Callum gave an exaggerated shrug. “I know many things. But about tonight? Couldn’t possibly say.”

Before I could push, we were called back in front of the cameras. A couple of hours later, after the final scene of the morning wrapped, I was still under the glare of the lights when the whole crew suddenly broke into Happy Birthday. Callum was the loudest, dragging the final youuuuu into something so high-pitched half the sound team winced. I shook my head, laughing through the last line and clapping along when they finished, the warmth of it all settling under my skin.

At lunch, I grabbed a tray and found a spot under the canopy outside. The day had that still, heavy warmth, crew voices carrying in low waves. I was halfway through a plate of grilled chicken and salad when I checked my phone.

A message from Angie.

I opened it, and my fork stilled.

She was stretched out across the bed in nothing but one of my T-shirts, the hem rucked up, bare thighs parted just enough to make my mouth go dry.

Guess you’ll have to imagine the rest.

The air seemed warmer all of a sudden, my pulse kicking in a way that had nothing to do with the weather. I bit back a laugh, shaking my head as a grin crept in.

“Good lunch?” Callum’s voice came from behind me.

I locked my phone, forcing my expression back to neutral. “Yeah. Solid.”

“Uh-huh,” Callum said, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t push. He clapped my shoulder on his way past, laughing to himself.

The door clicked shut behind me, and there she was — leaning against the wall in a dress that stopped me cold for half a second.

“Hi,” I said, already closing the space.

“Hi,” she echoed, smiling just before my mouth found hers.

Her perfume hit me first, then the warmth of her lips, the way she tipped her head up to meet me. I slid my hands to her waist, pulling her closer.

“How was your day?” she asked when I pulled back just enough to breathe.

“Long,” I murmured, kissing her again, taking a small step forward so she had to move with me.

“Good long or bad long?” she asked, her fingers threading into my hair as I kissed her again.

“Better now,” I said against her mouth, walking her backwards toward the table.

“Did you eat?”

“Not really,” I said, nipping at her lower lip.

“Good,” she murmured, grin curving against my mouth. “Because we’re going out.”

That slowed me, but only a fraction. “Out?”

“Dinner. At Ruthie’s.”

I grinned against her skin. “I like dinner.”

She laughed softly, fingers brushing the back of my neck. “You’ve got about twenty minutes before we have to leave.”

She hit the edge of the table, the jolt sending a couple of small things clattering to the floor. I caught her hips, lifted her easily, and set her on top.

“That’s plenty of time,” I murmured, kissing her as my hands slid up her sides. I leaned forward, following her down until she was lying back against the smooth surface.

I dropped to my knees, fingers gathering the fabric of her dress until it bunched around her hips. Her breath caught, eyes on me as I hooked my thumbs into the sides of her underwear and pulled them down, letting them fall to the floor.

I hooked her legs over my shoulders, my hands firm around her thighs, pinning her open for me, her scent already making my mouth water.

The first taste of her was enough to make me groan — warm, slick, sweet in a way that went straight to my spine. My tongue parted her lips, tracing up to her clit before circling it slow, feeling the way her body reacted under my grip.

She had her hands in my hair instantly, fingers curling tight as I sucked lightly, letting my tongue flick in quick, teasing passes. Every shift of my mouth drew another sound from her — sharp exhales, half-broken sighs — and I could feel the tension in her thighs, the way she kept trying to press closer.

I pulled her closer to the edge and held her there, working her in a steady rhythm, my tongue slipping lower, tasting her everywhere, chasing every drop. She was soaked, and I couldn’t get enough — the salt-sweet mix of her on my tongue, the soft give of her lips under my mouth.

Her grip in my hair tightened, pulling me in as her hips lifted against my face. I pressed my tongue flat to her clit, grinding slow before pulling it between my lips and sucking until she gasped my name.

Another crash as something else tipped from the table, but she didn’t even look — too far gone, breath coming in sharp bursts until she broke with a muffled cry, thighs tightening hard around my head — holding me there through every pulse and tremor until she finally loosened, chest heaving.

I stayed there until I felt her start to melt, her grip loosening in my hair. Then I eased back, mouth wet with her, kissing the inside of her thigh before straightening. She was still catching her breath when I leaned over her, kissing her hard, letting her taste herself on my tongue.

Her hands went straight to my shoulders, pulling me in, but she stilled when my cock pressed against her hip — aching, almost painful with how hard I was. I gave a low laugh against her mouth.

“Think there’s time for more?” I murmured.

She smiled — breathless, daring. “If you’re quick.”

That was all I needed. I turned her, bending her over the edge of the table. My knee nudged between hers, urging her legs wider as my hands pushed her dress up over her hips. The sight of her like that nearly undid me. That morning’s half-smirk, the photo at lunch — they all collided with this view, every bit of her mine to take. I fumbled my belt open, shoving my pants and boxers low enough to free myself, the rush of cool air making me hiss.

One hand on her hip, the other wrapped around the base of my cock, I pushed into her in one long, deep stroke. She moaned, head tipping forward, knuckles white where she gripped the edge.

I set a pace that was all urgency — hips snapping against her, the slap of skin on skin loud in the small space. I gripped her hips hard, pulling her back into me, watching the way her body took every inch, the table creaking under the rhythm.

Her back arched, breath catching, when I leaned over her, fingers finding her clit. She made a sound halfway between a gasp and a protest, hips jolting back into me at the contact. “Aus—”

“It’s okay baby,” I murmured at her ear, keeping the pressure light but constant, feeling her pulse hard around me. “C’mon. You can take it.”

Her breathing turned ragged, the muscles in her thighs tightening. I pressed my fingers more firmly against her, rubbing in tight, fast circles until she gave in — hips jerking, a shudder running through her as she came again around me.

The way she clenched pulled a groan straight from my chest. I drove into her harder, chasing the heat curling low in my spine until it snapped. I spilled into her with a low, broken sound, holding her hips to me through every pulse until we both went still, breathless and warm against each other.

I eased out slowly, smoothing a hand over her back as she caught her breath. She stayed folded over the table for a moment, my palm warm at her hip, both of us breathing hard in the quiet. Then I smiled. “We’re definitely going to be late.”

She glanced over her shoulder with a grin that made me want to start all over. “Worth it.”

We pulled ourselves together, though it took a minute. She disappeared into the bathroom to freshen up while I took the world’s fastest shower, steam still clinging to my skin as I dressed. By the time I stepped back out, she was ready — hair smoothed, dress perfect again, a little smile like she knew exactly what we’d just done to the schedule.

Downstairs, the car was already waiting. She slid in beside me, her knee brushing mine as the driver pulled away. I let my hand rest lightly on her thigh, feeling the faint warmth of her skin through the fabric. She glanced at me — quick, knowing — before turning back to the window, and I had to bite back a grin.

The car pulled up outside the River Café, warm August air drifting in through the open window. We were led straight through to the quieter section at the back, where a round table was set a little apart from the rest.

Ruthie was there, deep in conversation with Anthony and Barry. Callum glanced up as we walked in, grinning when he saw us.

I’d been expecting something small — dinner with Angie, maybe Ruthie. But she’d gone bigger. She caught my eye as we slowed, the smallest flicker of a grin there, like she’d been waiting for me to realise.

Barry was next to spot us, pushing back from the table. “Well, well — look who finally showed up — birthday boy,” he said, pulling me into a hug. “Man disappears the second I wrap.”

Anthony stood to clap me on the shoulder. “Thought you’d forgotten I existed.”

“Not a chance,” I said, before turning to Ruthie. “Hey, you.”

She gave me a warm squeeze, kissing me on the cheek. “Happy birthday. Glad you could make it — both of you.”

Callum leaned back in his chair, eyebrow up. “You’re late.”

“We hit traffic,” Angie said smoothly as she sat down.

The look he gave her said he didn’t believe it for a second, and the ripple of laughter from the others proved it.

I dropped into the seat beside Angie, her knee brushing mine under the table. Ruthie caught a server’s eye, a fresh bottle appearing almost instantly.

Conversation picked up without missing a beat — Barry halfway through some wild story about his first night back in London, Anthony tossing in his own edits from across the table.

“How long’s it been since you two saw each other?” Ruthie asked, glancing between me and Barry.

“A couple of months,” Barry said. “Felt like longer.”

Anthony leaned in. “He’s been avoiding me altogether since his location change.”

“Lies,” I said, earning a laugh from both of them.

Plates arrived, conversation sliding easily from work to arguments about soccer, Ruthie slipping seamlessly between conversations. Angie sat angled toward me, her hand finding my thigh under the table — light, casual, but it landed in that part of me that had been missing this more than I’d realised.

It felt easy — familiar — in a way I hadn’t expected for a birthday I hadn’t planned. I let myself sit in it for a moment, just the low hum of voices, the clink of cutlery, her presence pressed in at my side.

When our main course was being cleared, Ruthie leaned past me toward Callum. “Come here, there’s someone you should meet,” she said, already rising from her chair. He followed, curiosity written all over his face.

He was gone a few minutes, long enough for Barry to launch into another story and for Angie to lean closer, her shoulder brushing mine.

“Five quid says that’s the third time Barry’s told this one.” Her eyes sparkled, waiting for me to take the bet.

When Callum came back, he slid into his seat like nothing had happened.

“Who was that?” Barry asked.

He shrugged, reaching for his glass. “That singer, Dua Lipa. She seems cool. She’s here with her dad.”

Angie raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he said, a little too casually, the corner of his mouth tugging like he was holding something back.

Ruthie followed a moment later, easing into her chair with a knowing little smile that made Angie bite back her own.

“Alright,” Ruthie said, glancing at Angie, “you ready?”

Angie sat a little straighter. “Yeah.”

A few minutes later, one of the servers appeared with a cake balanced carefully in both hands. It wasn’t polished like the desserts here usually were — the icing sat a little uneven, the jam showing through in swirls — but it looked inviting in a way nothing from a patisserie case ever could.

I took it in — the colours, the homemade edges — and then Angie’s voice cut through.

“I made it while you were at work,” she said, watching me clock it. “Your mum used to make you PB&J sandwiches, so I thought I’d try a cake version. I found a recipe online, but I haven’t tasted it yet, so…” she tipped her head toward Ruthie, “…Ruthie’s got a couple of extras in case it’s a disaster.”

“Only as backup,” Ruthie cut in quickly. “Personally, I think it’s going to be great.”

It hit me then and a I looked between them, something warm settling in my chest. The PB&J thing wasn’t just some random fact I’d told her — it was a little piece of home, of my mom, the kind of memory that lived in the edges of childhood. And she’d taken it, turned it into this. Not for show. Not because anyone else here would get it. Just for me.

“Can’t believe you did this,” I said, my voice lower than I meant.

Her smile softened. “Course I did.”

I felt my throat tighten. For a moment I didn’t move, just looked at her — the effort, the thought, the quiet way she’d made the day something more than I’d let myself expect.

Ruthie cut neat slices, sliding one onto a plate in front of me. I picked up the fork, still half-smiling, and took the first bite. Sweet, nutty, with that sharp hit of jam cutting through — not exactly my mom’s sandwiches, but close enough to tug at the same place in my chest.

Angie was watching me like she was bracing for a verdict. “Well?”

I set the fork down, leaning toward her a little. “You nailed it.”

Her mouth curved, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “You’re not just saying that so I don’t cry in the car later, are you?”

“Not a chance,” I said quietly, “if I didn’t mean it, you’d know.”

Her smile softened, shoulders easing.

Around us, plates were passed, Ruthie making sure everyone got a slice. But for a minute, it felt like it was only us, her knee pressed against mine under the table, the quiet weight of what she’d done settling between us.

Barry took one bite, declared peanut butter to be “an abomination,” and happily swapped his plate for something chocolate from the dessert tray. Anthony tried to convince him he was missing out, shovelling in his own forkful with theatrical satisfaction. Ruthie caught my eye across the table, giving me a subtle nod, like she’d known exactly how much it would mean.

Angie laughed along with the others, but her hand kept slipping to her watch — once, twice, a third time. She caught me noticing on the last one, gave a quick, almost guilty smile, then turned back to whatever Callum was saying.

The conversation rolled on, plates and glasses being cleared, until Ruthie appeared beside us. “You two — come with me,” she said, her tone light but with that look that meant she’d been in on something all along.

We followed her through a short hallway to a small private room tucked at the back. A laptop sat open on the table, the screen already glowing.

“They’ll be on any second,” Ruthie said, stepping out and pulling the door mostly shut.

I was still trying to figure out what “they” meant when the first tile blinked to life — my dad, sitting at his kitchen table. Then my sister appeared, curled up on her couch with her husband beside her. Another square lit up with my best friend Ashley, and her husband, holding their five-month-old Jupiter in her lap.

“Happy birthday!” they all called at once, faces splitting into grins.

It knocked the air out of me — two years without seeing them in person, and now here they were, somehow all in the same place without being in the same room.

Then my dad’s gaze shifted past me. “Angie! Good to see you again.”

I blinked, looking between them. “Again?”

Angie’s smile turned a shade more mischievous. “We’ve… spoken. A little.”

My sister laughed from her square. “More than a little. She’s the one who set this up.”

I turned to Angie, still catching up. “You…?”

She shrugged, almost shy now. “Seemed like the best birthday present I could give you.”

My dad’s voice cut in. “Best one you’ve ever gotten, I’d say.”

Ashley tilted the baby toward the camera. “Even better than this little cutie?”

“Close call,” I said, grinning at the gurgle she gave in reply. “She’s grown so much.”

“Five months next week,” she said proudly. “And she wanted to say happy birthday too.”

“Did she now?” I leaned closer to the camera. “Thanks, Juju.”

We fell into the kind of easy conversation that made two years apart feel like nothing and everything at once. My dad asked about the show. My sister caught me up on her work, her husband chiming in from beside her. Ashley told a story about the first time Juju laughed — how it had been at something completely unfunny, and how now they were all desperate to recreate it.

Angie stayed mostly quiet, but I caught her smiling more than once — when my dad laughed, when Juju squealed, when Ashley teased me about the time I’d nearly set a dish towel on fire trying to flambé bananas.

“Alright,” my dad said eventually, “we’ll let you get back to your night. But don’t leave it another two years before you see us.”

“I won’t,” I said, and meant it.

The call ended in a blur of waves and “love you”s. When the screen went black, I sat there a moment longer, their voices lingering in my head.

Angie’s voice was quiet. “Worth it?”

I looked at her. “More than you know.”

Her smile tipped, soft at the edges. “Good.”

I reached for her hand, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. “How did you even pull this off?”

“Borrowed your phone when you were in the shower,” she said, not quite hiding her grin. “Got your sister’s number, and she helped me reach your dad and Ashley. We had a call a couple weeks ago so I could… so they’d know who I was when today came.”

I let out a slow breath, the thought of her speaking to them — my dad, my best friend — without me there sinking in. “First time you’ve talked to them, and you do it like that?”

“I didn’t want you to find out until it was happening.” She smiled, softer this time. “Felt like it should be a surprise.”

I pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You have no idea what that meant to me.”

Her eyes softened. “I thought… for your thirtieth, your family — the people who matter — should get to celebrate with you too.”

For a beat, we stayed like that, the quiet hum of the laptop cooling in the background. The room felt smaller now, the weight of their faces and voices still pressing in. I hadn’t realised how much I’d needed it until it was gone.

Angie was still holding my hand. She gave a light squeeze before letting go. “Come on,” she said. “Before they think we’ve disappeared.”

I nodded, but didn’t move straight away. Took one last look at the dark screen before pushing my chair back.

The noise of the dining room met us before we even reached the door — cutlery, laughter, the rise and fall of overlapping voices. The light was warmer out here, a little blurrier after the quiet of the side room. Callum caught my eye from across the table, his smile knowing, and I felt that same pull in my chest — the mix of gratitude and something I couldn’t quite name — as Angie slid back into her seat beside me.

Barry glanced up from his drink. “You two sneak off to open presents without us?”

“Something like that,” I said, catching Angie’s quick smile.

Anthony shook his head. “Birthday boy’s allowed.”

Callum tipped his glass toward me. “Long as you’re not sneaking off before the next round.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, leaning back as Ruthie swooped in with another bottle of wine, topping off glasses before anyone could push the conversation further.

Angie leaned close, her shoulder brushing mine. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” I said, and meant it — though the word didn’t quite cover the shift sitting low in my chest.

Conversation eased into the softer hum that comes when the night’s winding down, laughter a little slower, pauses a little longer. The wine sat warm in my chest, but it was more than that — a looseness, the kind that only comes after good company and the right kind of surprise.

By the time we were done, most of the tables around us had emptied. Chairs were stacked near the bar, staff moving quietly through the last of their rounds. Outside, the air had cooled, the hum of the river carrying up from the bank. Ruthie pulled each of us into a hug before slipping back inside.

Callum clapped me on the shoulder. “Not bad for a thirtieth, eh?” he said with a grin.

I glanced at Angie, the smile pulling at my mouth before I could stop it. “Better than I could’ve imagined.”

We lingered on the sidewalk, reluctant to break the spell. Drawn-out goodbyes, more hugs, half-serious promises to see each other again soon. Then the group began to scatter, footsteps fading into the quiet street.

The car pulled up, headlights cutting across the quiet street. I opened the door for her, catching the flicker of a smile before she slid inside.

The apartment was warm when we stepped inside, the faint hum of the fridge and the soft wash of city light spilling through the windows. Angie slipped her shoes off by the door, then nodded toward the sofa.

“Sit,” she said, giving me a small, unreadable smile.

She disappeared down the hall. I could hear the faint sound of a drawer sliding open, the rustle of paper, before she came back with something flat in her hands, wrapped in brown paper. She sat beside me, tucking one leg under herself.

“I kept trying to work out what to get you,” she said. “Something you could actually unwrap. I spent weeks thinking about it, then Callum gave me this a couple of weeks ago and… it felt right.”

I peeled the paper back to find a framed photo — the cockpit of the plane from her first set visit. We were both in costume, her on my lap in the pilot’s seat, my arms braced on either side. We were looking at each other, caught mid-smile, like nothing outside that moment existed.

“That was the day,” I said quietly.

She nodded. “The day everything changed.”

“I knew he was taking photos,” I said, my thumb brushing over the edge of the frame, “but I didn’t know he caught this.”

Her eyes stayed on the picture. “I wasn’t sure it was enough,” she admitted. “A photo, a cake, a phone call… I kept thinking I should’ve done more.”

I shook my head, still holding the frame like it might disappear if I set it down too soon. “Ange, you gave me more than I even knew I wanted. Dinner with people I care about. A call with my family. This.” I glanced at her. “You made it feel like home. That’s not something you can wrap.”

Something flickered in her expression — like the words had landed deeper than she expected. Her hand came to rest on my knee, warm through the fabric.

“I’m glad you feel that way,” she said softly.

“I do.” I set the frame on the coffee table with care, turning fully toward her. “And I’m glad it was you.”

Her smile then wasn’t teasing — it felt private, almost fragile. I reached up, brushing a strand of hair back from her cheek, and kissed her, letting her feel everything I didn’t know how to put into words.

When we broke apart, she stayed close, her forehead nearly touching mine, her hand still resting on my knee.

“Happy birthday, Austin,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” I murmured, the smile pulling at my mouth. “It really is.”

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He dipped his head slightly, brushing a kiss into her hair, right at the crown. She smelled like clean skin and something faintly floral from the soap in the shower last night.

She sighed and curled closer.

He smiled.

If he never moved again, it might’ve been alright.

Somewhere in the house, a door clicked open. Footsteps creaked down the hall. A quiet laugh, muffled by walls. The others were starting to stir.

He should probably get up. Start the day. But he didn’t move.

Not when she was here like this, easy and unguarded, her breathing deep and steady against his chest.

He looked down at her—hair sleep-tousled, mouth slightly parted, a faint crease between her brows that smoothed when he brushed his fingers lightly along her back.

She shifted in response, letting out a quiet sound somewhere between a sigh and a hum.

Then her voice, thick with sleep, “You’re staring.”

Austin smiled. “Can you blame me?”

Her head tipped back slightly, just enough for her to blink up at him, one eye squinting in the morning light. “If you’re trying to be cute, it’s working.”

“I’m not trying,” he said, and dipped to kiss the corner of her mouth. “It’s just a burden I live with.”

She huffed a laugh against his throat, her fingers tightening on his waist. “You’re annoying.”

“You love it.”

She groaned, half a protest, half a stretch. “What time is it?”

“Early,” he said, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek. “The others are only just waking up.”

“So we’ve got time.”

It wasn’t a question—but something in the way she said it made his pulse shift. Just slightly. Her hand was already moving, sliding beneath the hem of his t-shirt, palm warm against his skin. She looked up at him with that particular gleam in her eye—sleep-soft and still a little smug.

Austin let out a breath. “You trying to start something?”

“Me?” Her voice was all faux innocence. “Just stretching.”

“Sure you are.”

She pushed herself up slowly, straddling his hips in one smooth motion, the duvet slipping around her like a frame. Her hands planted on his chest, hair falling forward to brush his jaw as she looked down at him.

“I missed you this week,” she said, quiet again now. Real.

“I missed you too.” He reached up, fingers tracing along her bare thigh, her hip, the hem of the old t-shirt she’d stolen from his bag the night before. “Thought about this. About you.”

Her smile went crooked. “Yeah?”

He nodded, and she leaned down to kiss him—soft at first, then deeper, hungrier. The kind of kiss that made his hands tighten at her hips, made his breath catch in his throat.

She shifted against him, hips rolling just enough to make him groan softly into her mouth. He kissed her deeper, one hand sliding up her back beneath the shirt, fingertips tracing the line of her spine.

Her skin was warm from sleep, her breath quickening as she rocked against him again, this time with a little more pressure. The duvet slipped lower, pooling around his waist.

“Someone’s enthusiastic,” he murmured, lips brushing her jaw.

She smiled against his skin. “Missed your face. And your hands. And—” she rocked her hips again, just enough to make him groan, “that.”

Jesus. His fingers flexed at her waist, tightening to steady her. He was already hard, already aching, and they hadn’t even properly woken up yet.

“You can’t just wake me up like this,” he said, voice still rough from sleep, from her.

“You were already awake.”

“Barely.”

“You’re awake now.”

He laughed, helpless against it—against her—and then flipped them both in one quick move, catching her surprised squeal with a kiss. She landed with a bounce and a giggle, duvet twisted around her legs, hair spilling wild across the pillow. He braced himself above her and took a second just to look.

She was flushed and glowing, eyes still sleep-soft but lit with something bright, something wicked.

“Oh my god,” she laughed, breathless. “You brute.”

“You started it.”

Not that he minded. Every part of him was thrumming now, keyed to her—how she felt, how she sounded, how she looked up at him like he was something she wanted.

“You’re not mad about it,” she teased, smug.

“Not even a little.” He bent to kiss her again, deeper this time, but still smiling into it as her hands slid up under his shirt, palms warm and sure against his back.

She broke the kiss to grin up at him. “This is better than breakfast.”

“I was gonna make you breakfast,” he said, nudging her thighs apart with his knee, settling between them like it was where he’d always belonged.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His voice dipped as her leg curled around his waist. “But you had other plans.”

She hummed, fingers slipping into his hair. “Tell you what—do this right, and I’ll still let you feed me later.”

He dropped his head to her collarbone with a soft laugh, already half gone. “Deal.”

They came down afterwards, the floor cool beneath his feet, the soft creak of the stairs giving them away.

Austin could hear movement from the kitchen—cupboards opening, low voices, the clatter of plates. The smell of coffee and something savoury floated through the air, warm and familiar in a way that made something low in his chest unclench.

Angie walked just ahead of him, hair pulled into a half-hearted knot, sweater slipping off one shoulder. She looked soft around the edges, still carrying the quiet of sleep in her posture. When she glanced back at him with a smile—barely there, but real—he felt it like gravity.

They rounded the corner into the kitchen and the scene unfolded slowly.

Callum was by the stove in socks and yesterday’s t-shirt, tipping something into a frying pan with unnecessary confidence. Ellie stood nearby with a tray of mugs, already talking, already laughing at something Finn was saying as he raided the fruit bowl. Mia had one hip leaned against the counter, nursing a mug of tea, while Dan flipped toast onto a plate with calm precision. Ollie was half-bent into a cupboard, emerging triumphantly with a bottle of brown sauce.

No one stopped when they came in. No one stared.

That was the part that caught him off guard.

It didn’t feel like walking into a group of people he barely knew. It felt like sliding into a rhythm already in motion—like there’d been space waiting for them all along.

Callum glanced over briefly from the stove. “Coffee’s fresh. Help yourselves before Finn finishes the milk.”

“I used some,” Finn said, already half through a banana. “It’s not like I drank it out the bottle.”

“You have done that before,” Ellie said, sliding the tray of mugs onto the counter. She clocked Austin a moment later and gave him a crooked smile. “Morning.”

“Morning,” he said, voice still soft with sleep. Angie had already peeled off toward the kettle without needing to ask where anything was. Her familiarity with the kitchen was small but noticeable—like she’d done this before. Not here, maybe. But in kitchens like this, with people like this.

He liked watching her like that.

Like she belonged.

He moved to help Dan finish buttering toast, falling in without thinking too much about it. Someone handed him a knife. Someone else passed a plate. The pace was easy, unhurried.

“Think we’re about ready,” Callum said, scraping the last of the eggs onto a serving dish. “Table’s set. Outside, yeah?”

“Already warm out there,” Mia said, lifting a jug of juice. “Might as well take advantage.”

Austin followed them out through the back doors, the air shifting as he stepped into the sunlight. The garden opened up beyond the terrace—low stone walls, tall grass stirring in the breeze, and the big wooden table under the shade of an overgrown tree, its surface already scattered with cutlery, juice glasses, and the kind of plates that didn’t match on purpose.

They drifted out in twos and threes, carrying dishes and mugs and half-finished sentences. There wasn’t a clear signal—no call to sit, no assigned spots. Just bodies settling where they landed, chairs scraped back, cushions tossed down.

Austin took the spot beside Angie without hesitation. She passed him a fork. He nudged the jug of juice closer to her glass. Small things. Easy.

The food was simple—toast, eggs, bacon, tomatoes blistered in oil—but everything tasted good in the way food did when you were still half in pyjamas and had nowhere else to be.

“Alright,” Ellie said, a pair of sunglasses already balanced on her head. “How committed are we to this walk?”

Austin looked up.

Mia grimaced. “If it involves climbing anything, I’m out.”

“It was Callum’s idea,” Ollie said, reaching for the sauce. “Which means we probably shouldn’t trust it.”

Callum held up a hand, mock-offended. “I never said climbing. I said light hike. Fresh air. Glorious countryside. We take a few dramatic selfies, come back, eat more food. It’s not Everest.”

“Define ‘light,’” Angie said, stabbing a grilled tomato.

He felt her thigh brush his under the table and thought, Whatever this group does, I want to be part of it.

Finn was nodding. “I’m in. Could use a good stomp.”

Dan leaned back in his chair. “Fine, but someone’s bringing snacks. And if I get nettled, I’m blaming all of you.”

Austin watched the conversation bounce between them—easy, layered with long-running jokes and the kind of shorthand that only came with time. But they made room for him too. Tossed him a smile, a question, a knowing look. Like he wasn’t an outsider. Like he was already folded in.

Beside him, Angie poured more coffee into his mug without asking.

And that, more than anything, felt like home.

Eventually, the plates were cleared and coffee drained, the sun lifting higher in the sky. Someone mentioned trainers. Someone else groaned. Plans were vague but gathering momentum, and people started drifting back inside to get ready—doors creaking open, chairs scraped back, someone laughing at the state of their own hair in the window reflection.

Austin carried a stack of mugs in behind them, letting the door swing shut with a soft clunk behind him. Angie was ahead of him, already halfway across the kitchen, reaching up to stretch as she passed the counter. Her sweater had ridden up slightly, the hem catching against the waistband of her pyjama shorts.

He looked away before anyone noticed. But the ache stayed.

This day hadn’t even really started.

And already, he wanted all of it.

They’d been walking for maybe half an hour—long enough for the breeze to fade and the heat to settle properly in its place, and Callum to change his mind about which direction was “definitely right.”

Austin stayed a little behind the group, camera slung over his shoulder, fingers still half-warm from the last shot he’d taken. Something about the way the late morning light cut through the canopy had stopped him in his tracks. He’d crouched instinctively, framed the angle, and clicked—just once. It didn’t matter if anyone else saw it. He liked having a record. Proof that he’d been here, in it.

Ahead, the rest of them had crested the rise in the path, a few calls of wait up and stop walking like you’re in a documentary floating back toward him. Angie was near the middle—talking to Mia and Dan, laughing at something, one hand gesturing as she walked.

He lifted the camera again before he could stop himself.

She didn’t know he was watching. That was the thing.

She didn’t pose or blink coyly at the lens. She just was—a little windswept, sleeves pushed up, legs bare beneath the hem of her shorts. Her head tipped back mid-laugh and he pressed the shutter without thinking.

The sound was quiet. Satisfying.

He stayed still for a moment after, just watching her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She didn’t hear him. Didn’t turn.

He liked that.

Liked being behind the lens with her on the other side of it. Like he was seeing something no one else could frame the same way.

Callum’s voice rang out a beat later from the top of the hill. “Come on, Ansel Adams, you can do your brooding artist thing at the pub.”

Austin huffed a laugh, lowering the camera. “You wish you looked this good with a zoom lens.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Finn called. “We’ll end up in a moody black-and-white short film where someone drowns in metaphor.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst way to go,” Mia said.

Austin caught up slowly, the path levelling out again as he rejoined the group. Angie glanced back as he caught up, her eyes finding his with that easy, unbothered kind of affection that still managed to knock the wind out of him.

She slowed her pace just enough to fall in beside him. “Good shot?” she asked, nodding slightly toward the camera still hanging from his shoulder.

He gave a small smile. “Yeah. You, actually.”

She raised an eyebrow, but there was no mockery in it—just curiosity. “Me?”

He shrugged, fingers brushing hers lightly as they walked. “You were laughing. With Mia. Didn’t even notice.”

Her hand found his for a second—just a press of fingertips, brief but sure—before she let it fall again. “You always this sneaky with your camera?”

“Only when I really want to remember something.”

That earned him a look. Warm. Faintly amused. But underneath it, something quieter. Like she understood.

Like she felt it too.

She nudged his arm gently with her shoulder. “Better not be a terrible angle.”

“You’re incapable of a terrible angle.”

“Flattery,” she said, dry but pleased.

“Truth.”

And she smiled again—this time not small at all.

The house came back into view as they rounded the bend in the lane—ivy-draped stone glowing soft in the late afternoon light, its windows catching the sun like it had been waiting for them to return.

Someone let out a dramatic groan of relief. Mia mumbled something about blisters. Callum was already digging in his pocket for the keys before they hit the gravel.

Austin trailed in behind the others, shoulder warm from where Angie’s had rested lightly against it for most of the last stretch. The front door swung open with its familiar creak, and the cool of the old stone floors met them like a drink of water.

People peeled away almost immediately. Dan declared he was showering or dying. Finn claimed the downstairs loo with theatrical speed. A few others headed for the kitchen—someone opening the fridge, someone else rifling for snacks. Angie disappeared up the stairs with Ellie and Mia, barefoot and humming something under her breath.

Austin stayed back for a moment, letting the quiet settle.

It had been a good day—the kind that crept up on you. No big declarations, no sharp edges. Just a slow build of warmth. The walk through the countryside had stretched longer than planned, but no one minded. He’d hung back with his camera, taking it all in—the way the light dappled through the trees, the mess of limbs when they tried to take a group photo and knocked over a fence post. The way Angie kept glancing back to make sure he was still with them—even when he was only a few steps behind.

And the pub after—cool, shaded, filled with the clatter of drinks and the kind of stories that had clearly been told a hundred times. He hadn’t known all the details, but it didn’t matter. They’d made space for him. Let him sit inside the rhythm without having to find the beat.

He exhaled, slow. Still standing in the doorway. Shirt slightly damp across the back. Camera strap leaving a faint line on his shoulder.

Then he turned, headed for the kitchen, and poured himself a glass of water—cold and sharp and perfect.

He leaned against the counter, glass in hand, the cool of the kitchen settling around him. His shirt clung at the back, damp from the walk, and his calves itched where dried grass had caught.

Footsteps padded in behind him. He didn’t have to look to know it was her.

Angie stepped in barefoot, cheeks pink from the sun, hair falling loose around her shoulders. She still had that walk-warm glow about her—creased shirt, sleeves pushed up, a faint line from her sock at the top of her ankle.

“You good?” she asked, reaching past him for a glass.

He glanced at her, then smiled. “Yeah. Why?”

She shrugged. “New crowd. Long walk. Just checking in.”

“They’re good people.”

She filled the glass but didn’t move away. Just leaned against the counter beside him, shoulder brushing his. “They like you.”

Austin smiled, soft and a little crooked. “Yeah?”

She took a sip of water, then turned to face him properly. Her hip against the counter. Her gaze warm and steady.

“I can tell.”

He let the silence stretch for a second. Not uncomfortable. Just full.

He thought, suddenly, about what it would be like if this were flipped. If she were the one standing barefoot in his kitchen, her hair damp from a beach walk, listening to his friends talk shit across a beer-stained table. Would she fold into it the way he had, today? Would she look at them the way he’d seen her look at Ellie and Callum and the rest—fond, amused, already home?

He didn’t know.

But he wanted to find out.

Upstairs, the house shifted into soft chaos. Doors opening and closing. Laughter echoing down the hall. Showers running in uneven chorus as people shuffled in and out, calling for towels, borrowing shampoo, shouting through steam. Music started up somewhere—muffled through walls, something with too much bass and not enough melody.

Austin waited until the noise died down before heading up himself, the house quieter now, golden light slanting through the landing windows. When he came back down, hair damp and skin still warm from the water, the kitchen had shifted too.

The table was set again—casual, haphazard, bowls of pasta nestled between salad plates, mismatched glasses, a bottle of wine already half empty and another one breathing. No one had been assigned a job, but somehow it had all come together.

He took the seat beside Angie without needing to ask, his thigh brushing hers as he sat. She leaned into him just slightly, her voice low as she offered him a fork already loaded with food.

Dinner was good—simple, unfussy. Forks scraped quietly. Conversations wandered. Ellie told a story with her hands while Finn corrected her with dramatic flourishes. Mia laughed until she had to put her fork down, and Callum poured more wine with the careless generosity of someone who wasn’t counting.

The wine had started to hit the girls first. Not enough to tip them, just enough to lift the edges—voices a little higher now, laughter spilling more freely. Angie’s cheeks were flushed, her hair starting to come undone again as she laughed at something Ollie said across the table. She rested her hand on Austin’s thigh under the table, fingers drawing a slow line along the fabric before curling around his knee in a light, deliberate squeeze.

He nursed a beer slowly, watching it all unfold.

There was something about nights like this. The way they blurred softly at the edges before you noticed they’d started to matter.

And from the way Angie was looking at him now—eyes bright, wine glass tilted lazily in her hand—he had a feeling the night was only just getting started.

Later, the lights were lower and the music louder.

Someone had opened another bottle of wine. Spirits had appeared without ceremony. Glasses were half-full and scattered, the table a lazy sprawl of crumbs and abandoned napkins. They had moved to the sitting room, legs tucked under them on sofas, cushions stolen off chairs and tossed to the floor.

The conversation was looser now. Laughter came quicker, louder, with more overlap. Ellie had gone full storyteller, arms flying as she tried to recreate a birthday disaster in vivid, unnecessary detail. Finn added sound effects. Angie was curled sideways on her chair, one bare foot hooked behind Austin’s calf, her hand lazily tracing shapes on his arm as she laughed into her glass.

He’d joined the laughter, passed the bottles, thrown in his share of stories—but through all of it, she was the anchor.

Callum stood, then crouched beside the TV stand. He pulled out two microphones and a remote, clicked through a few menus, fiddling with the speaker setup like a man on a mission.

“Right,” he said, grinning like he’d been waiting all night for this. “You lot know what time it is.”

Ellie groaned. “Already?”

“No backing out,” he said, checking the Bluetooth connection. “Mia, you’re still on?”

She rolled her eyes but tapped her phone. A pause—then the speaker chirped to life, the music bumping up a few notches.

“Absolutely not,” Ollie said, already laughing.

“Absolutely yes,” Callum replied, stepping forward like he was entering a spotlight that didn’t exist. “Who’s up first?”

Ellie and Finn opened with an out-of-sync version of Teenage Dirtbag that had Mia howling by the first chorus. Ollie followed with a painfully sincere Iris that somehow earned him a standing ovation. Even Dan gave in and growled his way through half of a Springsteen track before surrendering to laughter.

Then Callum moved again—this time quieter, deliberate.

He handed Austin his drink like he was clearing the runway.

Angie clocked it immediately. “No.”

Callum held up a mic. “Yes.”

“You didn’t.”

He grinned. “Oh, I did.”

She groaned, half-laughing already. “We said we were retiring this one.”

“We lied.”

Mia looked around, confused. “Wait. What’s happening?”

Ellie’s eyes lit up. “Oh my god. Are you doing it?”

“They’re doing it,” Finn confirmed, already reaching for his drink like he knew he was going to need it.

Austin looked at Angie, who was taking the mic like she had no choice—which, judging by her face, she didn’t.

“Kill me now,” she said under her breath as she stood—but she was already smiling.

The track dropped.

That iconic West Coast beat rolled through the speakers—“One, two, three and to the four…”

The room exploded.

Austin blinked. “Are they—?”

“Oh yeah,” Ellie confirmed, already filming. “And you’re not ready.”

They didn’t miss a beat.

Straight into Nuthin’ But a “G” Thang, word-perfect and completely unbothered by the disbelief in the room.

Callum leaned back, full Snoop Dogg swagger, one hand in the air, already rapping with an ease that made it terrifyingly clear he’d done this more than once.

And then Angie stepped in.

She didn’t ham it up. Didn’t try to match his theatrics. Just delivered her lines—Dre’s lines—with ridiculous, deadpan confidence. Low and cool and sharp. And somehow, that made it ten times funnier. Ten times better.

Austin couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The two of them? Word-perfect. Completely in sync. Angie barely glanced at the lyrics—she didn’t need to. She hit every line, her timing precise, her tone dry as hell.

Callum prowled. Angie stood still. Like he was the chaos and she was the anchor.

And the crowd? Gone.

People were doubled over, half cheering, half wheezing from laughing. Mia had collapsed onto the floor. Dan was crying. Finn tried to join in for a verse and got immediately booed off by both of them mid-line.

Austin just sat there, stunned—and utterly delighted.

Because she was outrageous.

Confident, calm, and magnetic as hell.

And every so often, she flicked him a look like, Yeah, I’m doing this. Still want me?

He did.

So much it almost hurt.

By the final verse, half the room was trying to join in, and Callum was doing exaggerated hand gestures like he needed security. Angie pulled her hair down halfway through and shook it out. She was in it. Loose and bold and beaming.

They wrapped with perfect timing, trading off the final few lines like they’d done it a hundred times before—which they probably had. She winked at Austin—cheeky and glowing—and something in his chest tightened.

Not with jealousy.

With certainty.

He didn’t need to be part of their past to know he wanted to be in her future.

Then, without a word, they dropped the mics onto the table like it was no big deal.

The room lost it.

Mia spilled her drink. Someone shouted, “Again!”

Callum bowed then collapsed onto the sofa, fanning himself dramatically. Angie gave a lazy two-finger salute, returned to Austin’s side and dropped down beside him.

“Don’t judge me,” she said, out of breath.

He handed her his glass. “I wouldn’t dare.”

She took a sip, then leaned in, her voice still a little hoarse. “You’re up next.”

Austin raised a brow. “Not a chance.”

“Come on,” she said, nudging her knee against his. “You afraid of a little Whitney?”

“Terrified.”

She grinned, lazy and triumphant, and curled back into the cushion beside him, still catching her breath. Still glowing.

Her foot nudged his. Her shoulder leaned into his. And the music rolled on.

The next song kicked in before anyone could veto it—something loud and a bit ridiculous, chosen with chaotic intention. Ellie and Mia were already fighting for the first verse.

Angie didn’t hesitate. Just stood and jumped in the middle without missing a beat.

Austin watched her—eyes bright, flushed from laughing, completely in her element. She danced through the intro like no one was watching, even though everyone was.

He didn’t realise Callum had sat down beside him until he spoke.

“You’re gonna give yourself away, looking at her like that.”

Austin didn’t look over. Just exhaled softly. “Was I that obvious?”

Callum shrugged. “Only to everyone.”

The song carried on, the girls butchering harmonies like they were paid to do it.

Austin finally glanced his way. “She’s… happy tonight.”

Callum nodded, slower this time. “Yeah. It’s been a while.”

That made Austin pause.

“She got burned,” Callum said, casual but not careless. “Last guy did a number on her. Took a while to come back from it.”

Austin’s jaw shifted, just slightly.

Callum noticed, but didn’t press. “This? You? It’s good to see.”

Across the room, Angie hit the chorus with everything she had, her hair bouncing with every step as she laughed through a botched lyric.

Austin watched her, quiet for a beat.

“I don’t want to mess it up,” he said.

Callum didn’t smirk. Didn’t joke. Just said, “Then don’t.”

Simple. Certain.

And somehow, exactly what Austin needed to hear.

At that moment, Angie looked over—like she’d felt the silence, like she was making sure he hadn’t disappeared.

He smiled at her. She smiled back.

And everything else faded out.

The song ended in chaos—Mia bowing dramatically, Ellie nearly tripping over the speaker cable, and Angie still laughing as she handed the mic off like it was a live grenade.

She was flushed and breathless, cheeks pink, eyes bright from both the alcohol and the applause.

And she was very pleased with herself.

She crossed the room, winding her way past cushions and empty glasses, and slipped into Austin’s lap like it was the most obvious seat in the house—her arm curling easily around his neck, the weight of her pressing into him without hesitation.

Austin caught her instinctively, arm looping around her waist. “Hi.”

Her forehead pressed lightly to his cheek as she giggled. “You didn’t sing.”

“I was enjoying the show.”

“Mmm.” Her fingers trailed idly along his chest, slow and light. “You’re missing out.”

“I’m not sure anything could’ve followed that.”

She smirked, leaning in to kiss him—warm and slow and tasting faintly of gin. Then she pulled back just enough to look at him, her smile going lopsided.

Callum made a noise like he was about to gag. “Oh my god. I’m sitting right here.”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek with a loud, exaggerated mwah. “For your matchmaking services.”

Callum wiped at his face with theatrical disgust. “I’m gonna start charging.”

Angie just nestled back into Austin’s arms, her head tucked beneath his jaw, completely content.

Austin glanced at Callum over the top of her head. Callum rolled his eyes—but he was smiling.

“Don’t mind me,” he said. “I love being third wheel to my own success.”

Angie giggled and curled tighter against Austin’s chest, clearly delighted with herself.

The playlist had settled into something slower now—old favourites on shuffle, drifting in and out of focus. A few people had slipped away; Mia and Ollie were gone, Finn was half-asleep on the floor with a cushion over his face. The energy in the room had softened, the kind of late-night lull where no one wanted to admit they were tired yet.

Angie was still curled in Austin’s lap, turned toward him slightly, one leg tucked up beside her, the other draped over his. Her cheek rested against his shoulder, but her hand was anything but still.

It had found its way under his T-shirt.

Slow at first—fingertips grazing the slope of his chest, idly tracing the line between two ribs. Then lower, skating along the curve of his stomach. She pressed her palm flat just above the waistband of his jeans, warm and unhurried, like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Austin sat very, very still.

“You okay there?” he murmured.

“Mmm,” she said, not looking up. Her nose brushed the side of his neck. “You’re distracting.”

“I’m just sitting here.”

“You’re warm,” she said. Her hand dipped slightly. “And solid. And—” her fingers flexed just above the button of his jeans, “—ridiculously easy to touch.”

He caught her wrist gently, thumb brushing her pulse. “Ange.”

She finally looked up. Her eyes were hazy, but focused. “What?”

“You’re—” He exhaled. “We’re still in a room full of people.”

She smiled, utterly unbothered. “They’re not looking.”

She wasn’t wrong. Ellie and Dan were tangled together trying to sing along to something with far too many verses. Callum was across the room, low conversation with Finn, bottle loose in his hand. He didn’t seem to be paying attention—but Austin felt the weight of the space anyway.

Angie leaned in, her breath warm against his jaw. “We could go upstairs.”

He kissed her once, slow and certain. “Let’s.”

They stood together without fuss. Angie was a little wobbly, her hand finding his for balance, but she grinned at him like she’d won something.

Callum clocked them from across the room. Didn’t say anything—just lifted his brows slightly as Austin passed, and tipped his head in the smallest nod.

Austin nodded back.

Then they slipped quietly out, her hand in his, and the stairs creaked under their feet like they were in on the secret.

Upstairs, the air was cooler. Quieter. The house settling around them like it had exhaled.

Austin closed the door behind them with a quiet click, but Angie was already crossing the room—barefoot and loose-limbed, her balance just off enough to be endearing. She flopped onto the bed in a gentle sprawl, hair a little wild, her arms stretched above her head as she looked up at the ceiling like it had something important to say.

He watched her for a second. The shape of her against the crumpled duvet. The way her toes curled slightly when she was comfortable. She looked…happy. Soft and a little drunk and very much herself.

She sat up a little and reached for him, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt. “C’mere.”

He did. Let her pull him down beside her, their knees bumping, her leg hooking over his like it had a homing signal. She found his hand immediately, pulling it into her lap and turning it palm-up. Her fingers traced the lines like she was reading a map, then started gently bending each of his fingers back and forth, testing the movement like she was checking if he was real. He let her. Just watched her with a soft kind of wonder.

“You’re cute when you’re drunk,” he said gently.

She made a sound of protest. “I’m not drunk.”

“You are.”

“I’m tipsy,” she said with exaggerated patience. “I’m merry. I’m maybe two sips past graceful. But I am not drunk.”

He laughed, and she grinned, proud of herself. Then her fingers stilled and something in her expression shifted—went softer.

“I was drunk at Anthony’s party,” she said, voice quiet now. “That was drunk.”

Austin’s smile faded slightly. He watched her carefully. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “And God I wanted to kiss you that night.”

He blinked. “You did?”

“Mmhmm.” She curled her own pinky around his and gave it the gentlest tug, like they were making a pact without words. “So badly. I kept thinking about it all night.”

“Why didn’t you?”

She hesitated, then shrugged one shoulder. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

She spoke softly, but her thumb was still brushing his, absently circling the base of his finger like she was grounding herself in the movement.

“I mean… after the bike lesson, I thought maybe you felt the same.” Her voice lifted just a little, uncertain. “The way you looked at me when I finally got it? I kept thinking about that.”

He smiled, remembering the way she’d shouted in triumph, arms thrown in the air before nearly crashing into a hedge.

“But I still wasn’t sure,” she went on. “You’re… naturally flirty. Charming. People like you. It’s hard to tell if that’s just how you are or if it actually means something.”

Austin stayed quiet, watching her. Letting her say it all.

“And then there’s…” she trailed off, shaking her head a little. “I’ve been to a few events with Cal, you know? Industry things. I don’t say this stuff often—but, sometimes it gets to me. I always felt like someone’s weird cousin who got lost on the way to a PTA meeting.”

His brow furrowed. “Ange.”

“I’m not fishing,” she said quickly. “I’m not. I know I’m—like—I know I’m in pretty good shape. I like my body. I do. But next to them?” She gave a soft, tipsy huff. “They’re all legs and cheekbones and perfect blow-dries that don’t move in the wind. They’ve got that glowy, effortless skin and eyes that tilt in just the right direction. They don’t have to worry about tripping over their own feet or Google what serum actually does.”

She let go of his hand and draped her arm across her eyes.

“And then there’s me. Who has a panic every other week about parent meetings and sometimes cries at those clips of dogs being reunited with soldiers.”

He laughed softly, and she peeked at him beneath her arm, a little sheepish.

“I love my job. I do. I love my kids. I love my life. But it’s not very… glamorous. I spend half my week covered in poster paint or reminding someone not to lick the interactive whiteboard. And you—” she gestured at him again, lazily, “you go to premieres. You know how to pronounce things on fancy menus. You wear suits that actually fit.”

She paused. “Why would you be interested in me?”

Austin sat up slightly, enough to rest his weight on one elbow and look down at her. Her hair was splayed across the duvet, cheeks pink from sun and wine, eyes glassy but focused.

“You want to know what I thought,” he said quietly, “the first time Callum mentioned you?”

She nodded.

“We got on great pretty much right away,” he said. “Boot camp helped with that. Once we were on set, he started talking about you—said his best friend was even more excited about Masters of the Air than he was. That you love all that stuff—war films, shows, history—more than anyone he knew. He was kind of smug about it, like he’d won something because you were more excited about his part than he was.”

She smiled faintly.

“Then he started showing me around London,” Austin went on. “And I remember him saying the only place to get a proper Sunday roast was at yours. ‘Angie’s or nothing,’ he said. Like it wasn’t even a debate. That’s when he started really talking about you—how you’re a teacher, how you’ve known each other forever. It didn’t feel like a pitch or anything, just… like you were part of him. Part of the way he saw home.”

He glanced down at their hands again, still loosely twined.

“And when I met you—” his voice dipped “—first thing I noticed was your eyes. These huge, blue eyes that looked right through me. Like you already knew who I was before I said anything.”

She blinked, cheeks flushing.

“You had your hair up, apron covered in flour, trying to act like it was just a normal Sunday and not something you’d put any effort into. But you’d made all that food. You were buzzing around the kitchen, telling Callum off for not bringing wine.”

He smiled, small and soft.

“I thought you were beautiful. But it wasn’t just that. I liked that you were just… normal with me. You didn’t do that thing where people get weird. You weren’t trying to impress me. And your dynamic with Cal—it made me feel like I could belong there.”

He paused. Swallowed.

“And then when he brought up Elvis, you didn’t go straight for the singing or the dancing or any of the usual stuff. You just said, ‘That must’ve been overwhelming.’ Like you got it.”

She was watching him now, totally still.

“And after that… it just built. Brunch. The bookstore. Poker night. The bikes. Pottery after Anthony’s birthday. All of it. You’d text me something random and it’d make my whole day shift.”

Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak.

“I didn’t do anything because I wasn’t expecting it to feel like this,” he admitted. “And I didn’t want to scare you off,” he said, quieter now. “You seemed like you were holding something back. And I’d started to feel like… if I pushed too soon, I’d ruin something that might actually matter.”

Her hand shifted, linking more tightly with his.

He looked at her then—really looked.

“I wanted you to come to me when you were ready.”

“And then you showed up on set,” he added, a smile pulling at his mouth. “And you looked like you belonged there. Not just because of the costume. Because you were curious. And kind. And everyone fell in love with you a little bit. Me included. And when you kissed me that night…” His voice dipped. “That was it. I was gone.”

She froze.

Not visibly. Not dramatically. But something in her eyes changed—widened just slightly, her breath catching halfway in.

Austin realised it a second too late.

His words echoed between them.

Fell in love with you. Me included.

Shit.

She didn’t let go of his hand. Her fingers were still curled around his, tight now, like she needed the contact to stay grounded.

“You—” she started, then stopped. Swallowed. “You mean that?”

He could’ve backpedalled. Could’ve smoothed it over, made it casual. But he didn’t.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “I do.”

For a moment, she just stared at him. Like she was trying to file the words away under something safe, something light. But they didn’t fit there.

Then she kissed him.

Not for show. Not to distract. Just because she needed to.

It wasn’t urgent—just firm and searching, her hand slipping up to the back of his neck as she pressed in, like she had to anchor herself to the truth of him. Of what he’d just said.

When she finally pulled back, her breath shivered slightly on the exhale.

“I didn’t think I’d get to keep you,” she said quietly. “Zara told me I should just have a fling,” she murmured. “Said it’d be fun. That I deserved something easy for once.”

She gave a short laugh, dry around the edges. “But I’m not very good at that. The whole casual thing. I never have been.”

She paused, then added, barely above a whisper, “And you’re not the kind of guy you have a fling with.”

Austin didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

She shifted just slightly, her free hand sliding to his chest, fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt like she was grounding herself again.

“You’re the most beautiful human being I’ve ever seen,” she said simply.

Austin’s breath caught.

“But it’s not just that,” she went on, voice steady now. “It’s like… there’s this light in you. This energy. Like something good pouring out of you all the time. And everyone feels it. Everyone wants to be near it.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide and honest. “You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met. And thoughtful. And funny in this quiet, clever way. And so bloody talented it’s kind of rude.”

That pulled the faintest smile from him—but he didn’t speak.

She kept going, softer now. “I saw a little of it on set. That day I visited. You weren’t even trying—you just were. You stepped into that character like you disappeared, like Gale walked in instead. And I remember thinking, Oh. He’s not just good. He’s something else.”

Her thumb moved in a slow circle over his chest. “You’re amazing at pottery. And photography. And now music too, apparently. And you’re so humble, you act like it’s nothing.”

Her voice wobbled, but she steadied it. “It’s not nothing. You’re—” she looked up at him, eyes shining, “—you’re the most extraordinary person I’ve ever met.”

Austin didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched her like she was the only thing in the world.

She gave a small, shaky laugh. “And I’m not saying any more nice things, because your ego’s probably at capacity—”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Okay—one more.” Her smile tipped slightly, teasing now. “You’re also the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Austin let out a full, helpless laugh, head dropping to her shoulder for a second as it shook through him. She grinned, half triumphant, half dazed.

And then, softer, “I didn’t mean to fall for you, you know.”

She traced a lazy line up his chest. “I just got to know you. And that was it. I was gone.”

And just like that, it clicked. Every second he’d spent trying not to fall—she’d been falling too.

He kissed her.

Not tentative now—sure. Soft and deep, his mouth moving over hers in a way that felt inevitable, like they’d always been heading here. His hand came up to her neck as his tongue slid into her mouth, fingertips brushing just below her jaw. And there it was—that sound she always made. Small, involuntary. Like a breath caught halfway between a sigh and a moan.

God, he loved that sound.

Angie pulled him closer immediately, arms winding around his shoulders, her leg slipping higher over his hip. His hand moved—down from her neck, beneath the hem of her shirt, seeking the warmth of her skin.

She was so soft.

He dragged his palm slowly across her stomach, relearning the shape of her by touch, his heart thudding as she arched into it. He kissed her again, deeper this time, and she made that sound again—closer to a whimper now—and he felt her fingers at the back of his shirt.

Together, they sat up just enough to undress.

Austin tugged his shirt off and tossed it to the side. Angie did the same, peeling her top over her head, her flushed skin catching the low light. Her bra followed, and when she looked up at him—cheeks pink, hair mussed, eyes soft and steady—his breath caught.

They shifted back properly onto the bed, limbs tangled as they lay down again, her head on the pillow now, her thighs falling open for him without hesitation.

He kissed her like he needed to say thank you. For trusting him. For wanting this. For being here.

His mouth moved down—slow, reverent. Along her jaw, down the slope of her neck. She tilted her head to give him better access, one hand resting on his back, the other tangling in his hair as he kissed his way down to her chest.

He lingered here.

Closed his mouth gently around one nipple, then the other, his tongue soft and slow as she squirmed beneath him. Her breathing shifted, higher now, more erratic. He suckled, rolled his tongue, brushed the tips with careful attention until she whimpered and arched into him.

Her shorts were still on, but her hips were moving—small, seeking rolls that made it clear what she needed.

Austin reached down, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband and dragging them down her legs. Her underwear came with them. She didn’t say a word. Just looked up at him with parted lips and wide, shining eyes.

When he touched her—bare, slick, already so warm—she exhaled his name like it had been pulled from somewhere deep.

He dragged his fingers along the centre of her first, spreading the slickness before slipping lower, pressing two fingers inside her in one smooth glide. She was hot and tight around him, her body welcoming him with a soft gasp that sent heat rushing through his chest. His palm settled against her clit, just enough pressure to make her hips jerk, and then she was moving—grinding into his hand, chasing every pulse of his fingers inside her, every friction-drenched drag of his palm against her swollen clit. He curled his fingers carefully, coaxing, until her breath stuttered and her arms tightened around him. She was so responsive, so wet, so achingly beautiful like this.

They didn’t speak.

Just quiet breaths. The rustle of sheets. Her soft little gasps every time he hit the right spot.

He kissed her while he touched her. Watched her face shift—every micro-expression, every bite of her lip, every flicker of something close to awe.

And when she came—quiet and trembling, her whole body arching into his hand—he kissed her through it. Never looked away.

She was still catching her breath when he gently pulled his fingers free and leaned in to kiss her again, open-mouthed and slow, her lips still parted with the aftershocks.

Then he sat back just enough to strip off his jeans, the fabric dragging down his legs and hitting the floor with a soft thud. Her gaze followed the movement, cheeks still flushed, eyes dark.

He came back to her slowly, kissing her as he settled between her thighs, the heat of her drawing him in.

Her hand slid between them—quiet but sure—closing around him with a slow stroke that made his breath hitch.

She kissed him, deep and unhurried, her thumb brushing the head of his cock as her other hand curled around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

Her thighs shifted wider beneath him, knees bent, heels digging gently into the mattress.

“Come here,” she whispered against his mouth, guiding him in.

Austin let out a shaky breath, hips tilting forward as she lined him up. Her eyes never left his.

And when she drew him in—slow, aching, breathless—he wasn’t sure how he’d ever let her go again.

Her hand stayed at his jaw as he sank into her, her mouth parting around a gasp as their hips met. She was so warm, so tight, her body curling into his like it had always known the shape of him.

He started to move—but only when she pulled him closer, when her legs wrapped around him and her breath caught in his ear.

Her hips lifted to meet him, slow and certain, every shift of her body guiding his. There was nothing hurried in the way they moved—just a quiet urgency beneath it all, something tender and inevitable.

She stroked her hands over his back, mapping the lines of him, fingertips dipping into the muscles at his shoulders. Her lips brushed his jaw, his cheek, his mouth again—soft kisses between breaths, as if she couldn’t stop touching him.

Austin buried his face in her neck, breathing her in, rocking into her with deep, steady thrusts. Her thighs cradled his hips, ankles locked low behind his back, and she moved with him, every motion answering his.

He felt her start to tighten again, felt the way her hand caught in his hair, the quiet gasp at the back of her throat.

Her voice broke on a whisper, “Aus…”, barely more than breath—and he lifted his head just enough to kiss her, his hand slipping between them to find her clit, circling gently as he thrust into her.

She cried out softly into his mouth, her fingers clutching at his back, her eyes fluttering closed, lips parting as her orgasm rolled through her.

Austin held her through it—slowing just enough to feel it all, to stay with her—his hand still between them, his forehead resting against hers.

“That’s it,” he whispered, breath hot against her cheek. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

Her breath caught again, body curling around his, and he kissed her temple, murmuring between each movement.

Then she looked up at him, dazed and flushed and still smiling, and whispered, “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

He kissed her again, deeper this time, as he let himself go—let the rhythm build, hips snapping harder, his grip tightening around her waist. Pressure coiled sharp and hot in his spine, rising fast—unstoppable. Her name slipped from his lips as he buried himself deep, once, twice, then everything fractured.

Pleasure tore through him, white-hot and full-bodied, pulsing out from deep in his core. His muscles locked, breath catching as he came hard inside her, a low, broken groan spilling against her throat. Every nerve lit up, every inch of him wrapped in her—her warmth, her scent, the soft sound of her breath in his ear.

He stayed there, locked to her, his body still twitching with aftershocks, the world narrowing to just this.

Just her.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Just the soft rush of breath. The warm press of skin. The sound of her fingers brushing gently through his hair.

And then, slowly, he looked down at her again—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, her expression open and utterly content.

He kissed her once more.

Just because he could.

And when he finally started to move—to shift, to pull out—her legs tightened just slightly around his hips.

“Stay,” she whispered.

So he did.

Lowered himself fully onto her, chest to chest, the weight of him pressing her into the mattress in the most grounding way. Her fingers drifted into his hair again, gentle now, stroking slow lines against his scalp like it soothed her as much as him. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, breath warm against her skin, and exhaled. He closed his eyes to the sound of her breathing.

Wrapped in her warmth, lulled by her touch, he let go of everything else.

And when sleep came, it came softly—his body heavy on hers, her arms wrapped around him like a promise neither of them had to say out loud.

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The training session was dragging. Useful, maybe. But it was hard to focus when I kept replaying the last ten days in my head. Zara and I escaped early to my classroom, coffees in hand.

“You’ve been weird,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

I lifted a brow. “Excuse me?”

She pointed at me, then waved a hand vaguely. “Like… suspiciously quiet. You barely said anything in the group chat.”

I rolled my eyes. “Maybe I just didn’t have anything to say.”

She gave me a look. “Yeah, right. You always have something to say.”

I hesitated.

Zara’s eyes widened. “No. No way. What happened?”

I pressed my lips together.

Then— “I slept with him.”

Zara nearly dropped her coffee.

“You what?”

I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly self-conscious. “It—kind of just… happened.”

She stared at me. “Angie.”

I groaned. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“It is a thing!” She smacked my arm. “You barely told me anything about this whole set visit, and now you’re telling me you slept with him?”

I sighed. “Okay, yeah. A lot happened.”

She folded her arms. “Start from the beginning.”

So, I did.

I told her everything—about touring the set, Austin arranging for me to be an extra, the first time we kissed. The pub date and him asking me to stay. The past week. The mornings, the nights, the way everything had shifted without me even realising.

By the time I finished, Zara just stared at me.

“Jesus Christ.”

I huffed a laugh. “Yeah.”

Her head tilted. “And now?”

I swallowed. “Now… I’m here, and he’s there, and we'll see each other Sunday.”

Her expression softened. “And?”

I exhaled. “And I already miss him.”

Zara shook her head, muttering under her breath. “Knew it.”

I frowned. “Knew what?”

She sipped her coffee. “You’re all loved-up, aren’t you?”

I choked. “It’s been ten days, Zara.”

“Yeah, but how long have you actually been into him?”

I frowned. “I don’t know.”

Zara’s look was unimpressed. “Bullshit.”

I sighed, tipping my head back.

Because honestly? I wasn’t sure I had an answer.

After Zara finished dramatically analysing my entire life, I grabbed my lunch and sat at my desk, my phone in hand.

I hesitated for half a second before holding down the mic button.

“Alright, Butler, since you demanded it—today’s lunch selection: pasta bake, jacket potatoes, or a ‘seasonal vegetable risotto,’ which was 90% peas. I went for the pasta. Solid choice. Five stars. You're really missing out. Tragic”

I sent it off and took a bite of my food, shaking my head to myself.

A couple of hours later, my phone buzzed with his reply.

Austin: ‘Tragic’ is right. You get dessert?

Me: Sponge cake with pink custard.

Austin: That’s not real.

Me: It absolutely is.

Austin: I need to see it with my own eyes to believe it.

I huffed a quiet laugh, tapping out a reply.

The week slipped into a new kind of normal after that. We texted through the day. Nothing dramatic. Just small things.

Austin: Barry says hi. And that he misses you. Mostly because you’re the only one who’ll listen to his theories about the moon landing.

Me: Tell him I miss him too. And that I fully support his research.

Austin: Call time got pushed. Wanna FaceTime later?

Me: Yeah. Call me when you’re home. x

It wasn’t the same as being there. But it was something.

One evening I was curled up on my sofa, laptop open, when my phone buzzed. Austin’s name lit up the screen, the familiar FaceTime ringtone cutting through the quiet.

I answered, and Austin’s face filled the screen—hair damp, hoodie on, stretched out on his bed.

I smiled. “Hey.”

He exhaled like he’d been waiting all day for that. “Hey.”

I tucked my legs under me. “Long day?”

He nodded. “Good, though. You?”

I shrugged. “Yeah. You know. Changing lives, shaping young minds, confiscating Rubik’s cubes. The usual.”

Austin smirked. “Sounds heroic.”

“Oh, incredibly.”

A beat of quiet.

Then—

“I miss you.”

The words were easy, slipping out like they belonged.

Austin’s expression softened. “Yeah?”

I swallowed. “Yeah.”

A small pause.

Then he smiled. “Me too.”

And somehow, that made everything feel just a little bit easier.

By the time Friday night rolled around, I was officially done.

The first week back had been fine—busy, sure, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Even so, by the time I made it home, all I wanted was to get into pyjamas, make a cup of tea, and not move for the foreseeable future.

Which was exactly what I did.

Now, curled up on the sofa, laptop open but mostly ignored, I half-watched some mindless TV, letting the voices blur into background noise.

I checked my phone instinctively.

Nothing new from Austin.

Not that I was waiting.

I stretched, rolling my shoulders, reaching for my mug—

Then my phone buzzed.

Austin: Still awake?

I smirked, sinking deeper into the cushions.

Me: Barely. You?

Austin: Yeah. Night shoot.

Austin: Sitting in a freezing hangar, waiting for them to reset the shot. Callum is monologuing about the ‘psychological toll of war’ to a very tired grip.

Me: That poor grip.

Austin: That poor ME.

Me: You love it.

Austin: Lies.

Austin: What are you up to?

Me: Not much. Just crashed on the sofa with tea and some mindless TV.

Austin: Sounds unfairly good.

Me: Unfairly?

Austin: I’ve been standing in the cold for an hour and a half. This is inhumane.

Me: Would it help if I told you what was for lunch today?

Austin: That depends.

Austin: Was there pink custard?

Me: No.

Austin: A travesty. I regret asking.

I grinned, shaking my head.

Me: You’ll be here Sunday. I’ll make sure you’re well-fed.

Austin: Careful. That almost sounds like a promise.

Me: Maybe it is.

There was a pause.

Then—

Austin: What time should I come?

I chewed my lip, considering.

Me: Whenever you’re here is fine. You can come straight to mine if you want.

Austin: You sure?

Me: Obviously.

Austin: Alright. I’ll head over once I’m back in London.

Me: Good.

Austin: Yeah.

Another pause.

Austin: Looking forward to it. x

Me: Me too. x

I let my head sink back into the cushions, eyes slipping shut for a moment. My body had been heavy with the kind of exhaustion that only came after a full week of work—the early mornings, the endless to-do lists, the sheer energy it took to be switched on all the time.

But now? Now, I wasn’t tired at all.

I glanced at the clock without really meaning to.

Two more days.

I hadn’t meant to count. Hadn’t meant to be aware of it at all.

But I was.

I locked my phone, exhaling slowly as I stared at the ceiling.

I stretched out, pulling a blanket over me as the TV murmured in the background, but I wasn’t really paying attention to it anymore.

My phone sat beside me on the sofa, screen dark now, but the weight of his last message lingered.

Looking forward to it. x

It should’ve been simple. Just another Sunday. Just another visit.

But it didn’t feel like that.

Not anymore.

Because seeing him this time wasn’t just seeing a friend.

It was seeing him.

And I already knew—

One day wasn’t going to be enough.

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A warm burst of sea air blows across their bodies as his Kitten looks up and away from him. She so fucking cute when she teases him like this.  How he landed such an amazing woman, an amazing partner, he’ll never know. 

“I love you so much,” his words so earnest.

“I know,” she quotes, jutting her chin out like she was about to be frozen in carbonite. 

“Come here you” Austin snatches her to him. All sullenness gone in a flurry of laughter and tickles. 

She thrashes in his arms, pushing at his chest and kicking her feet.

“STOP STOP STOP! PINEAPPLES!”

“What?!” he laughs incredulously, holding her close. 

“I don’t know, but it made you stop. I just about peed myself.” 

“That would have been awkward to explain to the hotel staff.” 

“Yeah, you’d have to be all, ‘nothing to see here folks, just made my wife pee cuz I had to service her before she got out of bed’,” she lowers her voice as much as possible. 

“Me? You’d be the one who’d have to call the front desk. ‘Um, Oui, I need a new set of sheets, I’ve soiled these therapy banging my stressed out husband, Merci’,” he uses his best falsetto voice and French accent.  Something obviously lifted from him in his confession to her, he was light again, like before.

”Actually, may I remind you that we are in France and those reasons would be completely acceptable to them,” she giggles. 

“Yeah, that’s true,” he leans over the side of the bed rummaging around in his bag. “Well, would this be acceptable to you?” He flourishes a sapphire jeweled butt plug. The one  with the words ‘my kitten’ engraved on it, the one that was his exact girth, the one that matched her wedding ring. In his other hand he had the box with matching necklace and earrings.“I’ve not seen you in these for a while.” 

“Seen me?” she smiles, teasing, “you just want to see me in them.” 

“Well, I’m betting that will lead to… other things, hopefully. But only if you are willing, my love.”

It had been a loooong time since they’d done any ass play. It always took extra time to prep, time that had been in short supply of late. The idea makes her pussy clench, forcibly reminding her that she hadn’t yet voided her bladder. 

“For you? Always,” those particular words such deep lore for them. She leans forward towards him, “but I really am gonna wet myself, and not in the sexy way.” 

“Well go pee then woman,” he rubs his nose against hers. 

“I’m gonna shower and get this tush ready. Order some breakfast too, I’m getting hungry,” she says untangling herself from his limbs. She rummages around in her bag and grabs her special little black bag for cleaning herself out. 

She steps out from the bathroom 25 minutes later, wrapped in a short white silk bathrobe, clean inside and out. 

“D'accord Merci,” he was just hanging up the phone. “It’ll be here in like 45 minutes at least I think that’s what they said.” Austin had been learning French in his nonexistent spare time. He was still ‘comme un enfant’ he would say, but he was trying. 

“I’ll be five minutes, baby” he jumps up and kisses her cheek, “then I want to get that in you, before breakfast comes,” he nods to the side table where his first gift to her sits. 

She opened the balcony doors all the way, breathing in the fresh sea air. By the time they were done today, they would  need that fresh change of sheets. She  put the necklace on, the earrings were still in the box. She plopped down on the bed on her stomach tucking a pillow under her hips and checking her phone.  

Before the five minutes are up, she hears an appreciative ‘mmmm’ and feels his hand on her calf. She can smell the french milled soap on his skin.

“Look at you Kitten, so enticing, ass just peeking out from under that robe,” he trails his hand up her leg.

“Am I” she turns her head to look at him with feigned innocence. 

“Oh hoh, don’t give me that, I know how you are, my little sexy demon,” his voice is low and steamy.

Don’t you know it! She pipes up, that succubus in her head. Didja miss me sugar?  

Kitten smiles at her inner sex voice. Oh hell yes. 

The mattress dips under his weight behind her. “What’s that smile for Kitten?” He slips his hand under the hem of the robe, exposing her ass fully. 

“You, always for you.” 

Both his hands knead her ass cheeks as he kneels on either side of her legs. Her little rosette winking at him as he did. He’d not been an ass man before. But ever since she surprised him climbing down from the rooftop garden with no undies under that flowy dress and just a silvery glint of a plug in her hole, ever since she had fingered his in the shower, making him cum so intensely, ever since those first 72 hours, he had no choice. He was an ass man now with no regrets. The memories themselves would make his cock start to spring to life. Let alone the fact that she was propped up before him like a offering on her own personal altar. 

“I want you to know,”he says, leaning down, kissing her butt cheek, only just restraining himself from biting it, “before I worship this gorgeous ass,” another kiss, “that I feel lucky as hell to have helped you in that elevator.” 

“Mmm baby, you are so sweet. I’m glad you accepted my invitation to dinner that night.” Her hips lift invitingly. “Now fucking defile me, Mon Roi.” 

He pulls her cheeks apart like peeling apart two halves of a peach and without preamble, dives his tongue onto her clean pucker. It’s been months, he had forgotten just how delicious her ass was and how naughty the forbidden fruit made him feel.He undulates his tongue against her hole, feeling the little ridges there. He grasps the globes of her ass in big juicy handfuls. He wonders, not for the first time,  what it took to make it so clean and if he did the same would she agree to rim him. 

God it felt so good, The prep and squeaky clean scrub she gave herself made her more than willing. She wanted it bad. The thousands of nerve endings fire to the center of her as he snuggled his tongue against her asshole. Just the thought of him playing there already had her wet with anticipation. 

His long tongue reaches farther under her, just the tip catching a taste of her sweet juices. He nearly goes feral, growling against her skin. He wants more and he wants it now. His thumbs twisting to the front of her hips to tilt them that much more. He laps voraciously at her pussy and ass together.  He wants her as needy and dripping as he is right now. With his face wedged into her crevice, he tongue fucks her pussy as best he can.

Her hands fist into the sheets as she moans in sensations she had forgotten about. God she loves this. God she loves him.

He pulls away from her and gracefully drops a long line of spit onto her crack. It’s not a crass hack and spit, but soft plop of his saliva right onto her naughty little kitten hole. He rubs it in with his thumb making her shiver in pleasure. His other hand slips back and forth against her wet lips as he gently presses  into her ass.  

He gently moves in and out. She is so tight right now, he’s afraid he might hurt her if he goes right to the plug. 

“Ready for me to open you up hunny?” his smooth, sexy voice pours over her ears with just a hint of that southern drawl she loves so much. Fuck all those internet and media trolls. Her baby was god among men.

“Oh fuck yes baby,” her moan partially caught by the sheets. “But please, more lube.”

“Alright,” he pulls his thumb out, “but I’m gonna need just a little more of this first,” he spreads her cheeks and takes just a minute to devour her once more. His hips can’t help but hump his leaking cock against the back of her calves as he licks her from clit to tail over and over. 

Her ass squirms agasint him, begging for more. 

“Oh lord Kitten, I forgot just how wet this makes you.” He finally pulls away, wiping her slick from his chin with the back of his hand.  

“What do you expect when you tongue me like that,” she pants out, looking over her shoulder with a sly grin. 

He purses his lips at her mimic of his first words of the day.

“On your knees Kitten,” his voice is suddenly insistent and powerful.

It makes her insides quiver. Here is her man, her Dom, her everything. She pushes back, ass in the air, exposed to his every whim.  A cool drip of lube hits her ass. 

“Gonna finger you open baby,” he announces as he pushes his middle finger into her. 

She bites her lip to hold in a little moan, knowing it only gets better from here. 

He slides in and out a little before adding his forefinger. She relaxes into it as he stretches her asshole with his two fingers.

“You like that huh. My fingers in your ass.”

“Uh huh,” is all she can get out, it feels exquisite.

He grazes her sopping labia with the pads of his other fingers. “Oh yeah you do. About to drip all over the bed.” He leans forward to bring his fingers to her mouth. “Here baby, clean those off for me.” 

She greedily sucks his fingers into her mouth, licking the taste of herself from them. He starts to slowly finger her ass. Her moan is loud, despite being stoppered by his fingers. 

“Oh that’s hot baby,” he moans, glutes tightening, pushing his cock against her leg again leaving little dots of thick precum. 

His fingers in both ends and his sexy as fuck voice both serve to ramp her up. Her hips start pulsing back and forth on his fingers. The back of her throat rife with sound.

He’s just in awe, brows furrowed and mouth open. An eager witness of the magic of her arousal. He’s gonna lose it.  He curbs his base instict to just plunge into her and fuck them both into oblivion. There is a mission here, he reminds himself,  and he’s nothing if not persistent when there’s an objective in front of him. 

“Ok baby, it’s time,” he withdraws his fingers from her mouth. Her tongue follows them, yearning. He slowly pulls his fingers from her ass. 

“Oh oh Oooooohhhhh,” she groans.  The withdrawal is always better, more sensitive, more arousing. 

“You alright my love?” 

She just nods, biting her lip, taking a big breath.

“Good, let’s up the ante then.” 

He picks up the plug. Memories of Brisbane flood his mind. He remembers the piano bar at the hotel where she sang, the business man that was watching her as he secretly ‘tortured’ her with the moxie vibe and this inside her.  He recalls how told her that he might share her some day. Now that she was his lock, stock and barrel, the idea of watching someone else give her pleasure intrigued him. They were going to have to revisit that, and sooner rather than later.

The cold metal of the large plug, her plug, the one that made her his, touches her sphincter. She inhales sharply before leaning into it.

He pushes slowly, watching her open for him. He lets her push it out before increasing the pressure, fucking her little by little. 

“Oh fuck, Can you… can you like angle it down a little more?” Her fingers are kneading the bed clothes, Kitten indeed. 

He does and the sound she makes parallels a purr.

“That better, Kitten?”

“Yeah,  oh god yeah,” she puffs out, rib cage expanding, “keep fucking me with it.”

He smiles to her back as he does. 

He was so good at going slow, and making sure she was ok. And when it was time, he was so good at dicking her down. The stretch started to burn at the edges as he worked the bulbous steel deeper and deeper into her. She wondered just how much more she had to go. It always made her a little nervous, taking his big circumference. 

You got this, you’ve taken it before. Remember how fucking good it feels? How you crave it afterwards?  Her inner demon speaks up. 

When his other hand grazes her pussy lips, her nerves vanish. The sensation of her asshole being stretched and fucked marries with his play at her nethers, washing her in pleasure. 

“Open for me Kitten, that’s it, good girl.” His words are a sexy, praise-ridden melody to her ears.

Finally he doesn’t stop to let her ass push it out. Oh lord she was spread so wide, so open. Was his own cock really this thick? Watching her take it was the dirtiest thing he’d seen in a while. His girl, his Kitten, his wife. So fucking hot, every  damn time. 

“Ohfuck ohfuck OH FUCK!” she yelped at the widest point. Then her ass is pulling it away from him, sucking it in. Her hips shudder. No she hadn’t cum or anything, but the relief was real. Until they pulled it out again. But she loved it, and with interest. He loved it too. Hammer a six inch spike through a board with his penis? Hell yeah he could, he was so damn hard.

“You took that so good Kitten, it being such a long time,” He kisses her cheeks once more, lovingly. 

She rolls her hips, feeling the weight of it inside her. When she sits up, she bounces on her knees, holding her tits. Her hand cups her vulva, rubbing little circles. Little purring chirps rumble in her upper chest. She feels as if she is just a bundle of erotic nerves. It feels so damn amazing to be so fucking turned on. 

He watches her touch herself, chest heaving in want. Good god why had they stopped doing this? He reaches out and drags his fingers down her back, planning on pulling her to him, to his lap. His mouth wants hers, wants her tongue against his. Wants, needs, must fucking have in order to survive.

Just then there is a knock at the door. 

“Bonjour, voici votre commande. Room Service!”

To be continued....

Peeps who may want to know! , @purejasmine, @slowsweetlove, @richardslady121, @austinbutlerslovers, @tadpoleteef, @allittakesisoneflight @thisworldisntrealhoney,  @1nho,  @megangovier, @briaandthephantoms, @andro-inherdreamworld @callumsgirl @blombardo  @fefeisastar @hacunamy @nestito702 @denised916 @jayydep @r0m4nitcl0v3r @heyidc03, @secondchild-2, @flander42 @natural-born-rebel-spirit @lecosymood @kathrynzaragoza @bsunshinexo @jayydep @ifyouloveweedletsgosmoke @peggyao3, @sunflowers-77, @estrogensensuallovegasm  @ivycjl @jjubilee-fluff @psycheetamore @austinshirogane @ab4eva

Austin shifted again, his head tilting slightly toward me, like he could feel me watching even in sleep. His arm stayed heavy against my waist, fingers flexing just slightly before going still again.

I swallowed.

The smart thing would be to roll over. To close my eyes, go back to sleep, pretend this wasn’t already more than it was supposed to be.

But I didn’t move.

I just stayed there, warm beneath the covers, memorising the way he looked in the morning light.

Austin stirred beside me, a slow inhale breaking the quiet. His fingers flexed at my hip, a light press against my skin before they relaxed again. His brows furrowed for half a second, like his body was still caught in the last threads of sleep, before his eyes fluttered open.

Blinking against the soft morning light, he shifted slightly, turning his head on the pillow until his gaze found mine.

And then—

A slow, sleepy smile.

Something caught in my throat.

His voice was rough with sleep when he murmured, “Mornin’.”

I hummed in response, a lazy smirk tugging at my lips. “You sure?”

Austin exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face before dropping it back onto the pillow with a sigh. “Not convinced yet.”

I bit my lip, watching the way his fingers skimmed absently over my hip, like he wasn’t even thinking about it. Just doing it because he could.

My heart thumped once, hard.

Austin blinked up at me again, his expression soft, a little amused. “You been awake long?”

I shrugged. “Long enough.”

His lips twitched. “Were you watching me sleep?”

I scoffed immediately, rolling onto my back. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Austin let out a low chuckle, shifting onto his side so he could prop himself up on one elbow, looking down at me.

“Oh, you definitely were.”

I groaned, pressing my hands over my face. “You’re insufferable.”

“Mm.” He ducked his head slightly, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. “And yet, here you are.”

A full-body shiver ran through me, but I ignored it, blindly swatting at his chest. “I hate you.”

Austin laughed, catching my wrist before I could retreat. His grip was loose, lazy, like letting go wasn’t even a thought in his mind.

“Yeah?” He tilted his head, something smug flickering behind his still-sleepy expression. “That why you’re still in my bed?”

I rolled my eyes, but my pulse was a little too loud in my ears.

I could’ve come up with something quick, something teasing, something to match his energy.

But instead, I just swallowed, holding his gaze.

“Guess so.”

Something shifted.

Austin’s thumb brushed absently against my wrist, his smirk fading into something quieter, something I couldn’t quite name.

Then—

His stomach let out a loud, unmistakable growl.

I blinked.

Austin groaned, flopping onto his back, dragging a hand down his face. “For fuck’s sake.”

Laughter bubbled up before I could stop it, my head tipping back into the pillows. “Well. Guess that’s the end of this tender moment.”

Austin muttered something under his breath, shaking his head before pushing up to sit, the sheets sliding down his bare torso. “Unbelievable. My own body betraying me.”

I smirked, propping myself up on my elbows. “Sounds like you need to feed it.”

Austin shot me a look, then stretched his arms over his head, his muscles flexing with the movement. “I was gonna suggest we stay in bed all morning.” He glanced at me, a smirk tugging at his lips. “But I guess I’ll just have to make you breakfast instead.”

I raised a brow. “You guess?”

Austin shrugged one shoulder, swinging his legs off the bed. “Unless you wanna cook?”

I flopped back down immediately. “Nope.”

Austin chuckled, shaking his head as he stood, reaching for his t-shirt draped over the chair. He tugged it on over his bare chest before glancing back at me, his gaze sweeping over my still-stretched-out form.

A slow, deliberate smirk.

I narrowed my eyes. “What?”

His lips twitched. “You look comfortable.”

I frowned. “...I am comfortable.”

Austin hummed, stepping closer, leaning down until he was level with me again, his hands bracing on either side of my body.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice low, teasing. “You can stay here while I cook.”

Before I could react, before I could snark something back, he was pressing a quick, warm kiss to my cheek—then pulling away, heading for the door.

I stared after him, momentarily thrown.

Then—

“I make really good pancakes,” he called over his shoulder.

I snorted, shaking my head as I finally peeled myself from the bed. “We’ll see about that.”

In the kitchen, I hopped up onto the counter, swinging my legs slightly as I watched Austin move around, pulling things from the fridge, flicking on the stove. He still looked sleep-soft, his t-shirt a little rumpled, his hair a mess, but there was something unbothered about the way he worked—like he’d done this a hundred times before.

Like this was easy.

He grabbed the bag of flour from the cupboard, setting it on the counter beside me before reaching past me for the eggs. I caught a hint of his cologne as he did, something warm and familiar now, and I exhaled slowly, pressing my palms flat against the counter to keep myself from leaning in.

Austin cracked an egg with one hand, glancing at me as he did. “You always stare this much, or am I just special?”

I smirked, tilting my head. “Just trying to figure out if you actually know what you’re doing.”

He scoffed. “Wow. No faith.”

“I’m just saying,” I said, watching as he poured the batter into the pan, the scent of butter and vanilla filling the air. “I feel like you could just be coasting on confidence here.”

Austin let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he flipped the first pancake onto a plate. Instead of stepping back, he moved closer, fitting himself between my legs without a second thought, his hands settling on either side of my thighs.

The movement was so natural, so effortless, that my breath caught for a second.

I could feel the heat of him, the way he fit so easily into my space.

His eyes flicked over my face, amused, warm, knowing.

“Still doubting me?” he murmured.

I tilted my head, fighting a smirk. “I haven’t tasted them yet.”

Austin hummed, his fingers flexing slightly against the counter. “Guess I’ll just have to win you over some other way, then.”

And before I could fire back, he kissed me.

It wasn’t hurried, wasn’t teasing—just a slow, easy press of lips, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like we’d done this a hundred times before.

I melted into it without thinking, my fingers curling in the fabric of his t-shirt, the scent of warm batter wrapping around us.

And then—

Something smelled… off.

My eyes flew open. “Austin—”

A sharp sizzle.

He blinked at me, momentarily confused, before the smell of burnt batter finally caught up to him.

“Shit.”

He spun back toward the stove, grabbing the spatula in a rush, but it was too late—the pancake was already blackened, smoke curling from the edges.

I bit down a laugh as he muttered a string of curses, scraping the poor, charred thing from the pan and tossing it in the sink.

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright. Maybe I got a little distracted.”

I grinned. “By what?”

Austin shot me a look. “You know damn well by what.”

I huffed out a quiet laugh, swinging my legs again. “Don’t worry, Butler. You’ve got time to redeem yourself.”

He smirked, shaking his head as he grabbed the batter again. “You’re a menace.”

I just smiled, settling back as he started over, still feeling the warmth of his lips against mine.

The day unfolded slowly, stretching out in a way that felt like neither of us wanted to rush it. By the time we finally left the flat, the sun had climbed high, casting soft, hazy warmth over everything. We didn’t have a plan—just started walking, slow and aimless, like the whole day stretched wide open in front of us. It felt easy. The way we fell into step, my arm brushing his every few strides. The light teasing, small touches, the comfortable silence between us just as telling as the words.

At some point, we ended up near a row of rental bikes, and Austin nodded toward them with an unmistakable glint in his eye.

"Round two?"

I glanced at the bikes, then back at him, narrowing my eyes. "Are you just trying to make me fall over again?"

Austin had already stepped toward the row of rental bikes, unlocking one without hesitation. "I think you’ll surprise yourself this time." He wheeled it over, planting his foot against the pedal. "What do you say?"

I groaned, but my stomach was already flipping at the idea. The last time, I’d barely lasted a few seconds before panicking. But this time felt different—we felt different.

I exhaled. "Fine. But only if you get on one too."

His brows raised, amused. "You want me to ride with you?"

"Yes," I said, decisive now. "If I’m suffering, so are you."

Austin chuckled, already unlocking two bikes. "Alright. Let’s do this."

I climbed on first, gripping the handlebars as Austin swung onto the bike beside me.

"Okay," he said, nudging his front wheel slightly to align with mine. "This time, don’t think about it too much. Just push off, find your rhythm, and I’ll be right next to you."

I hesitated, gripping the brakes. "And if I crash into you?"

Austin smirked. "Then at least we go down together."

I rolled my eyes but let out a breath, pushing off.

And this time—I actually rode.

Not just for a few wobbly seconds. I stayed upright, pedalling steadily, the movement finally clicking in a way it hadn’t before.

Austin rode beside me, matching my pace, his grin wide and easy. "Look at you. Almost a pro."

"Almost?" I huffed. "I’m literally doing it."

"Yeah," he said, watching me, something softer behind the teasing. "You are."

The words landed deeper than they should’ve, but I ignored the way my stomach flipped, focusing instead on keeping my balance.

We rode for a while, looping around the streets, the wind rushing past, laughter spilling between us whenever I wobbled and Austin pretended to brace for impact.

Eventually, we slowed to a stop, both of us catching our breath, a lingering energy buzzing between us.

Austin hopped off first, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, verdict?"

I swung off my bike, shaking out my arms. "I think I’ve peaked. Any future attempts will be downhill from here."

Austin smirked. "We’ll see."

I rolled my eyes, nudging his arm as we put the bikes away and started the short walk back to the flat.

By the time we got back, I was tired in the best way—my muscles pleasantly sore, my whole body buzzing from the rush of the ride.

Austin disappeared into the kitchen for a drink while I collapsed onto the sofa, stretching out with a content sigh.

When he returned, he flopped onto the floor in front of the coffee table, a deck of cards in hand.

I blinked at him. "Planning to hustle me out of money?"

He smirked. "Nah. Just figured it’s my turn to learn something."

I raised a brow. "Meaning?"

Austin shuffled through the deck—terribly—cards slipping everywhere, the whole thing a mess.

"Jesus," I muttered, watching as one slid onto the floor. "That was painful."

Austin huffed. "I never learned to do it properly."

"Clearly."

His eyes flicked to mine, amused. "So? Teach me."

I stared at him. "You seriously want me to teach you how to shuffle?"

He shrugged, grinning. "You did that fancy thing at poker night. I wanna learn."

Something about the way he said it made warmth unfurl in my chest.

I scooted forward, reaching for the cards. "Alright, lucky for you, I’m an excellent teacher."

Austin hummed like he wasn’t convinced, but I ignored him, gathering the deck in my hands.

"Okay," I started, flipping them around with ease. "The trick is in the grip." I let them fall into a clean bridge shuffle, the cards snapping together neatly. "Smooth, controlled. You don’t wanna rush it."

Austin watched, then reached for the deck.

His attempt was... catastrophic.

Cards slipped, half of them not even making it back into the deck.

I pressed my lips together, barely holding back a laugh. "Wow."

Austin groaned, running a hand down his face. "That bad?"

"Worse."

He let out a defeated sigh, dropping his head back against the couch. "Maybe I should stick to acting."

I smirked, gathering the cards again. "Alright, try one more time—"

Before I could start, Austin reached out, flicking the hem of my hoodie.

"You’re cute when you do this, you know."

I stilled.

Austin’s gaze was steady, open—teasing but honest.

That warmth in my chest spread, settling deep.

I cleared my throat, nudging the cards toward him again. "Less flirting, more shuffling."

Austin smirked but didn’t argue.

And even as he fumbled through the next attempt, his fingers brushing against mine as I corrected him, the weight of that moment stayed.

Not loud.

Not rushed.

Just right.

Later, after dinner and another lazy stretch of conversation, we ended up curled on the couch, the remnants of the evening fading into something softer. The kind of quiet that didn’t need filling.

Austin flicked through the options on the screen, finally settling on a film without asking—something easy, familiar. I barely noticed what it was, too comfortable to care. His arm was slung over the back of the couch, and at some point, I’d shifted closer without thinking, tucking myself into his side.

The warmth of him was steady, unhurried.

I let my head rest lightly against his shoulder, breathing him in as the opening scenes flickered across the screen.

By the time the credits rolled, I was fully settled against him, his arm wrapped loosely around me. The soft glow from the television cast gentle shadows across the room, creating an intimate cocoon around us.

My gaze drifted to his wrist, where the number '27' was inked in elegant script. Curiosity had danced at the edge of my thoughts for a while, and the comfortable silence between us now seemed like the right moment to ask.

"I've been meaning to ask," I began softly, tracing a finger near the tattoo but not quite touching it. "What's the story behind '27'?"

Austin's eyes followed mine to the tattoo, a tender smile touching his lips. "It's for my mom."

I remained quiet, sensing there was more he wanted to share.

"She passed away when I was twenty-three," he continued, his voice gentle. "'27' was her special number. She believed it was a sign that things were aligning just right."

I felt a pang of empathy, my hand instinctively covering his. "I'm so sorry, Austin."

He gave a small nod, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. "She was my biggest supporter." A soft chuckle escaped him. "She even quit her job to drive me to auditions and acting classes… every little role I got, she was there, hyping me up."

I smiled, imagining a younger Austin with his mum, their bond evident. "She must have been so proud of you."

"I hope so," he murmured, his gaze distant for a moment before returning to me. "What about your family?"

A lump formed in my throat, familiar and heavy. I swallowed it down. “My dad passed away last year. Cancer.”

Austin's grip on my hand tightened slightly, offering silent support.

“He… he was the one who got me into stories,” I admitted, my voice wavering just slightly. “When I was little, we used to stay up late watching old movies, reading together. He was always the one telling me I could do anything.” A quiet laugh slipped out, but it felt fragile. “It still doesn’t feel real sometimes.”

"I get that," Austin whispered. "Losing someone that close... it leaves a void nothing can fill."

We sat in shared silence, the weight of our losses hanging between us, yet somehow bringing us closer. In that quiet moment, I felt a deeper connection with Austin, built on understanding and shared vulnerability.

"Thank you for sharing that with me," I said softly.

"Thank you for listening," he replied, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple.

The movie's credits had long since finished, but we remained there, wrapped in each other's presence, finding solace in the unspoken bond we now shared.

Taglist:

Austin’s movements are languid, enjoying every slow thrust in and long pull out.  His arms wrap around her body, determined to stretch time as much as possible. The riviera vibes of the Villefranche-sur-Mer water front outside their balcony are mere background noises to the long minutes of their quiet breaths. 

Kitten is hypnotized by the slow cadence of his cock in and out,  by the rhythmic pleasure.  She inhales as he pushes every delicious inch inside her, exhales with every wet drawing out. She hadn’t realized just how much she missed the simplicity of his making love to her.

His fingers slip between her thighs to lift her top leg over his own, giving him space to work her. His long fingertips gently root between her lush and stretched labia. Pulling her juices up and around her little nub. Her breath shudders and he feels her clench down on his hard cock. 

Austin tantalizes her, making wide, slow circles around her clit, but not quite touching it.  All the while filling her again and again with his long hardness. 

She’s moaning now, lost in the slow ramping communion of their bodies, of their souls. His breath courses over her shoulder, quickening minute by minute. 

He is determined that she cum first, but god does she feel magnificent. With prep and travel, it’s been a few days since he’s had any sort of release and he’s holding on by a thread. Just as he rolls the pad of his finger over her clit, she pulls his other hand to her mouth with a moan. 

“Fuck baby, it’s so good,” her breath is hot on his palm. 

The drawn out fingerplay, the slow metered thrusts all start to catch up to her. Her orgasm like a shadow, hides just behind the flowing linen curtains at the window. She pulls his thumb into her mouth, needing oral stimulation. His cock drives that much harder into her, knowing she’s getting close. Harder, but not faster. The shadow of her climax solidifies. She sucks greedily on his digit as heat rises in her belly like an undulating serpent up her spine.

“That’s it Kitten, cum for me now,” his raspy voice fills her head. It’s as much for him as it is for her, the command. He needs her to cum with just his body to prove he still can .

It doesn't slam into her, doesn’t make her jerk and thrash against him. It’s a soft orgasm that courses over her shaking body like a waterfall of pleasure.  A first orgasm, one of many to come, he hopes.  

“There’s my good girl,” the relief in his words apparent, “I need you now, ok?” He just needs to ask, needs her permission.

He can't tell if her head nods are a result of her orgasm, or affirmation. But when she releases his thumb from between her teeth and turns her face to him. The desire in her eyes is all the confirmation he needs. 

Her torso twists against her hips, her top leg rising to her chest to give him extra room.

“Take me, please,” sex and desire ride the flow of her exhale. Her succubus, orgasmed into full awareness, staring hard through the blown pupils of her eyes. 

Austin shudders under the swelter of her expression, a look he’s not seen in quite some time. Before he knows it, he’s on his knees over her, propped up on his hands on either side of her head and buried even deeper inside her. 

Neither can imagine disengaging their joining for even a second. Not so she can move her legs, not so he can nestle in the valley between them. The pure need comes before anything else.

The muscular caps of his shoulders strong and supple, the perfection of his pectorals flexing with every push. Jesus Christ he had gotten so big. The tight ripples of his abs slapping against her exposed glute a faint echo of the discipline he used to give her before everything went haywire. Her hands caress his sides, encouraging his thrusts. He is stunning above her, it nearly makes her cry. 

“Yes, cum for me baby,” she says with brows furrowed. Her swollen clit is hidden by her closed legs, but her dripping pussy is a testament to just how much she wants it, needs it.

Her words are sweet approval. His hips get faster, more forceful. She has to slam one hand on the headboard above her to keep in place. He can feel it in his thighs, pleasure tracking from his balls, flowing up his spine. He lets out a sob of a moan, eyes rolling back as he stills to the hilt inside her.  Tendons pop on his arms as his fingers curl into the sheets. Straining every well earned muscle, he spills himself into her, laying out his sins to her whether she realizes it or not.  

After his final wobble above her, she combs her hands into his soft locks. His hair had been so meticulously coiffed over the past few months, she revels in the soft feel of his mussed strands between her fingers.  It had taken her a while to get used to the blonde. Her hands tighten pulling his panting and trembling form closer to her, forehead to forehead. 

“Oh hunny, how I’ve missed you like this,” his voice shudders with penitence. “I’m so sorry.” The guilt that has been building inside over the past few months uncorked by his orgasm. Tears sting the corners of his eyes. 

“My love, sorry for what?” she cradles his face between her hands.

He pulls out of her, heedless of the white cream trailing from the tip of his cock. He curls into her, his head on her chest.

“For the grind of filming and awards season,” he doesn't really want to say it, hoping she’ll catch his drift.

“That’s not your fault baby, I love that people recognized how hard you worked, saw your talent, how amazing you are.” 

Her attempt at reassurance is like a knife to his gut, he hadn’t been amazing, not to her. He grips her tight, knowing he must confess. 

“No, that’s not…” he trails off.

“Baby, tell me what’s wrong,” tendrils of fear try to seep into her brain. Old narratives that she thought had been put to rest. Is he not in love with her anymore?

“I’m sorry I used you so much, I felt like I took and took and didn’t really give back. I’m sorry if I made you feel like a hole I was just using. It’s just I was so stressed and so…” he lets the words linger. 

Oh, that’s what he’s on about. She takes in a breath, deciding how to approach this. 

“Did you think of me as a hole you were using?” she knows the answer, knows him.

“Oh my god no, never,” he looks up at her,  horrified at the idea. 

She sits up, causing him to do the same.  He curls inward, shoulders slumped and anxiety threatening to overtake him. Her fingers tilt his chin up, baring the single tear tracks down his cheeks. Forcing him to look into her eyes. 

“Hey Austin Butler, listen to me right now,” not one bit of waver creeps into her words. “Love of my life, never, not once did I feel used. I am your wife and we take care of each other. Whether that is in the form of cuddles and listening, meals cooked or baths drawn  or yes quickies and blowjobs. Baby, all that is not my duty as your wife,” she makes little air quotes around the words. “It’s my honor, my pleasure to support you in whatever way you need.” 

“Yeah, but you didn’t sign up for all the hooplah,” his built up angst resisting her words. 

“Like hell I didn’t!” The reality of what Rita was talking about in needing to be a strong Hollywood wife straightens her back. 

His eyes snap to hers, the intensity in her voice jerking him out of his self indulgent sullenness. 

“I know exactly what I signed up for in marrying you. A man that is dedicated to his craft. A man that feels so deeply that sometimes he needs an outer shell to deal with the intensity of his emotions so that the public won’t tear him down.” She strokes his arm gently, “I get that you need a little extra sometimes, I do too. We are human, you know.  I’m happy to be there for you in whatever way you need. I know that I am the luckiest girl in the world to have you as my husband.”

“It doesn't make you love me any less, to see me like this?” his eyes downcast.

Ah, here was his true fear, same as hers. 

“Baby, there is no way in hell I could love you less. I love every part of you. Warts and all. And besides, you know damn well I enjoy quickies and blowjobs.” 

A shy smile breaks on his lips, a weak but definite shaft of sunlight through his murky expression. 

“Someday the pendulum will swing and I’ll need all that and I know you’ll be there for me.” 

“I’ll try baby, I’ll try,” he can imagine her struggling as some 16 hour shoot drags on. 

“Oh no, you will. It may take a little minute, but you will. I know you,” 

He breathes in, nodding, exhales and looks up at her. Her eyes express nothing but surety, a knowing of him deep down. 

All the busy-ness, the frantic daily schedules, the prep teams, the late nights followed by early mornings, the anxiety of the celebrations and plane travel, the paparazzi, the constant popping of photo bulbs and screaming of adoring fans melt away. In this moment, it’s just him and her. 

Redemption, exoneration.

She can see it falling from him like snow from a lit chimney. 

“Better?” she asks

“Yes Ma’am.” 

“Oh?” her eyebrow raises, remembering the time she dominated him, “is that what you need?” 

His forehead crinkles, not catching her meaning.

“For me to be in charge,” her  emphasis on the last two words is all the explanation he needs. 

“No, no, I’m not asking for that, not today. I want the rest of today to be about me giving to you.” 

“You don’t have to do that, y’know.”  

“I know,” his voice comes out smooth like silk, “but I want to, wanna watch my girl, my wife, in the throes of pleasure. If you are willing, of course.”

“Oh no” she says with mock complaint, “it’s such a burden to cum for my hot fucking husband.”  

To be Continued....

Peeps who may want to know! , @purejasmine, @slowsweetlove, @richardslady121, @austinbutlerslovers, @tadpoleteef, @allittakesisoneflight @thisworldisntrealhoney,  @1nho,  @megangovier, @briaandthephantoms, @andro-inherdreamworld @callumsgirl @blombardo  @fefeisastar @hacunamy @nestito702 @denised916 @jayydep @r0m4nitcl0v3r @heyidc03, @secondchild-2, @flander42 @natural-born-rebel-spirit @lecosymood @kathrynzaragoza @bsunshinexo @jayydep @ifyouloveweedletsgosmoke @peggyao3, @sunflowers-77, @estrogensensuallovegasm  @ivycjl @jjubilee-fluff @psycheetamore @austinshirogane @ab4eva

Affectionate:

Kitten stretched in the white, high thread-count sheets, listening to the rhythmic rush of the waves outside their lavish hotel suite. The eight months they had spent apart while she was on The Ice had changed them both. Made them far more aware of what they had together. The year he spent filming Masters of the Air had been a series of back and forth for her between London and Greece, not to mention wedding planning.

No, they didn’t have a normal first year of marriage by any means. His schedule had been insane since Elvis! had premiered at Cannes the month after their wedding and his star blew up. Filled with intense training, filming two movies and the insane awards circuit and all the travel and interviews that had entailed, it had been a whirlwind of a year.  She spent as much time as she could with him, but she had been busy too, with establishing her Women in the Trades foundation. Honestly, being thrust into the public eye as his surprise wife had really boosted her efficacy in that arena. She was not the normal Hollywood wife. Some people loved it, some hated it. But now that the Oscars had come and gone, they were getting some breathing room. 

He could have been changed by the meteoric fame, by the intensity of the attention on him. But he stayed so grounded, so real. He was still her Austin.  When he had mentioned this to him, he reached out and held her face. “That’s because of you,” he had said. It made her cry.  That was right before he had surprised her with a month-long trip to France for their one year anniversary in a few weeks. They had arrived last night. 

She had been waking up next to him as her husband for a year now, and she still had a moment of doubt just before she opened her eyes if he wasn’t touching her. 

Today is one of those days.Before she opens her eyes, she extends her hand behind her and grazes his warmth, probably his back or a thigh. A smile kisses her lips and she lets her mind relax, curling up with her back to him. Suddenly a bulging bicep wraps around her and pulls, making her yelp. She was constantly in awe of how big and strong he had gotten. His warm body presses against her back, his long fingered hand cups her breast. 

“Hey, being manhandled isn’t a nice way to wake up your wife,” she chides playfully. 

“What do you expect when you touch me like that,” he growls his voice rough with sleep. Oh, maybe not his thigh. 

He had eaten her out last night, once they had showered off the plane. Jet lag had caught up with her quickly and she had fallen asleep right after. He had debated masturbating in the bathroom, but decided he could wait. “Plus,  you were already awake, I could tell.” 

“Oh can you?” she smiles, remembering his tongue on her. 

“I watch you sleep all the time, I know,” he nuzzles his nose in her hair.

It was probably true. He had that classic creative affliction of having ‘thoughts’ in the middle of the night. She often woke to him jotting things down in his journal in the wee hours. 

“You got a little something for me there husband?” Her hips press back, feeling his hard morning length. 

“Little? Wife, you know better,” she can hear his smile as he pushes his hips into her backside.  He was grateful that she had brought it up. He hadn’t wanted to push the issue, but lord he had been so horny for her.

“Pardon moi, Mon Roi. A little big something for me then?” she smiled. “I should get up and brush my teeth,” she really hated morning breath. She tried to push away, but he held her fast.

“No, Kitten. I can’t wait, I need you now,” he growls in her ear. He reaches to his bedside table and offers her a breath strip then pops one in his mouth. 

He knew her so well. 

The warm sea air, blowing through the long white curtains, the low morning buzz in her voice and sexy french words just ignite him. It’s like those months spent, just the two of them, falling in love, in Australia.  That was before the world wanted every piece of him.

His hand trails down her side to cup her mons as the minty rectangle dissolves on her tongue. His palm presses in, shaking just a bit. Breath escapes her involuntarily. Spreading his fingers, he presses them on either side of her smooth lips, rhythmically massaging her. God he knew just how to prime her. 

Her inner succubus stretches. It’s been a while since she had been properly woken. 

The extra 25 pounds of pure muscle he had put on for Dune had elevated his testosterone, but the insanity of his recent life had forced him into uncreative sex. It had been months of lubed quickies and blowjobs, vibrator assisted orgasms and exhaustingly tight daily timelines.  Basically maintenance sex. He had spent two weeks just sleeping after the somewhat disappointing Academy Awards. Not what one would expect for a first year of wedded bliss.  

His sweet Kitten had been his rock through it all.  Even when they figured out who she was and the internet blasted her as a gold digger.  She had just giggled, knowing her net worth was just a bit higher than his. She never once complained, never once let the negative press get her down. God she was amazing and he was determined to make it up to her.

He was going to spend this month repenting, praying for absolution at the oldest altar.

He spends minutes gently pressing, rubbing with his palm and teasing with his fingertips. His mouth works on her neck and shoulder, planting affectionate kisses, licking and sucking softly. He gently pinches her lips low down,  pooching them out and bringing her wetness to the surface. She lifts her knee, giving him room to work. He pulls her labia apart, barely stretching the hood of her clit. 

She gasps, pushing her hips back toward him.

“There’s my Kitten,” he whispers.

His middle finger dips gently onto her exposed little lips. It’s warm and so wet. He moves his finger in a slow circle, spreading the moisture. 

“God I love how wet you are Kitten,” he murmurs in her ear. 

She turns her head, reaching up to his face and pulls him to her. The tip of her tongue flicking against his full lips. 

“All for you, always for you my love,” she says into his mouth. 

It had been so long since he had taken his time with her, so long since he had the energy. She knew how hard the past few months had been on his introverted, shy self. Ironically, she just wants him inside her and now.

“Please Austin,” her back arches, opening herself up to him. Making it clear what she wants.

He pulls his hips back away from her to make room for his pulsing hard cock to slip between her thighs. His wet fingered hand moves to her ass, lifting her cheek to make room. She reaches down and guides him, rubbing his head in her juices before he pushes in. They both sigh as he sheaths himself in her.  

Home. He’s home. 

To be Continued....

Peeps who may want to know! , @purejasmine, @slowsweetlove, @richardslady121, @austinbutlerslovers, @tadpoleteef, @allittakesisoneflight @thisworldisntrealhoney,  @1nho,  @megangovier, @briaandthephantoms, @andro-inherdreamworld @callumsgirl @blombardo  @fefeisastar @hacunamy @nestito702 @denised916 @jayydep @r0m4nitcl0v3r @heyidc03, @secondchild-2, @flander42 @natural-born-rebel-spirit @lecosymood @kathrynzaragoza @bsunshinexo @jayydep @ifyouloveweedletsgosmoke @peggyao3, @sunflowers-77, @estrogensensuallovegasm  @ivycjl @jjubilee-fluff @psycheetamore @austinshirogane @ab4eva

The smell of coffee got stronger. A cupboard door clicked shut.

I sighed, finally pushing myself up, running a hand through my hair. My clothes were somewhere on the floor, but instead of searching, I reached for the first thing I saw—his t-shirt.

It hung loose over my frame, soft and warm, smelling faintly of him.

Yeah. Not a big deal at all.

I padded into the kitchen, the wooden floor cool under my feet.

Austin was standing at the counter, back to me, shirtless, hair a complete mess.

Not fair.

He turned when he heard me, eyes flickering over me once before his lips curled. “Mornin’.”

I made a vague noise in response, covering a yawn with my sleeve as I dropped onto one of the stools at the counter.

Austin huffed a quiet laugh, sliding a fresh mug toward me. “Tired?”

I reached for the coffee blindly. “Wonder why.”

His smirk deepened. “Need me to remind you?”

I kicked him lightly in the shin.

He laughed, leaning back against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. “You sleep okay?”

I nodded, sipping my coffee. “Yeah.”

And I had.

Which was a problem.

Because I shouldn’t feel this comfortable, this settled in his space. Shouldn’t already know exactly where the coffee mugs were kept, shouldn’t be able to pick up on the barely-there shift in his voice when he asked if I’d slept well.

Shouldn’t be thinking about how much I liked waking up here.

Austin drummed his fingers against the counter, watching me.

“What?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

He shook his head, smirking. “Nothin’.”

I huffed. “You’re literally staring.”

“Maybe.” He took a slow sip of his coffee, eyes still fixed on me. “Just looks good on you, that’s all.”

I frowned. “What does?”

Austin tilted his head, gaze flicking pointedly to the hem of his t-shirt, hanging loose around my thighs.

Heat bloomed in my stomach.

“Shut up,” I muttered, tugging the fabric lower.

Austin laughed, shaking his head, so damn pleased with himself. But before I could roll my eyes and turn away, he leaned in, catching me off guard. His hand curled around my waist, warm and easy, and then—

He kissed me.

Soft at first, like he was testing the waters, but when I didn’t pull away—when I tilted into it, just slightly—he deepened it, fingers flexing against my side. My breath caught, coffee forgotten, everything narrowing down to the feel of his lips on mine.

It was just a second. Maybe two. But when he pulled back, that damn smirk was still there, his thumb grazing the hem of the shirt.

“Looks real good on you,” he murmured, before stepping back like nothing had happened.

I rolled my eyes, gripping my mug like it might steady me instead.

For a while, we just existed in the same space.

Austin leaned against the counter, absently scrolling through his phone. I curled up on the stool, one knee tucked to my chest, slowly waking up.

It should have felt awkward.

But it didn’t.

It felt… easy.

Outside, the streets were still damp from last night’s rain, the fresh spring air slipping through a crack in the window. The flat smelled like coffee and something warm, something familiar.

I let my fingers curl loosely around the mug, staring at the steam curling from the surface.

Austin nudged my ankle with his foot.

I blinked up at him.

“Food?” he asked.

I sighed dramatically. “I guess.”

Austin smirked, grabbing eggs from the fridge. “Got a busy day?”

I shook my head. “Not really. Just writing. Walking Golo later.”

He nodded, cracking an egg into the pan. “You’re not leaving yet, though?”

I glanced at him, wrapping my hands around my mug.

Not yet.

I shook my head. “Not yet.”

Austin’s mouth twitched like that was the answer he wanted.

And me?

I tried not to think about it too much.

We ate at the counter, the conversation light and easy between bites of eggs and toast.

Austin cleared his plate first, stretching as he pushed up from the stool. “Gotta get ready,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

I hummed in response, gathering up our plates. “I’ll clean up.”

Austin shot me a look. “You don’t have to.”

I shrugged, already stacking the dishes in the sink. “I know.”

Something flickered in his expression—something I couldn’t quite place—but he just nodded, disappearing down the hall to get dressed.

The flat was quiet again.

I rinsed off the plates, listening to the faint sounds of Austin moving around, the rustle of fabric, the creak of a drawer opening.

By the time I’d finished, the knock at the door came.

Austin’s footsteps sounded behind me as he pulled his shirt over his head, tugging it into place. “It’s too early for this.”

I smirked, sipping from my mug. “You don’t even know who it is.”

Austin gave me a look.

I huffed a quiet laugh. “Right. Fair point.”

We both knew exactly who it was.

And—yeah. Callum. Standing on the doorstep with his hands in his pockets and a look so smug I almost wanted to shut the door on him myself.

“Morning, lovebirds.”

Austin exhaled through his nose, unimpressed.

I just raised an eyebrow. “You always this annoying before coffee, or is it just for us?”

Callum grinned, stepping inside. “Oh, I’m wide awake, Ange. Fully alert. And what a lovely surprise this is.” His gaze flicked between us, landing on the oversized t-shirt I was wearing—Austin’s t-shirt. His smirk deepened. “You know, I was only half-joking about you moving in here for the week, but this is… well, this is just adorable.”

Austin groaned. “Jesus.”

I took another sip of my coffee, calm, collected, not giving him the reaction he wanted.

Callum, unfortunately, was undeterred.

“Sleep well?” he asked, all mock innocence.

Austin didn’t dignify that with a response.

I set my mug down and tilted my head like I was actually considering it. “Yeah, actually.” I shot Callum a sweet smile. “Austin makes a great pillow.”

Austin choked on his coffee.

Callum burst out laughing.

Austin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, exhaling like he was already over this conversation. “You done?”

Callum grinned. “Not even close.” He stepped further into the flat, eyes flicking between me perched at the counter in Austin’s t-shirt and Austin, who looked like he was already regretting opening the door.

I rested my elbow on the counter, chin propped on my palm. “Go on, then. Get it out of your system.”

Callum tapped his chin, pretending to think. “Let’s see. I could talk about how disgustingly domestic this looks—”

Austin groaned. “Jesus.”

“—or how you, mate, are so far gone it’s almost painful.”

Austin rubbed a hand over his face. “I actually hate you.”

Callum ignored him completely, turning his attention back to me with a smirk. “And you, Ange, settling in nicely, yeah?”

I sipped my coffee, unfazed. “Just making myself comfortable.”

Austin muttered something under his breath, shaking his head, but there was no real bite to it.

Callum clapped his hands together like he’d seen all he needed. “Right, lover boy, you ready to go?”

Austin shot him a flat look. “I was, until you showed up.”

Callum grinned, completely unbothered. “And yet, here I am.”

Austin exhaled sharply, giving up. Instead, he looked at me. “You good?”

I nodded, stretching as I stood. “Yeah. Think I’ll head back to Callum’s in a bit, get some writing done before I walk Golo.”

Callum slung an arm around Austin’s shoulders. “Golo’s living his best life right now. That dog’s already in love with you Ange.”

I smirked. “He’s got good taste.”

Austin huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he grabbed his bag. He hesitated just for a second before looking at me again. “I’ll see you later?”

It wasn’t really a question.

But I still answered, just to let him hear it.

“Yeah,” I said, voice softer. “See you later.”

Austin held my gaze for a beat longer, something unspoken lingering between us. Then, as he turned, his fingers brushed against mine—light, fleeting, almost like he hadn’t meant to.

Then Callum clapped him on the back. “Come on, Romeo. Let’s get to work before you start reciting poetry.”

Austin rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, following him to the door.

Callum turned back once more with a smug grin. “Try not to miss him too much, Ange.”

I didn’t bother responding, just tossed a balled-up napkin at the door as it clicked shut behind them.

And then—

Silence.

I exhaled, running a hand through my hair, staring at the now-empty space where Austin had been standing.

For the first time since waking up, the flat felt different.

Not bad.

Just… quiet.

Shaking the thought away, I rinsed out my mug and grabbed my bag. I had things to do, notes to go through. A scene that wasn’t working. Something to keep my hands busy, keep my thoughts from drifting.

Get ready, write, walk Golo, pretend I wasn’t counting down the hours until I saw Austin again.

One step at a time.

I was curled up on Callum’s sofa, Golo sprawled half on top of me, when I heard them.

The front door opened with a low creak, followed by the rustle of jackets, the scrape of boots against the floor, and the low murmur of conversation—Callum’s voice a little louder, Austin’s quieter, more relaxed.

Golo’s ears perked up first, then his tail thumped excitedly against my leg as he wriggled off me, trotting toward the doorway.

I stretched my arms above my head, glancing over just as Callum came into view, ruffling Golo’s ears as he kicked the door shut behind him. He looked exhausted but happy, his hair still slightly damp from whatever chaos the day had thrown at them.

Austin followed a second later, hoodie slung over one shoulder, his t-shirt slightly wrinkled, like he’d yanked it on in a hurry. His hair was damp too, the ends curling just slightly. He looked tired, but when his gaze landed on me, something eased in his expression.

“Hey,” he murmured.

Warmth curled low in my stomach. “Hey.”

Callum groaned dramatically as he collapsed onto the armchair. “Absolute slog today. You don’t even wanna know what they made us do.”

I smirked. “Oh, you mean your job? The job you love? The job you get paid to do?”

Callum scowled. “Betrayed in my own home.”

Austin huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he dropped onto the sofa beside me, his arm brushing lightly against mine. “She’s got a point.”

Callum muttered something under his breath, stretching his legs out with an exaggerated sigh. “Anyway. I’m too tired to cook. Food?”

I raised an eyebrow. “You do realise I don’t live here, right?”

Callum just gave me a look, like that was the stupidest thing I’d ever said.

Austin smirked, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll order.”

“Bless you,” Callum said, eyes already half-closed.

Austin barely acknowledged him, glancing at me instead. “What do you feel like?”

I shrugged. “I’m easy.”

Callum snorted. “That’s what he said.”

Austin sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I actually hate you.”

I shook my head, biting back a smile as Austin scrolled through his phone. He still looked tired, but there was something softer about it now—like whatever weight he’d been carrying had lifted slightly just by being here.

Callum, predictably, lasted about five minutes before falling asleep in the armchair. His head lolled to the side, one foot hanging off the edge, Golo curled up on the floor next to him.

Austin glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. “That was fast.”

I smirked, keeping my voice low. “Man’s got no stamina.”

Austin bit down a laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back against the sofa. His fingers tapped absently against his knee, his other hand resting against the cushion between us.

Silence settled.

Not awkward. Just… there.

I stole a glance at him. His jaw was softer like this, the tension from earlier gone, his lashes casting faint shadows against his cheekbones.

“Long day?” I asked quietly.

Austin exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Good, though.”

I nodded, watching him. “Callum wasn’t lying about them working you into the ground?”

Austin huffed a quiet laugh. “Nope. Had us in the cockpit setups most of the day. Feels like I’ve spent hours staring at dials.”

I grinned. “You’re telling me all those flying lessons haven’t made you a pro?”

Austin smirked, tilting his head slightly. “Oh, I’m a pro. Just don’t ask me to actually land the damn thing.”

I laughed softly, pulling my legs up beneath me. “Noted.”

The air between us shifted slightly.

I was suddenly very aware of how close we were. Of the way his hand rested so easily against the sofa, fingers inches from my knee. Of the way his gaze flickered, almost imperceptibly, toward my mouth before he looked away again.

I swallowed. “When’s the food getting here?”

Austin glanced at his phone. “Few minutes.”

I nodded, gripping the blanket draped over the back of the sofa, trying to ignore the warmth pooling in my stomach.

Austin stretched, his arm brushing against mine as he relaxed back against the cushions. Then, after a moment, he tilted his head slightly, studying me.

“You get much writing done?”

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders. “Yeah. Got through some edits. Still not happy with one scene, though.”

Austin hummed, his fingers tapping lightly against the sofa. “The one you mentioned the other day?”

“Yeah. Feels like it’s missing something, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

His gaze lingered on me for a second before he nodded. “You’ll figure it out.”

The certainty in his voice made my stomach dip.

“Hope so.” I huffed out a breath. “If not, I’ll just throw my laptop out the window.”

Austin smirked. “Bit dramatic.”

“Not really.” I leaned my head back against the sofa, closing my eyes. “You’ve never seen me in a writing crisis.”

“Not yet,” he murmured.

My eyes flicked open. His expression was unreadable, but something about the way he was looking at me sent a slow warmth curling through my chest.

Then his phone buzzed.

Austin glanced at it, smirking slightly. “Food’s here.”

I exhaled, pushing up from the sofa. “Saved by the bell.”

Austin chuckled, standing too. “For now.”

Austin grabbed his hoodie from the back of the chair as he headed for the door, ruffling Golo’s ears on the way. The dog thumped his tail happily but didn’t move from his spot on the floor. Callum, still slumped in the armchair, made an incoherent noise but didn’t stir.

I stretched, rolling my shoulders as Austin disappeared into the hallway. The flat was quiet, save for the faint sounds of the city outside, the occasional hum of a passing car.

Something about it felt… settled.

That was dangerous.

I glanced over at Callum, still out cold, one foot hanging off the side of the chair. If I was being smart, I could just slip off to my room now—pretend like tonight wasn’t about to feel like another step deeper into whatever this thing with Austin was becoming.

But then the door swung open, and there he was again, hoodie tugged on, a plastic bag in one hand. He shot me a look as he kicked the door shut behind him.

“Don’t worry, got enough to keep Callum happy when he inevitably wakes up demanding food.”

I smirked. “Thoughtful.”

Austin set the bag down on the coffee table, glancing toward the armchair. “You think he’d notice if we just ate his share?”

I bit my lip, considering it. “Tempting.”

Austin huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he unpacked the food. I grabbed a couple of plates from the kitchen, and by the time I sat back down, he was already stretching out on the sofa again, one arm draped over the back, legs spread in that lazy way that made my stomach dip.

He handed me a container, his fingers brushing against mine as I took it.

“So,” he said, leaning back. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong with your scene, or am I supposed to guess?”

I paused, fork hovering over my food. “You actually want to hear about it?”

Austin smirked. “I’m asking, aren’t I?”

I sighed, shifting against the cushions. “It’s not wrong, exactly. It’s just not right yet.”

Austin smirked. “Yeah, that clears it up.”

I shot him a look. “I’m serious. Something about the pacing feels off. I want the moment to land, but it still feels… I don’t know. Too neat.”

Austin nodded slowly, watching me. “Which part?”

I hesitated, tapping my fingers against the side of my container. “The scene where he comes home.”

Austin’s brows pulled together slightly, like he was actually thinking it through. “After the war?”

I nodded. “Yeah. He’s been gone for years, his family’s changed, he’s changed, and the whole street comes out to see him because they all know—”

“They all know what he went through,” Austin finished quietly.

I swallowed. “Yeah.”

He was quiet for a second, like he was playing it out in his head. Then, finally—“What doesn’t feel right about it?”

I exhaled. “It feels too big. Too grand. It needs to matter, but it also has to feel personal, y’know? Like, it’s not about a crowd of people cheering. It’s about his mum standing on the doorstep. It’s about his family hesitating for a second before running to him because they can’t believe he’s actually there. I want it to feel real.”

Austin hummed, thoughtful. “And it doesn’t yet?”

I shook my head. “Not quite.”

His fingers tapped against his knee, absent but thoughtful. Then—“What was the first thing your great-uncle did when he came home?”

I blinked.

Austin just looked at me, waiting.

My stomach flipped slightly.

Because he’d remembered.

I let out a slow breath, my voice quieter now. “He whistled.”

Austin tilted his head. “Whistled.”

“Yeah.” I glanced down at my hands. “Every day, coming home from work, my nan said he’d whistle on his way up the street. Everyone knew it was him. And after the war, when he finally got back, they were all waiting, but they didn’t see him at first. Then they heard it—his whistle.”

Austin didn’t say anything.

But I saw it—the way his throat worked slightly, the way his fingers flexed against his knee.

And then, after a beat, he spoke.

“Then that’s your scene.”

I blinked.

Austin leaned in slightly. “Not the crowd, not the big reunion—that.” He tapped his fingers against the sofa. “The sound of him coming home. The thing they all recognised before they even saw him.”

My chest tightened.

Because he was right.

I swallowed. “Yeah.”

Austin smirked, but it was softer this time. “Told you you’d figure it out.”

We finished eating in comfortable silence, the weight of the earlier conversation lingering between us. Callum, predictably, stayed asleep, snoring softly from the armchair, Golo curled up next to him.

Austin stretched, exhaling as he leaned his head back against the couch. “Might crash soon.”

I hummed in agreement, but didn’t move.

Austin glanced at me, amusement flickering in his eyes. “What, too full to move?”

I smirked. “Maybe.”

He shook his head, then—without thinking—he reached out, fingertips skimming lightly over my wrist.

Not a big move.

Not a calculated one.

Just… there.

Like he was testing something.

I felt my breath catch, just slightly.

I could pull away.

Could say something sarcastic, roll my eyes, shake it off.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I turned my hand over, just enough to let his fingers graze my palm.

Austin’s jaw shifted, his gaze flickering down to where our hands hovered between us.

He didn’t push it further.

Didn’t lace our fingers together, didn’t make some teasing comment.

He just let it be.

A small thing.

A quiet, unspoken choice.

But maybe those were the ones that mattered the most.

Austin exhaled, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

“Guess I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

I nodded, pulse steady but a little too loud in my ears. “Yeah.”

But neither of us moved.

Austin’s fingers flexed slightly, his hand shifting like he was debating something. Then, instead of pulling away, his touch skimmed lower, his palm brushing lightly against mine before his fingers curled, just barely, around the side of my hand.

“I’ll walk you out,” I murmured.

His lips twitched like he wanted to make some smart remark, but he didn’t. He just gave my hand a small squeeze before letting go, following me down the hall.

At the door, he turned, his gaze flickering over me, something unreadable settling in his expression.

“Get some sleep,” he murmured.

I smirked, tilting my head. “You telling me or you?”

Austin huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Both.”

A breath, a shift of weight, something unspoken hanging between us.

Then—his hand found my waist, fingertips pressing lightly, deliberate, while his other hand skimmed up, tucking a stray curl behind my ear. My breath caught, my heart thudding against my ribs as his fingers lingered, his touch warm, steady.

This wasn’t a question.

He leaned in, closing the space between us, and kissed me.

Slow, certain, like he already knew exactly how I’d respond. Like he wasn’t in a hurry to let go.

I sighed into it, my fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie, his body pressing just slightly into mine, like he wanted to pull me closer but knew he had to leave.

It wasn’t a goodbye.

Just a pause.

Austin pulled back slightly, his forehead barely an inch from mine, his thumb brushing over my hip. His voice was quieter now.

“See you in the morning.”

I exhaled, barely resisting the smile pulling at my lips. “See you in the morning.”

His lips twitched, like he really wanted to kiss me again but was forcing himself not to. Instead, he gave my waist a small squeeze, then finally stepped back, pulling open the door.

I watched as he disappeared down the path, his hands in his pockets, his head tilting slightly like he felt me watching.

He didn’t look back.

Didn’t need to.

I shut the door, exhaling slowly.

And yeah.

Sleep wasn’t happening any time soon.

Taglist:

Chapter  41: Now and Forever

You and Austin decide to take a walk together. You are surprised by the fresh growth of spring, realizing that you haven’t seen a spring for nearly two years. With child-like wonder, you stop and smell flowers saying hello and petting their soft petals. You drag Austin to hug huge and blooming trees, running your fingers lovingly along bark and  leaves. You breathe deep the scent of the earth with your arms wide.  It’s like you are born a-new with the earth  in this beautiful green place. Austin watches you with a smile, sometimes shaking his head as you talk to the plants. You are giddy, you have Spring and you have Austin. What more could a girl wish for?

You stop in at the local pub for a bit of lunch and a pint of cider. You could get used to a life like this. You walk hand in hand, arms swinging, back to Austin’s flat.  He opens the door for you and ushers you inside with a hand on your waist. You resist the urge to kiss him on the threshold and instead wait until you have kicked off your shoes and put your bag and jacket down. He hangs his Carhartt up on the coat hooks in the hallway and when he turns around, you are right there and in his arms. He softly returns your kiss, his fingertips teasing your jaw.

Austin quietly leads you to the bedroom, your fingertips are curled into his. You watch how  his back moves under his t-shirt as he walks in front of you. Gods he is beautiful from every angle. 

Once in the bedroom, he turns around, pulling your hand to his shoulder, then sliding his hands around your waist. His mouth captures yours in a slow kiss. Slow but definitely not chaste as your mouths open immediately, one to the other. Your tongues roll against one another, lips soft and supple. His kisses are like a drug to you. You could kiss him all afternoon.  In fact, if you had his mouth in all the ways and all the times you wanted him, surely you would starve, but the high would be magnificent.

The few hours that have passed since he took you on the dining table seem like forever ago, at least by the way your body is surging into his embrace. His hands circle down  over your jean covered rear and back up to the small of your back to under your shirt. His fingers deftly release the clasp of your bra. Then you are suddenly topless, shirt and bra discarded heedlessly on the floor.  His hands go back to the familiar territory of your waist, warm against your skin. He turns you and steps behind, pulling your back against his chest. 

You can see yourself in the mirror, with a veritable memory box of your sex play laid out in front of you on the vanity. His lips kiss and nibble at your neck as his fingertips run up your ribs to your breasts, lightly grazing over your nipples. You stifle a little moan at the initial contact. His warm palms rub your nipples in circles just before his hand fully cups your breasts. Little sounds of pleasure resound in your mouth. 

He finds that  especially pleasurable spot on your neck and sucks as his hands trace down to softly unbutton your jeans. He smiles when he sees your bees in the mirror. He slides them and your jeans off, helping you step out of them. You are standing, fully naked in front of the mirror with him fully clothed behind you.

It's erotic. You are his to play with.  His hands roaming over your ass, hips and the front of your thighs. Your arms reach behind you, up and around his neck, rubbing your fingertips in his now shorter hair. You gently push your backside into his crotch, arching your back. His lips trail up to the shell of your ear. 

“-pation” he whispers, finishing your word from earlier. 

One side of your mouth curls up into a wry smile as you meet his eyes in the mirror. The pad of one finger barely brushes up the seam where your labia meet. Your eyebrows crinkle and you inhale sharply at his soft touch.

His chuckle is low in your ear. He loves turning you on. 

Austin steps in front of you, brushing his lips to yours as he walks you two steps back. The backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed and you abruptly sit, his crotch in front of your face. You look up at him, rubbing your hand up his leg, licking your lips. 

“Please?” you slide your hand over his bulge. You start salivating. 

He smiles down at you, caressing your face. He shakes his head. 

You make a little disappointed face. But he won’t relent, instead he motions for you to lay on the bed, your legs dangling off.  He pulls up the stool from the vanity and sits down on it pulling your feet to either side of him on the seat. He pushes your knees apart, a light moan of appreciation reaches your ears as your pussy opens to him. 

“Mmm, I forgot how wet you can get Kitten,” he licks his lips, “now, are you going to keep your legs apart, or do I need to tie them?” 

“Depends on what you plan on doing Austin,” you say, lacing your hands behind your head and curling up to look at him. 

He just smiles and reaches back to the smorgasbord of sex toys behind him and turns around with a couple makeup blending brushes.

“Are these clean?” he asks, holding it up. 

You just nod, wondering what he is going to do. He reaches over and hands you a case with earbuds in it. 

“Put them in and close your eyes, Kitten, or do you want a blindfold?”

“Blindfold,” you say, barely narrowing your eyes. 

You slip the earbuds in your ears. He nods once and goes to his bedside table, pulling out a sleep mask. He hands it to you with a wink. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, sensual ambient music fills your ears. You smile at him, then pull the mask over your face. You wait.  Suddenly you smell a sweet floral scent, with a woodsy undertone. Maybe some citrus is there too? It’s not the oil that Austin gave you, it’s new. You feel hot breath next to your ear. 

“Can you still hear me kitten?” you can hear his deep voice. You nod, the ear buds are not noise canceling. “Good, just relax and… feel.”

He leaves you lying there for a minute, knees bent and touching. You’ve never played with blindfolds, never really trusted anyone this much. You can tell he sat down on the vanity stool. Your hand rubs across your belly, pinky dragging low.  Part of your arousal is in the waiting. 

“No touching,” he moves your hand gently away. 

You feel the soft bristles of the blending brush drag up one leg from ankle to knee. Your knees fall to each side. The caress of the brush trails down your inner thigh and up one side of your naked labia then down the other. Dragging it directly up the middle, he skips over your clit, instead  gently petting above your hood. A tiny gasping inhale is all you can manage.  He repeats, down your other thigh around your outer labia, up the middle, then a tease just above your nub. 

The side of the brush pulls one lip to the side, then the other. His hands push your  legs wider, you feel a kiss on your knee. The deprivation of your sight and external sound cues heightens your sense of touch. 

You feel him brushing your inner labia away from each other with light strokes, revealing your glistening, wet slit. Then it’s back and forth, the bristles brushing across your hood. He increases his pressure, vacillating faster.  The light friction makes your pussy clench in sensation and your throat vocalizes in pleasure. He plays like this, petting you, painting you,  in long strokes, then teasing around your clit with short ones. You wonder if he is  listening to the music too, because everything he does is in time with it.  

Your breath starts to come a little faster, the music mesmerizing you, the blindfold letting you focus on the pleasure. Your hands have curled into your chest, your pinky finding it’s way between your teeth. You are having no problem keeping your legs apart, in fact your hips can’t open enough to him, pulsing slightly with the flow of the music. 

He pushes the brush deeper between your labia and with a little twirl pulls it, bringing up the moisture that has started seeping from you. This time he drags it over your clit, making you exhale a little moan. He does it again, and again, more wetness. He starts a series of little sweeps upward directly on your now lubricated clit.  Just as it starts to build a little fire behind your pussy, he stops. Returning to his long strokes, pushing it farther between your lips, parallel to your pussy, wiggling it a little and dragging upward.  Then he’s on your clit again, tiny circles with more pressure.

Your breath slips from you with little moans. Fuck it’s good. Just everything stripped back to that little bundle of nerves and the brush, stoking the flames. You can feel your wetness dribbling out. 

Then he is gone, leaving you panting and biting your fingers for a good 30 seconds? Minute? Two?

You feel his fingers spreading your labia apart, the brush dipping into your juices, fucking you just a little, then upwards to your clit, pressure and vibrating with the side of the brush. 

Again, and again, and again. 

All the different ways he is building you up start making you twitch and your pelvis floor contract, your fire starting to blaze. Then you feel a finger gingerly pulling back on your hood, your clit peeks out, swollen and sensitive. The brush lightly touches. You gasp, breath short. Again, and again and again. You are shaking, whimpering. Oh my god, it’s intense for such a small touch.

He pulls away, gone again. You whimper, lying there, wanting, rocking your hips,  listening to the sexiest song with a deep base, melody  and faint sounds of moaning. You are floating. You are vibrating with need. 

The music volume decreases. 

A finger dips into you, and up onto your clit, pressing in circles then rubbing side to side. You are so close, hanging on a wire. 

“Oh.. fuck, Austin… please,” you beg, voice sounding loud in your ears. You aren't really sure what you are begging for, just more. 

“Look at me,” you hear his muffled voice. 

You pull your blindfold away. He is standing naked over you, bottom lip trapped in his teeth, brows furrowed.  Holy fuck, just that would be enough, but he has his cock in his hand, stroking himself. His arm is tense, hips pressed forward, just the way you like it. 

“Oh my god,” falls from your lips, the sight of him is divine. 

“I’m gonna cum all over you, my naughty Kitten,” he states, matter-of-fact, and his hand moves faster.

“Oh fuck yeah,” your hips are rocking of their own voilition as he slides his hand up and down his long shaft. His face intense, breath blowing out in hard bursts. He must have been playing with himself while you were blindfolded to be this close. The idea is so sexy to you. 

“Oh fuck, my gorgeous girl,” words rush from him as he jerks himself off over you, “my fiery little hussy. Here it comes my love, clench that pussy, clench it hard!” He groans through clenched teeth.  Ribbons of his cum fly over your torso. Oh holy mother of fuck, you forgot how wild this drives you. It’s so fucking sexy you are shaking for release as you clamp down on nothing. All you need is…

Then his hard cock is moving in you and it’s all you need. 

“My Kitten, so fucking good, my girl,”  naughty things begin to spew from his dirty mouth as he fucks you, “so damn wet,  my amazing cum covered baby, take my cock, cum on it, cum on it, baby.”  

His thumb vigorously rubs your tortured nub. 

His cum drips down your sides as you buck and rock on his cock, palm shoved in between your teeth. Energy lashing from you in the form of incoherent muffled screams. He slows his thrusts, but keeps rubbing your clit. Your orgasm just goes on and on, until finally your hands push his away. 

“Mine,” he breathes as he leans forward, his body on yours “all mine.” He brushes a hair out of your shaking face and kisses your lips. 

......................

You head to the pub that night  for a pint with the boys. There is a ton of teasing about how ‘relaxed’ Austin looks. You tease them right back without missing a beat. Austin is in awe of how you lit up the room with your extroverted side.  Aside from the few minutes yesterday, he’d never seen you in a group before, much less a crowd of rowdy men. It could have made him jealous, the way the others sometimes looked at you, instead it made him burn for you. 

Your walk home was full of his hands sliding on your back, down to your bum as he strode next to you, almost too fast for you to keep up. Once or twice there were clandestine moments where he pushed you into dark corners, kissing you, pressing the hard  bulge of his cock against your hips. You begged him to take you right there. But he didn't want to get caught.

The door to the flat wasn’t even closed before he slid your panties down and bent you over the nearest surface, all the while whispering in your ear how much he wanted to watch you suck a cock while he fucked you.  The thought had you cumming in a matter of minutes, him too. 

He had rehearsals and preproduction ‘things’ to do during the week. You spent a couple days settling into your new ‘home’, then you wandered the area, getting your bearings. On his ‘Friday’ you went with Austin to visit the set, waving at Bernard, the security guard, who tipped his hat to you with a smile. You didn’t hold a grudge, how could you, Austin was at your side. 

You make friends with some of the people in the construction department. They, of course, thought you were just another random, lost hanger-on when you wandered into the shop space. Then you started ‘talking shop’ and told them your story. They invite you for a pint that evening.

You drag Austin to the pub with you.  When they see that you brought one of the principal actors with you, they tease you for ‘hobnobbing’. Austin pipes up, saying in reality you were too good for him, and he was the one consorting with those above his station. They like him immediately, of course. Your baby is an amazing person, who wouldn’t like him? 

You tell stories from your construction travels around the world. One young woman, Evelyn,  hangs on your every word. She says she would love to pick your brain on what you do. You decide to take her under your wing, you’ll have to see what her skill set is and see how you might be able to help her. If nothing else, women in this business have to stick together! 

“You are amazing, Kitten,” he says on the walk home, much less horny this time, “the way you make friends everywhere, you are magnetic.” 

“I was about to say the same thing about you,” you smile, rubbing your fingers on the hand you are holding, “I see how everyone looks at you, You are… undeniably handsome, then your smile and kindness just pulls people in. You are a rockstar babe.” 

“No, I’m just good at pretending to be one,” he swoops you in for a big hug. 

..................

The next morning when you step into the bedroom. You are freshly naked out of the shower and towel drying your hair. You see that Austin is in the middle of getting dressed. All he has on is his unicorn underwear you bought him and he’s digging through drawers trying to decide what to wear. You realize that this is the first time you’ve seen them on him. 

“See, I knew from the start that you could pull off unicorn undies,” you giggle and slap him playfully on the butt. You hit him a little harder than you meant. 

“Hey! That’s YOUR kink!” he whips around with a smile. He snatches you mischievously, planting a few light and fluffy slaps on your naked ass before tickling your sides. 

“AHH! NO! STOP! I DO NOT CONSENT TO THIS MEDIEVAL TORTURE!” you squeal, thrashing.

You counter his attack, darting quick hands into the fray, getting his sides and armpits. His long arms have the advantage though, as his fingers dive for the tuck under your ass. You twist away from him, then hit the jackpot in his inguinal ligament. He falls, floundering, onto the bed to get away as you playfully dig your fingertips into his upper groin. 

You fall with him, in a heap of giggles. You are relentless, managing to mount his thighs, holding them tight with your legs.  He grabs your wrists and holds them apart, forcing a ceasefire.  You are both panting, mouths spread in huge, impish grins that sparkle up to your eyes.

Your giggles fade as the ocean of his eyes mesmerizes you.  He lets go of one wrist, brushing wet, wild hair from your face. You turn your head to plant a kiss on the mount of his thumb. You twist your other wrist out of his hand, which lands on your naked breast. As you crawl forward, intent on reaching his mouth with yours, you brush by his hardening bulge. 

You lean forward supporting yourself with one hand, taking possession of his lips with yours.  The other hand reaches between your legs to pull his waistband down, meeting his own hand intent on the same purpose.

Together you release his cock, he lifts his hips as you drag the unicorns out of the way. And like a rehearsed dance, he holds himself upright as you spread your outer lips and sink down onto him. Your pleasurable exhales meet in the middle.

You lay yourself down onto his chest, nuzzling into his neck. His arms wrap around you as you breathe in the clean scent of him. Both of you are content to just be present in the moment. 

“I love you Austin,” you say quietly, after several breaths pass. He pushes deeper into you, making you gasp. You hear your name rumble in his chest. He clasps you tighter to him,  like he’ll never let you go. You don’t realize it, but in that moment, he makes a decision. 

“I love you more,” his words sliding over you as he slides in and out of you. 

You lift your head from his chest to gaze into his eyes. You are so hypnotized by him as to be almost lightheaded. His fingers dance lightly along your skin, teasing, rubbing caressing. 

Your lovemaking is unhurried, genuine and languorous. When ecstasy overwhelms you both, it’s with long strokes of his cock in you, it’s in the tight grasp of your hands in his, it's in the press of his lips on your breast and the rolling of your tongue on his neck. 

............

About three weeks later, you are out enjoying the burgeoning relationship you are starting to have with the shopkeepers in the area. You left Austin at home, he had some work to do on a scene that he wanted to be alone for. You are cheerily walking home, with a couple bags of groceries. 

“Hey, I’m back,” you say loudly as you open the door, wanting to warn him if he was in a particularly intense part of rehearsing.  There is no response from him. You figure he’s probably got his headphones in. 

As you turn around to close the door, you notice a long red velvet ribbon tied to the doorknob  with a note that says, ‘follow me’. You set the groceries down by the door, curious what kind of sexy Alice in Wonderland game this is. You follow the ribbon around the corner into the living room. It slices through a book on the sofa table. It’s a used copy of Time Enough for Love and the ribbon bookmarks the page that talks about seventy two hours of bliss.    You follow the ribbon into the bedroom,  it wraps around the picture on the bedside table of you in your black dress, one of the hanks of rope unwound artfully around it.  It continues to the vanity, where it is wrapped around the neck of your sapphire butt plug. 

Hmm, maybe he is asking for another 72 hours of sex play and he wants you to be his sub the whole time. That would be amazing.  

The ribbon  continues into the kitchen, where you find a house key with a unicorn printed on it. You assume this is the key he talked about getting you the other day for this flat, it reminds you of the one he got for you in Australia.   You have no idea how this ties into being his sub… key to what? Cuffs? A chastity belt? (eww, gross) Next is the pair of long black gloves you wore when you dominated him. 

Oooo! Maybe he is asking to be YOUR sub… Oh. Okay…. You could do that. 

The ribbon goes out the side door into the garden.  You open the door, a little bell tinkles and you are still wondering what is going on. You find little purple heart post- it notes tied to the ribbon just outside the door.  You look at them and realize they are some of the actual ones you left and Austin folded.

Ok. Now you have no idea what Austin is asking for here.

You hear some guitar chords floating on the breeze. The ribbon leads to the left and around to the back of the house. At the corner, the patio table has been dragged over, kind of in your way and holds a huge bouquet of red roses,  probably two or three dozen. The ribbon goes right through them, you can’t really see what’s behind it. 

Well this was a dramatic way to give you flowers, you think.  Then you hear Austin singing 

“Wise men say, Only fools rush in…”

You walk around the table and Austin is sitting on a stool, guitar in hand. The ribbon is threaded between the fingers of his left hand on the neck of the guitar. You step to him smiling, but still clueless. Why did he lead you to him? Not that you are complaining. Does he want to start 72 hours now? 

“But I can't help falling in love with you,” he sings and looks up at you, shaking just a little. 

He glances down at this left hand, you follow his gaze and notice that the ribbon extends into the breast pocket of his shirt.  He sets the guitar down with his right hand. Your fingers unwind the ribbon from his ring finger, and pinching  the ribbon, sensually trace it’s path to  his pocket.  Your eyes go wide when it suddenly hits you: the book, your picture, the rope, your butt plug, the house key, the gloves, the hearts, even the roses; they are all a timeline of your relationship. 

Your fingers close on something hard in his pocket. You know what it is before you pull it out. The ribbon is caught in the  mouth of the little velvet cube. In one motion, Austin takes it  from your hand, opens it and falls to a knee. The ribbon flutters to the ground.  Inside is the ring: diamond heart, teardrop sapphires, channel set diamonds. Even though you’d seen it before, it felt like that was just a dream you had another lifetime ago. Tears spring to your eyes, and your hands fly to your mouth.   “Kitten, I love you so much. You shine so bright, you make me a better person. You are my goddess lover and I want you by my side forever. Please be my wife.” His voice and hands are just a bit shaky. His face is hopeful and smiling but also terrified. 

You are frozen in place. Is this what you want? Are you really what he wants?   Shut up stupid old narrative! Yes, of course yes… what the fuck  are you doing… we decided this months ago. 

“Listen darling, I know I'm springing this on you and that we’ve never talked about it and I know you have some hurt around being engaged. It’s ok to take your time and think about it.” He is still on his knee, holding the box out to you.

Your heart is pounding in your ears, muffling the sound of his voice. Then all of sudden you blink and snap out of it, like she slapped your face. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Fuck, was that your outside voice?

His eyebrows begin to tilt up in puppy-dog disappointment.

Your hands fly to his sweet face, finally getting some mental traction, “No no no… oh shit,  I mean...Yes, oh my god yes, a thousand times yes.” 

“Really?” he exhales, eyes in hopeful disbelief, “you really want me?”  

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you repeat, more appropriately this time. “I would walk to the ends of the earth for you. In fact I have been there and I know how fucking far that is,” you smile, “Of course I want you Austin. I will ALWAYS want you.”  You lean down and press your lips to his. 

He shakes his head and puffs out a nervous laugh, “You had me worried for a second there Kitten, I thought I’d scared you.” 

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I was just stunned is all, you could never scare me,” you reassure him.

He takes the ring out of the box. Before he slips it on your finger, he points out the inside. The words: ‘For you? Always.’ are written there. Perfect.

 He places it on your ring finger, it fits perfectly. 

Once upon a time, you swore you’d never be this girl, never wear someone’s ring on your finger again, never let someone get into your heart. 

‘And yet here we are, thank the gods for fucking growth,” she says. 

You look up at him, the ring is beautiful, yes, but here is the real prize. 

He catches your lips in a deep kiss, one that goes on for a while, one that melts away any doubt or worries either of your inadequacy trolls had tried feeding you.  You pull away from each other, slowly. Nothing really has changed, yet everything is different. You look down at your hand, his thumb petting the ring. 

“Do you, uh… like it?” that boyish smile on his lips, gods he is adorable. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” apparently this is your go-to phrase right now, “it’s perfect Austin. It uh… matches, doesn’t it.?”

He nods sheepishly, grinning from ear to ear, “I saw it when I got your necklace, only it had a different center stone, so when I went back to get it,  I had them put a heart in it.”

He pulls out a bottle of champagne and two glasses from behind his guitar case. 

“How long have you been planning this?” you just have to know. 

“I um, was going to ask you before you left. Remember that night wth the martini's on the rooftop,” he pops the cork. 

“Yeah, that was a good night,” you get a dreamy look in your eyes.

“Then you told me your story about your ex and I just… yeah I just couldn’t. It wasn’t the right time anyway.” he fills the glasses. 

“Oh hunny, I’m sorry if I ruined it!” 

“Oh no,” he waves away your apology, “it was going all wrong way before, all my insecurities came out and you needed to tell me about your ex and your depression.  I was so worried you’d think it was a ‘just because you are going away’ kind of move.” He hands you a glass of cold bubbly. 

“Yeah, I was way too in my head then about leaving and fearing your rejection when I told you about… all that. Now is so much better, everything in perfect timing,” you smile at him. 

“Being apart really cemented it for me. I just don’t ever want to live without you,” his hand cups your cheek, “I love you.” 

You did not expect to end up here when you invited him over for dinner as a thank you for helping you. And help he did, in ways you can’t even begin to express. You feel like you are floating, like this may not even be real.

‘It’s real, now drink so we can tear his clothes off.”  Demanding fucking Succubus. 

“Same, never, now and forever,” simple words are all you have, ignoring her randiness. 

“Now and forever,” he clinks your glass, drains his. Then you are in his arms kissing him and being carried inside.

-Fin-

(Or maybe just the beginning)

-Epilogue-

(or loose ends I wanted tied up)

Kitten did eventually confess that she had seen the ring. She was shit at lying, especially to her soon-to-be husband. 

Kitten and Austin did eventually tell the press who she was. The media was ‘unimpressed with his choice’ and flamed her for being a gold digger. Little did they know that, at the time, her net worth was far higher than his.  She never reads the press anyway. 

Her cousin Marissa became her PR manager and she did give over the negatives, which they burnt together in the backyard of her childhood home. 

After finishing Tom and Rita’s remodel, which took 4 months, Kitten moved back to London with Austin while he finished filming. She started working on setting up a foundation for women in the trades, with the help of Evelyn and Rita. Eventually they bought a flat in London and a house in L.A. both of which were fixer uppers. Of course, she did the work herself. 

Kitten and Austin were married April 30, 2022 in a small, unassuming ceremony officiated by their friend, Tom Hanks, on the shores of Lake Moogerah in Queensland Australia. 

They had no idea the stratospheric ride to A-list they would both soon be riding. But they rode it together. She was his rock through it all.

Authors Note:

Beautiful readers, thank you so much for sticking this out with me. Your comments and likes and re-blogs kept me writing far past where I thought I'd go. Special thanks to @purejasmine, @slowsweetlove and @richardslady121 for never failing to cheer me on, cheer me up, and keep me writing.

You continue chatting about creativity and flexibility, problem solving and dedication. It’s an extremely intellectually stimulating conversation, especially over a massive breakfast that you didn’t even bother to remove from the catering cart, in a hotel room where the dress code is waffled terry cloth or nothing. 

 He talks animatedly, clearly enjoying the discourse. He keeps unwittingly distracting  you when his robe slips his shoulder every few minutes. He pulls it back up as he talks, not even realizing he’s doing it. You figure turnabout is fair play and loosen your own belt discreetly. 

There is a lull in the conversation as you both take final bites and sip on coffee. 

You look up to find him staring, just looking at you. Not at the fact that your robe is gaping open, but holding your gaze. 

You are struck by his eyes, they are so blue and so piercing. It's like he holds unseen depths within. Things he draws on to make his magic and project it to the camera. Or at least that’s what you assume, if that bus promo was any indication. 

You feel deliciously trapped, staring back. Without warning, you see him, like really see him.  

He sees you too. 

Neither of you want to break the spell. The air in the room is suddenly thick. 

You aren’t sure how you got here. You had to have risen and crossed over to him, but you don't remember doing it. Yet here you are, straddling his lap in nothing but your open robe.

credit to @saradika for the graphic!

Always tag me: @purejasmine, @slowsweetlove, @richardslady121, @austinbutlerslovers, @tadpoleteef, @allittakesisoneflight

One shots-

Cherry Delight

It is the hot, long summer of 1956 and Annie's best friend Margie has discovered a new singer that is not only handsome, but can sing, move, AND lives in their home town.

The Deal

Elvis has a wardrobe malfunction on set in Hawaii and discovers that the best action is not always happening in front of the camera.

Save Me

1976, Elvis is on his way to Palm Springs when he comes across a woman in need of rescuing.

The Gate Girl

Retired 'gate-girl' Chrissie is home on Spring Break and reluctantly brings her college roommate to the gates of Graceland to see what the fuss is about.

Stay the Same

Just before his induction into the army, Elvis reconnects with someone from his early touring days.

Afraid

In 1957, a girl and a boy meet at a fairground. They have their meet cute and there's a connection. It should have all flowed naturally from there. Except the boy is Elvis Presley and his life more resembles white water rapids.

Two parters-

Something Else

In February 1975, two bored and lonely people found each other wandering the halls of a hospital in the early hours of the morning.

Part 1

Part 2

Ongoing-

An Enjoyable Slide to Oblivion

Like a lot of girls, Chancy Crawford had once been able to call herself one of Elvis's girlfriends, but that was long time ago. Now, she called herself his friend, or his 'cousin' if any of his girlfriends asked. It was just easier that way. And their relationship was all about being comfortable and easy. Until she gets asked to come and join a tour that seems endless and cursed.

Summer Festival

A young woman on vacation in Las Vegas in August 1970 unexpectedly becomes an Elvis fan and more.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Glimmers of Dawn

A regular night at a bar ends with Aurora and her best friend being invited to Graceland by a couple of his employees, as long as they stay quiet, and don't touch anything or do anything to wake up The Boss, who's been holed up in his bedroom for days.

Chapter 1

You were in the back of the generic sedan. The two mango margaritas you had made you just a little more relaxed than usual. He was sitting next to you, or rather he was manspreading next to you. He was a dirty blonde, tall, slim but muscular and fucking gorgeous. Like in a ‘how are you even real’ sort of way. Which you would totally be able to handle if it weren’t for the fact that he was also kind, sweet, thoughtful, endearing, and the best fucking listener on the damn planet. The mere fact of his presence shifted the energy around him. It was like a current of electricity flowing in the very air around him. He was the whole package.

You two had moved in the same circles for years. You had developed an interest in him that went beyond ‘just a friend.” A desire, a spark for him that you never told anyone about, much less him. 

 Austin was recently single, it was also his birthday. He had texted the group chat and said he needed his people around him to celebrate the day. Thrilled to be counted as ‘one of his people’, you were there, like always.  He promised everyone that he was ok, that it was actually a good thing. Nevertheless, you had seen the hurt behind his smile. 

She had only been using him, you knew. You watched it from across the living room at game nights; from across the table at restaurants. You saw how she treated him at the bars. He hadn’t expounded on what happened, only said that they were done. Who broke up with who? You didn’t know, you only knew that he was better off without her.  

Now he was in the back of the car with you and your DD friend was driving you both home. She and her partner are talking in the front seat. Those two had been married for years and were like the epitome of a comfortable happy couple. You can see their hands laced together on the center console. 

You hadn’t the faintest idea what they were saying. You are too distracted by the heat of Austin’s leg and watching the streetlights play across his face. Perfect nose, high cheekbones, plush lips and the graceful curve of his neck all intermittently highlighted as the car zooms along. His perfectly tousled hair is swept back away from his face, you watch his prominent Adam's apple bob up and down in a swallow. 

He makes some kind of noncommittal noise to the front of the car. You press your knee into his as your hand lighted upon his leg. You meant it to be a reassuring gesture between friends. But when he looks down at you, a slow smile spreads across his lips and fire races from his eyes directly to your core. Unable to look away from his magnetic gaze, you can only feel his long artistic fingers trace lines on the back of your hand and wrist.  

Just as the thought, ‘is this a good idea?’  crosses your mind, his fingers snake around your wrist and gently pull your hand farther up his inner thigh. Your pinky nearly brushes the bulge at his crotch. A slow smile spreads over your face and you inhale. Oh yes, yes indeed. 

The cool night air at the open air bar had made your thighs cold to the touch. His hand, warm and sensuous, slithers over the edge of your skirt. You open your legs to him and he drags his fingers up, up, he can feel the heat increase. He is a fraction of an inch away from your panties. 

It takes everything you have not to moan out loud in the backseat of your friend’s car. Instead you bite your lip and close your eyes.

Austin answers a question directed at him, laughing a little. You open your eyes just in time to see his face light up as he laughs. He goes from beautiful, perfect model man to giddily boyish. It’s so damn cute. 

“Yeah, you can just drop me off at her place, we came together,” you hear him say. Wait what? That is a flat out lie, you had been the first one there when you watched him get out of the Uber in front of the bar. 

His fingers grip your inner thigh in a silent appeal to keep your mouth shut. 

Is it possible that he has the same thing in mind? Maybe he thinks you are more drunk than you actually are and just wants to make sure you are safe. Probably the latter, that’s something Austin would definitely do, he’s so thoughtful and kind. 

You barely compose yourself when the car pulls up in front of your little house, a symbol of your freedom from your bastard ex.  You’d bought it with the money from the divorce and remodeled it yourself… well mostly yourself. Your family had been roped into some of the bigger projects. 

Austin grabs the shoulders of your friends as they wish him a happy birthday. You give them big smiles and goodnights. You completely miss the knowing look they give one another because Austin is suddenly opening the car door and helping you out of the car with an extended hand. Maybe you are a little more drunk than you thought you were. 

He doesn't let go of your hand as he walks you to your front door. You stop on the step and turn around. Eye level with him, it feels like his ocean eyes are staring into your soul, even in the dim porch light he is mesmerizing. You wonder how his plush lips might feel against your own. 

“How many did you have?” he asks, waiting, wondering if you’ll give him the brush off or invite him in. 

“Only two and with dinner,” you insist “I’m barely tipsy, birthday boy.” 

“Mmm, hmmm,” he nods as if he doesn't believe you and steps up to tower over you, wrapping his hand around your waist. 

“Wanna…?” you tilt your head towards the door. You can’t actually finish the sentence, not with him this close to you. 

Suddenly,  that one word is full of meaning. His nostrils flare as he nods. Anyone with eyes can see the thoughts racing through his head, thankfully, you have eyes. 

The door closes behind him in the dim light of your living room. His hand snakes into your hair. 

Your purse falls with a thud to the floor. 

His lips are millimeters from yours. 

“Is this what you had in mind?”  his voice is barely audible and his hand

“Something like it,” your hand fists in his shirt, hesitation falling away.

“You sure you want this?” he asks with a shaky breath,

“Oh yes, are you?” you throw it back to him. 

“For years,” he states, rubbing his lips along yours.

Years? Really? How did you not know this? You are momentarily stunned until his lips meet yours and that line of thinking evaporates. 

He doesn’t mash his lips against you all sloppy and needy. Oh no, this man knows what he is about. His kiss commands, but softly and with the perfect amount of suction. Gently, he probes your own lips open. Not once in the countless times you have imagined Austin kissing you did you come close to what is happening to you, to just how talented he is. The kiss deepens and seems to come right from his toes. His hand cups the back of your neck as your fingertips dig into the columns of his back in a subconscious effort to get him closer, to get him inside you.

“Fuck Austin, you are really good at that,” you can’t help saying when you both come up for air. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he whispers. His chest is rising and falling as he holds onto restraint. 

“We’ll unpack that later, right now though, Austin, please,” you push your chest against him. You are suddenly so needy for him. Years of pent up desire start cracking the ‘just friends’ shell you’ve been working so hard to keep intact. 

A devilish grin peaks one of his cheeks, “If you need to stop, just say.” 

You nod and lick your lips. 

He takes control of your mouth again. So immersed in the supple feel of his lips and the soft texture of his tongue, you don’t notice that he is backing you towards the couch. You are too busy helping him bunch up the hem of your skirt, moaning as he rubs the pads of his fingers along your damp cotton panties. 

You feel the bump against your calves and nearly lose your balance, but he holds you so close. 

“Condoms, my room,” conveying your willingness, if unable to use full sentences.

“I got some,” he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a few Skyns. 

“Do this often?” you ask with a wicked grin.  It doesn’t matter that much, you are just curious. He had never really been one to kiss and tell. But you wondered if sleeping around is the reason he is single, or the reason he’s doing ok.

“No,” he puffs out shaking his and looking away, “not since before I caught her… a while before too,” he shakes his head, a moment of pain in his eyes. 

“Oh Austin, I’m so sorry,” you want nothing more than to take care of him, especially on his special day. 

“It’s done,” he shrugs, “But, I knew I’d see you tonight and I kinda had hoped, so I wanted to be prepared.”

“Austin, all you had to do was say the word, and I would have come running,” you find yourself confessing. 

“Well, we will add that to the unpacking list,” he flashes a sheepish grin that is the cutest thing you've ever seen.  

“I look forward to it,” you banter back. 

“But right now, I want you,” his hand shakes as he cups your face, “I hope you won’t mind if we take our time?” 

“Or we could just take lots of times,” you suggest, pulling his face to yours, “Cuz I need…” your hand cups the large bulge of his crotch.

“Oh, fuck,” he moans against your lips.  

Then it’s like an explosion of motion. Your panties are kicked under the side table, and your skirt is bunched around your hips. You tug at the hem of his faded black 80’s rock band t-shirt. He pulls at the back of his shirt as it goes over his head. You’ve seen him once or twice without a shirt, the privilege of all men, to go shirtless once in a while with no repercussions. He looked even more delicious than you remembered even in the low light of your living room. His naturally slim waist was accentuated by the muscles he had built recently in his upper body. Pecs defined, abs faintly outlined with his motion, caps of his shoulders rippling into his bi and triceps. You can’t see the breadth of his lats, but you certainly can feel them. He is breathtaking.

Your knit blouse gets tossed to the wayside. You reach behind your back and unhook your bra with quick and practiced ease. His hands hold your breasts as the bra loosens. He peels it off with an appreciative moan. 

“Fuck you are so beautiful”, he dips his head to suckle at your chest. You don’t see him unbutton the fly of his jeans with one hand because your head is thrown back from the way his tongue works across your nipple. Zings fire to your spine and down to your pussy. Your hips thrust forward as you pull his hand to you. 

Thank the gods that you had spent the afternoon doing some spa-like self care.  You are smooth and soft and clean. 

Austin pulls back to watch your face as he slips his fingers against your seam. He definitely knows what he is doing. You bite your lip and moan as he presses on either side of your lips, activating those clitoral branches. Your legs nearly collapse out from under you. He catches your back, then your mouth, holding you in one strong arm. 

Your fingertips dig into his bicep. 

Holy fuck, he’s not even gotten to your clit yet. Tonight might just be more than you had ever dreamed. Your hips press forward, begging for more. His fingers spread your lips, triggering your pussy to clench on the nothing as he stretches you apart just enough. Slowly, one finger dips into your wetness, his movement so slight, twitching only the end of his digit back and forth.

“Oh fuck, Austin,” your eyes roll back in your head. Again, not even touching your clit.

“Oh yeah, you like that?,” his voice is a whisper in your ear, “I want you to cum on my fingers.”

All you can do is whimper and nod.

“Put your arms around my neck and your foot on the couch,” he instructs softly. It’s so easy to do as he says. He’d make an amazing dom.  You can feel your wet lips open to him as your skirt falls in a curtain behind your bent leg.

He kisses you as he slips a gentle finger inside you. Moans reverberate in your chest and flow into his mouth.  

His other arm is wrapped around you sandwiching you with long fingers splayed out over your low back and sacrum. He pushes a second finger in. It feels so good. He slides in and out a few times, spreading your juices. 

“Oh you are so wet,” he murmurs in your ear, “is that all for me?” 

“Uh huh,” you moan into his bare chest. 

“Heh, heh,” his laugh is throaty and deep, “That is so fucking hot, I love it.” 

He straightens to his 6 foot height, pulling you into his frame. Skin on warm skin. You feel his hard cock pressed against your side body, still trapped in his teal underwear and framed by his jeans.

His fingers drag moisture lightly up over your clit. You shiver at the contact. Then his thumb is gliding over your clit as his fingers curl inside of you. 

Oh fuck, your knees threaten to buckle again and  your eyes close as you moan.  His arm clamps onto you as he works you with expertise you didn’t know he had. How is he this good? Squelching in curling and gliding out while his thumb captures your clit, milking it just perfectly.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God.” each word a staccato as he fingers you. 

A litany of dirty phrases find their way from his lips to your ear:

“Fuck you are so hot.” 

“Yeah, tighten down just like that.”

“Does this little clit need more?”

“That’s it, beautiful.”

“I want you to cream all over my hand.” 

Each word, each stroke, pushes you farther to the edge. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you begin to chant over and over. Yes to everything, yes to anything.

Then you are moaning wordlessly, unabashedly pumping your hips onto his fingers. Your face screws up and your fist pounds his shoulder. It’s a wave that rises and crashes over you. Austin holds you in place between his palm on your low spine.  The thought strikes you, "This must be what waves feel like crashing against the shore, Ocean orgasms.”

“Fuck yeah, so hot,”  he whispers, jaw tight as he tries to maintain control of himself. He captures your mouth with his own, swallowing your moans.  He gently strokes out your orgasm, prolonging it without overwhelming you.

“I want to fuck you so bad, can I?” his hip tilts forward and back, nearly dry humping your leg.  Just the idea of being fucked by him might as well come with a halo and choir. This sex-god in friend-clothing can do whatever he wants to you.  You nod, not trusting your own voice at this moment. Looking down, you can see the pink tip of him breaching the side of his waistband. Your eyes go wide. Jesus, to reach that far he has to be… 

He takes a big breath, as though steeling himself, and drops his drawers to the floor, his cock swaying with his movement. It’s long and hard,  tapering to thick but not drastically so. It’s not a monster cock per se, but it's bigger than any cock you’ve taken before. Luckily,  you like them big. 

“Oh wow,” you mutter, stroking him lightly. When you look up, you see the mix of desire and trepidation in his eyes. 

“Do you still…?” he asks, almost embarrassed. 

“Still what?,” you stroke gently up and down his substantial shaft.

“Still want …me? This?  It’s not like…scary?” his brows draw together and he unconsciously bites his lip. 

What kind of insecurity was this? Worried about his big cock?

“Oh lord no,” you bend over and plant a kiss on his pretty pink tip, then kitten-lick the clear drop on his pretty little hole.  

His breath hitches. 

Suddenly a thought occurs to you, “Wait, did someone make you feel bad for your cock size?” 

“Maybe? Yeah, a little?  I don’t know,” he shrugs noncommittally, “She said it was intimidating and only ever wanted me to eat her out and finger her. I’m really good at oral, believe me,” he smiles, trying to make light of the body shaming he had so clearly experienced. 

You know exactly who he is talking about, and if you didn’t like her before, you hated her now. How on earth could anyone of substance do that to a man as sweet and adorable as Austin, then turn around and cheat on him too. That little wench wouldn’t know a good thing if it hit her in the teeth. 

“Oh, Austin,” you take his face in your palms. “Austin, no, it’s fucking beautiful and I want you to fuck me with this gorgeous dick…Slow, fast, hard, gentle; whatever you want.”

“Really?” The relief on his face is so evident. You nod just before he kisses you like a man dying of thirst. His hands wiggle your skirt over your hips and to the floor. 

“Where do you want me?” you ask, determined to make this night amazing for him.

His only answer is to lean over to pick up his condoms then take you by the hand.

You follow his naked, adonis-like form down the hallway to your bedroom.  It’s like a dream, the way he cradles your head as he lays you down gently on the bed.

His whole body is pressed to yours and you can feel him rooting against your leg, leaving little trails of pre-cum. You can’t help but reach down and stroke him, just to feel the size of him in your hand. His little moans are the best aphrodisiac. 

He sits back and rolls a condom over his rock hard cock. Christ it looks even bigger from this angle. 

“Oh god, I want it in me,” you murmur both for his reassurance and to simply state the truth. You want to feel him spread you, split you, sate you. It is without hesitation that you open your legs to him.

He leans forward on one arm,  and you reach down to guide him to your entrance. 

Despite his excitement, he pushes in real slow. 

“Holy fuck your pussy feels so damn good,” he moans. 

“Holy fuck your cock feels so damn good,” you respond in kind. 

The deeper he goes, the more stretched you feel. The sensations on your labia are just perfect. You feel gorged on his magnificent cock. You have never felt so full before. 

 Finally, he bottoms out, still not balls deep, but most of him is inside you. He pauses. 

“You ok?” he asks  

“Austin, I need you more, please.” you moan into his ear. You simply must feel him moving so deep in you. 

“Are you sure?” he says, still cautious. 

You hold his face in your hands, looking him in the eye with serious intent. 

“Please yes! Austin, you feel so fucking good, I might lose my mind if you don’t ride me.” Your pussy clenches encouragingly around him and your hips push involuntarily. 

His hips begin to move fluidly, pistoning that sumptuous cock in and out of you. 

He treats each stroke like a sacred deed, each one its own perfect ecstasy.  He buries his head in your neck, breath hot on your skin. Your hips rise to meet his, urging him closer. A smile creeps over his face, one that is just now beginning to trust that you really want it, really want him.

Now it’s your turn to coax him with your own dirty words slipped in between the moans that his thrusts push out of you:

“You feel so good stretching me.”

“Oh god, I can feel every inch.”

“I love it so deep in me.” 

“Don’t stop until you cum.” 

“I fucking love it.” 

It lights him up, to hear you say such dirty things while he is inside you. He goes faster, harder.

“M’gonna cum,” he blurts out after a few minutes. 

“Yes, fucking do it, fucking cum in me,” the idea itself nearly sends you over the edge.

He rails into you, groaning. His body tenses on a deep thrust and he lets loose. 

“So fucking hot,” you moan into his ear, “so good in me, on me.” You run your hands over his back down to his tight ass, 

His inhale is ragged as every cell of his body is drugged with a cocktail of endorphins.

You gently hold him close as his body relaxes on top of you. For a bit, he reminds you of a dragon; spent with his back expanding in puffs. Your muscles bunch under him and he stirs. You expect him to roll to the side and for words of gratitude to come out of his mouth. 

Instead, he starts moving again, as though merely the tensing of your body is new fuel for his desire. Something primal seems to take hold of him. It’s not words, but growls and grunts in your ear. Austin reaches down and grabs your ass. He is all of a sudden insistent and dominant. You are hardly surprised when his mouth clamps onto the crook of your neck, sucking and biting. He ruts into you deep and intense, nearly using you like a fuck toy. 

You’ve never seen this part of him, it’s fucking hot. 

The gripping of his teeth and lips send incredible shivers down your spine. The primordial energy overtakes you. You snake your hand between your bodies to get your middle finger on your clit. 

“Don’t fucking stop,” you snarl into his ear, “I’m gonna cum all over that brillant cock.”

You can feel his smile against your skin as he thrusts into you over and over. It’s beyond amazing, the way he works you.

“Fuck yeah, fuck yeah, fuck yeah!”  you moan. 

Your pussy clenches down hard on his big cock and you feel your juices flood around him. You are shaking with the rising energy as he pounds you to the pinnacle. Your toes curl and your vision blurs; your only anchor is his body on yours, in yours. Your blood-curdling scream resounds off the walls of your little bedroom as you writhe under him.

His fingers knead into your ass as his spine jerks and he tenses, his second release flooding down his spine. His wordless moan is stoppered by your shoulder, where there is sure to be a lasting mark.  His body shudders and jolts, then stills. 

This moment is bored into your mind: the light sheen of sweat on his back, the movement of his breath across your neck, the pressure of his chest against yours, the slight twitching of his cock inside you, the scent of his hair in your nostrils, the faint taste of his precum on your tongue. 

Finally, he lifts his head to look at you, his concern is poorly hidden behind the lopsided smile. 

“God, that was fucking amazing,” you say just before pressing your lips to his. 

His smile is far more genuine in your reassurance. In one motion, he rolls to the side, taking you with him. You are perched on top of him, cock still in you. 

“You, fuck. I’ve never had a woman say things to me like that, I don’t know what came over me, I just needed you again.” He says hands on your hips. 

“You don’t hear me complaining,” you say, “it was sexy as fuck.”

“Well thank you, I’ve not gotten to-“ he shakes the thoughts from his head, “Thank you.” 

“Oh, you are so welcome. For the record, you can fuck me like that anytime.” You smile down at him. 

“Give me a few minutes and I will take you up on that.” he chuckles. 

“In the meantime,” you purse your lips, “ what the hell, years? Really?”

“Yeah, I’ve had a little crush on you for a long time,” he blushes and looks away. This man, who just rutted into you like a damn animal, who’s cock is still buried inside you, who is starting to prove himself as a god among men,  is suddenly shy? And good lord, shy Austin is so fucking cute. You want to wrap him in your arms and just kiss away his sudden timidity. 

So you do. 

You lean down over him and press your mouth to his. You play your tongue on his, sucking at his full bottom lip. It’s the kind of kiss that takes its time. 

When you finally pull away from him, his self-consciousness is gone and fire has risen in his eyes again. 

“Well me too with you,” you murmur, “why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” his eyebrow lifts. 

“You were unavailable, sir,” you point out climbing off of him, “and I am not that girl.”  

“True, you are not,” the look he gives you melts your heart, “you could be my girl, if you wanted.”

“Austin, I’ve always been your girl,” it tumbles from your lips and you realize that it’s true.

He shakes his head in disbelief. “You are amazing, you know that? I’m sorry it took so long.” 

“Me too, but we are here now. You know, I’m glad I started feeling up your knee in the car,” you giggle. 

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure how I was gonna broach the subject,” his shy smile is back again, “but I might have had a whole corny speech prepared on the off chance that it came up.” 

“Oh dang! Now I want to hear the speech!” you tease. 

“No, no, besides, I don’t think I can remember it now,” he  reaches up to grab the back of your neck, “Thank you, I had  forgotten how good that feels.”

Jesus, how long had it been for him? You wonder. 

“Well, tell you what,” your hand slides down his semi hard shaft, cum from his two orgasms starting to drip down his balls. “Let’s get his condom off and clean you up a bit. Then I want this magnificent cock in my mouth.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he says with a smile. 

“Oh, and before you fuck the thought out of my head entirely, Happy Birthday Austin.”