My Clocking In System

"You always look at them."

"Always."

"Even now. Even when I’m doing all the work." Her breath went on a deep one. "Ah."

"Especially now."

"Good."

She came forward onto her hands then, right over him, so they hung down over his face, and started working herself on him properly, short and fast and deep. "Go on then. They’re right there."

He had them.

Mouth on one nipple, sucking hard, and the sound that came out of her went straight down his spine and into his balls, and the bed had begun to complain, and the wall behind the headboard was thin, and neither of them spared it a thought.

Then she sat up straight, put her hands back on his thighs, arched her spine and really rode him, and from that angle he could see the whole flushed working length of her, tits going with every drop, the muscle in her thighs, her mouth open and her eyes half shut.

"Fuck. That’s it. That’s the one, that’s..."

"Jodie."

"Don’t talk. Don’t say anything clever, I’m concentrating."

He put a thumb on her clit and she stopped concentrating.

"AH. No, that’s, Danny, that’s not fair, I had a plan, I had a whole..."

"You’ve got seventeen minutes."

"Shut up."

He worked her clit in tight circles while she rode him and she gave up any pretence of rhythm at all, just grinding down onto his cock and into his hand, chasing it, taking exactly what she needed and saying so in a steady stream of half-sentences that stopped meaning anything a while before she stopped producing them.

"Oh God. Oh God, Danny, I’m going to, don’t move your hand, don’t you dare move your hand, keep it there, keep it exactly, ah, exactly there..."

He kept it exactly there.

Her thighs locked.

Her whole body drew up and hung, one long second of nothing at all, and then she came apart on top of him with her head thrown back and both hands flat on his chest, her cunt pulling on his cock in hard rhythmic clamps that went on and on, and the noise she made filled that small room and unquestionably went through the wall.

"Ahh! Ah! DANNY!"

She rode the whole thing out, hips still working, dragging every bit of it out of herself until it began to tip over into too much, and then folded down onto his chest and stopped dead.

"Oh my God."

"All right?"

"No." A wrecked little laugh into his neck. "No, I’m ruined. That’s my entire day gone, that is."

She lay on him a moment with her heart going against his ribs. Then she lifted her head.

"Your turn. Quickly though, I’ve a shop to open."

"You don’t have to."

"Danny." She looked at him. "I have been thinking about your cock since half six. Get on with it."

So he rolled her, an arm round her back, turning her over underneath him without coming out, and she laughed as she went and stopped laughing when he pushed back into her at the new angle.

"Ohhh. Oh, that’s..."

Her legs came up round his waist and locked there. He got onto his forearms above her and started moving and there was nothing careful about any of it, because she’d already had hers and had told him to get on with it, and she was making a noise on every stroke with her mouth open against his ear.

"That’s it. Like that. Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop."

"I’m not going to last."

"Don’t want you to." Her hand fisted in his hair. "Go on. In me."

He came buried deep with her legs locked round him and her hand holding him down against her, and it went through him in long emptying pulls with his forehead pressed into her shoulder and a groan going out of him into her skin that he had no say in whatsoever. She held him through all of it, murmuring at his ear the entire way, yes, that’s it, God, all of it.

Afterwards they lay in a wrecked bed with the second alarm about to go.

"Well," Jodie told the ceiling. "That’s Monday sorted."

He laughed into her neck.

"That was medicinal. That’s got me to about eleven o’clock, that has."

She got up eventually, wobbled, said "ow" cheerfully to nobody in particular, and stopped in the doorway with her hand on the frame.

"Danny. Do we need to..." She waved vaguely at herself, at the bed, at the situation. "Again? Like Saturday?"

"You said you were fine now."

"I am fine now. The app says I’m fine now. I’ve been counting on my fingers like a medieval peasant all weekend." She pulled a face. "I just wanted to check you’d thought about it too, that’s all. That I wasn’t the only one doing the maths."

"I’ve thought about it every day since Friday."

Something eased in her shoulders. "Right. Good. That’s all I wanted."

She went for the shower, and Danny lay there and thought about Saturday, which had been its own comedy and which he’d remember for the rest of his life.

The two of them out at nine in the cold walking round Battersea looking for a chemist that was open, Jodie in his jumper saying this is so undignified, Danny, I’m twenty-eight.

First one shut, second one shut, third one with a queue out the door and a pharmacist who took her behind a screen for six minutes while Danny stood in the aisle holding an empty basket, pretending to read the back of a box of paracetamol.

Then her coming out with the little box in her coat pocket and taking his hand on the pavement without a word about it, and the fry-up afterwards because she wasn’t taking anything that strong on an empty stomach, and her going quiet for about ten minutes over her tea before she said, out of nowhere, thanks for coming with me.

He didn’t. The last one. I went on my own.

Danny hadn’t known what to say.

He’d said I’ll always come with you, which had sounded stupid the moment it was out of his mouth, and she’d looked at him over the rim of her mug for a long second and then changed the subject entirely, and he’d known he’d got it right.

She came out of the shower dressed and damp, doing her hair up into the knot with a biro because she couldn’t find the pencil.

"You’re on the early?" He’d made toast, badly.

"I’m always on the early, I’m the one with the keys." She took it, looked at it, and scraped the black off into the sink.

"That’s what management is, Danny. Getting there at eight to turn the lights on and count a till float and hoover a stockroom that Nadia said she’d hoovered on Friday and very obviously did not hoover on Friday."

"Perks of the job."

"There are no perks. There’s sixty quid a week extra and everybody’s problems." She ate it standing up. "Right. Bus."

"I’ll take you."

She stopped mid-bite. "On the scooter?"

"On the scooter."

"Danny, it’s November."

"It’s four minutes on the scooter. It’s twenty-five on the bus and you stand at the stop for ten of them."

She looked at him, then at the window, then at the clock. "Right. Yes. Obviously yes. Where’s the other helmet?"

She got on behind him outside her own front door with her work bag across her body, put her arms round his middle, locked her hands together over his stomach and then wriggled forward until there wasn’t any space left anywhere between them.

He felt her tits press full and soft against his back through his jacket.

"Comfortable?"

"Extremely." He could hear the grin through the helmet. "This is a great deal better than the bus."

"Hold on."

"I am holding on. I’ve had my hands on you all weekend, I know how it works."

She held on the whole way with her cheek against his shoulder blade, and every time he braked she pressed in a bit more and he could feel her laughing about it, and at the lights on the main road she freed one hand and patted his stomach twice.