My Clocking In System

"Right. Off. The casserole waits for no man and I am starving, Danny Flynn, you’ve wrecked me twice and I’ve had one packet of Quavers since eleven."

I came off her slow, and she made a small unhappy noise about it, and then a completely different noise when my cock slipped out of her cunt.

"Ohh. God. That’s..."

She put a hand between her legs. Felt what was there, all of it, still running out of her. And her whole face changed.

Not embarrassed. Something else.

"Danny."

"Mm."

"What day is it."

"Friday."

"No, what day." Sitting up now, hand still between her thighs, looking at nothing. "What date."

I told her the date.

She went white. All the pink dropping out of her at once, and I was off the sofa and crouched in front of her before I’d decided to move.

"Jodie."

"I haven’t taken it." Flat. "Wednesday. I did Wednesday. Thursday I was on the late, got in half ten, went straight to bed. And this morning I didn’t either, because I was..." She looked at me. "Because I was stood in my kitchen thinking about you and I walked out the door."

"All right."

"It’s not all right, it’s two days, and Sunday was safe, I checked, I’m not an idiot, but this week is..." Her hand came up over her mouth. "This is the worst possible week for it."

She looked down at herself. At my come on the inside of her thighs and on her own sofa.

And twenty-eight years of a woman who’s never had one single thing go easy arrived all at once.

"Oh God," she said into her hand. "Danny, I’ve got four hundred quid and a sewing machine."

I got both her hands.

"Jodie. Look at me."

"I’m looking at you."

"If it happens, I’ve got you."

She blinked.

"You don’t have to say that."

"I’m not saying it to be nice." I had her fingers and I wasn’t letting go. "You’re not doing it on your own, you’re not doing it skint, and you’re not doing it frightened. Whichever way you want it to go, whatever you decide, I’m there and it’s paid for and that’s the end of it."

"Danny..."

"Money’s not a problem." Closest I’d ever come to telling her, and it went straight past her, and I felt the size of the lie sit down on my chest. "Not for that. Not ever for that."

She stared at me.

"You mean it."

"Never meant anything more."

"You’d..." Her voice did something. "You’d actually stay."

There it was.

Not the money. Not the pill. That.

Her dad went. The bloke at twenty-two went. And a lad at seventeen ran out of a party and didn’t come back for eleven years.

"I’d stay," I said.

She made a sound like she’d been winded.

Then she was on me, both hands on my face, kissing me hard and messy and not particularly well, and I got up onto the sofa and took it.

She tasted of herself. That was the thing. Her own cunt on my mouth from twenty minutes ago, and she went straight into it without a flicker, licking into my mouth, chasing her own taste off my tongue like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Eleven days ago she’d have hesitated at that.

Tonight she just kissed me deeper for it and made a low sound against my teeth.

When she finally broke off she was pink again. Very pink. Breathing through her mouth.

"Right," she said. "Well. That’s done something to me I was not expecting."

"What?"

"Don’t make me say it."

"Jodie."

"Don’t."

I slid my hand down her stomach and between her legs.

Two fingers straight through her pussy, root to clit, and she was drenched. Fresh and hot and slick all the way through on top of everything already in there, my come and her own wet mixed together, and when my fingers found her clit she jolted and shut her eyes and dropped her forehead onto my shoulder with a groan.

"Oh my God."

"Jodie Carter."

"Shut up."

"You got wet off that."

"I said shut up." Laughing into my neck, burning against my skin. "It’s not the pregnant bit, don’t you dare think it’s the pregnant bit, it’s..." She gave up and said it into my collarbone. "Nobody’s ever said they’d stay before. That’s all. And apparently that does something to me, which is mortifying, Danny, that is a very embarrassing thing to learn about yourself on a Friday night."

I worked her clit slow with two fingers, circling it, and her hips started going on their own against my hand.

"Ah. Ah, God..."

"Still mortified?"

"Deeply." Her breath broke on it. "Don’t stop."

Her clit was swollen and slippery under my fingers and she was riding my hand properly now, thighs open, mouth against my throat, and I slid two fingers down into her cunt and pushed up into that soft ridged place inside her with the heel of my hand still working her clit.

"Ahh!" Her nails went into my shoulder. "Fuck. Danny. That’s..."

Then she grabbed my wrist.

"Ah... no. No, wait." She pulled my hand out and held onto it, breathing hard, her own wet all over my fingers. "My turn."

"You don’t have to..."

"Danny." She looked up from under her eyebrows, hair completely wrecked, cheeks scarlet. "Sit back on my sofa and shut your mouth."

I sat back on her sofa and shut my mouth.

She went down onto the rug between my knees. Still naked, still full of me, a wet patch on her own cushion she was pointedly refusing to acknowledge.

And when she settled onto her heels her tits sat there in the lamplight right in front of me, high and full and pale with the freckles going down over them, and I looked, because I have never once managed not to.

She caught me at it.

Straight away, without even looking up properly, the way she catches everything.

"You’re doing it again."

"I know."

"You’ve been doing it all night."

"I know."

And her nipples went hard while I watched. Both of them, stiffening up dark pink in the cold air of that little room with my eyes on them, and she saw me see it happen, and the blush came up her chest and her throat and into her face all at once.

"God." She pressed her forehead against my thigh. "That’s not fair. You just look at me and my body starts behaving like it’s got no self-respect."

"Sorry."

"You’re not sorry." She wrapped both hands round my cock and looked up. "And look at the state of that. Absolutely not fair either."

"Jodie..."

"I’ve wanted to do this properly since about six o’clock on Sunday morning."

And she put her mouth on me.

"Fuck."

Hot. Wet. Slow. She took the head in first and worked it with her tongue and I swore at her ceiling, and then she went down further than I was ready for and made a pleased humming sound around my cock that I felt in the soles of my feet.

"Mmh."

"Christ. Christ, Jodie."

She came up off it slow, tongue dragging all the way up the underside, and held me there in her fist with her lips shining wet.

"You taste like me."

"I know."

She thought about that, head tilted.

"Yeah," she decided. "I’m fine with that."

Back down.