CHAPTER NINETEEN
SOPHIA
“Ugh, this man!” I slam my laptop shut, the legalese from the IRS publication blurring before my eyes.
It’s Wednesday afternoon. Madison’s at school. It’s been a week since movie night, a week of stolen kisses and quick coffees and anticipation building for New Zealand. Ten days until we fly.
Troy is being particularly insufferable today, demanding I unearth three years’ worth of school expense receipts for some obscure tax deduction he’s trying to claim.
Now he’s insisting on a Zoom call in twenty minutes to “ensure compliance.” The implication, as always, is that I’m too incompetent to handle it myself.
Jack, who’d been lounging on my couch watching rugby highlights on his phone, looks up. “Troy still giving you grief, tāku ipo ?”
“Grief doesn’t even begin to cover it.” I pace my small home office—really just a corner of the living room with a desk.
I’m wearing my “work from home but might have to look presentable” uniform: a silk blouse I’d thrown on for a hospital admin call earlier, paired with my oldest, softest college sweatpants.
Professional on top, utter chaos below. Much like my current mental state.
Jack unfolds himself from the couch and walks over, his presence instantly both calming and distracting. He starts rubbing my shoulders, thumbs finding the knots of tension. “Want me to run interference? I can be surprisingly intimidating when I use my ‘official paramedic’ voice.”
I lean back into his touch, a small sigh escaping.
“As tempting as that is, it would just give him more ammunition. ‘Sophia can’t even handle her own paperwork without her new boyfriend stepping in.’” I mimic Troy’s pompous tone.
“No, I just need to get through this. But honestly, Jack, if you don’t leave soon, I’ll never get this done.
You’re far too distracting in the best possible way. ”
A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. The kind that usually precedes him doing something utterly unexpected and thoroughly delightful. “’ Distracting’ , am I?” He kneels, his hands sliding from my shoulders down my arms, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Intensely,” I admit, my breath already hitching. “And I have a Zoom call with who-know-who in—” I glance at the clock, “—eighteen minutes.”
“Plenty of time for some…inter-departmental stress management,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping pointedly to the hem of my sweatpants. He tugs gently at the drawstring.
My eyes widen. “Jack McKenzie, you wouldn’t dare.”
His grin widens. “Wouldn’t I, Charge Nurse Mitchell?” He’s already easing my sweatpants down, warm hands brushing against my thighs. He presses a kiss to my hipbone, then another, his movements deliberate and slow.
“Jack, the call…” I whisper, but my protest is weak, already undermined by the shiver his touch sends through me.
He looks up, blue eyes alight with playful fire. “You just focus on your important paperwork, Soph. Let me handle the stress relief.” He winks, then disappears beneath my desk.
My office chair suddenly feels like a throne of impending doom and exquisite torture. I can hear him settling, the rustle of movement. My heart hammers against my ribs.
“What are you—” I start, trying to peer under the desk, but his hand on my knee stops me.
“Focus on your work, Charge Nurse Mitchell,” his voice comes from below, muffled but vibrating with amusement. “Wouldn’t want Troy to think you’re not giving his demands your full attention.”
I take a deep breath, smooth my blouse, and open the Zoom link, still breathless, forcing every neuron to snap into clinical efficiency. My best war face.
Troy’s video flickers on. “Sophia. Finally.” His face fills the screen, his expression already set to ‘condescending prick.’ He’s in his chrome-and-white home office, that new Rolex visible on his wrist. “Glad you could make it. Do you have the 1098-T forms I asked for?”
“Yes, Troy,” I say, my voice impressively steady considering Jack’s fingers are now tracing patterns on my inner thigh. “I have them right here.” I hold one up to the camera.
“Good. Now, on line three, subsection B…”
He drones on about deductions and dependents, completely oblivious. Under the desk, Jack begins his ministrations. Slowly. Methodically. His warm breath ghosts over my dampening core, and I have to grip the desk edge to stifle a gasp.
Jack’s tongue flicks out—a delicate, teasing touch—and lightning bolts shoot through me once again. I clear my throat. “Line three, subsection B. Crystal clear.”
Jack’s mouth seals over my clit like he’s got all the time in the world. I clench my jaw. “I’m reviewing it now.”
“You’re late going over this, you know. If the school doesn’t get this by Friday—”
“I’m aware of the deadline.” My voice is steady. A miracle.
“And for the dependent care credits,” Troy continues, “I’ll need copies of all Madison’s after-school program invoices. You did keep those, didn’t you? Or was that too much ‘adulting’ for one year?”
Deep breath. Don’t murder him. Don’t moan . Jack is now fully engaged, his mouth working with focused intensity—teasing but respectful, somehow knowing my limits exactly. I can feel my orgasm building like a storm on the horizon.
“Of course I kept them,” I manage, voice slightly higher. “I’ll scan them after this call.”
“Also,” Troy leans forward, and I spot Tiffany doing yoga in the background, “about that New Zealand trip—seems extravagant for a paramedic’s salary. Have you considered the tax implications? International travel with a minor? My accountant says—”
Jack groans softly into me, a low, muffled “ fuuuccckkkk ”. The vibration makes my whole body clench. I disguise it as a cough.
Troy cocks his head, and glances at the screen. “You alright? You look flushed.”
“Fine,” I say tightly. “Air conditioning’s off.”
“Right.” He keeps talking. Something about not claiming the dependent credit two years in a row.
I feel heat build low in my belly, blooming outward, a slow-burn ache I’ve been holding at bay all week. Jack’s tongue flicks in tight, perfect patterns—he’s learned me too well.
“Well, make sure they’re legible this time. Your last scans were atrocious. And Sophia? Maybe consider Costa Rica instead. More…appropriate.”
Jack’s rhythm intensifies. He knows I’m close. The wonderful, terrible bastard.
The pressure coils tighter, a spark snapping along every nerve. My thighs tremble. My toes curl inside my socks. I taste actual blood. I’ve bitten the inside of my lip so hard trying not to scream. If I come now, it’ll be a full-body blackout.
One more second. Just one more—
“Got it, Troy. Legible scans. Within the hour. Bye.”
I slam the laptop shut just as the orgasm crashes over me like a dam breaking, sudden and uncontrollable.
I throw my head back, biting down a scream, one hand slamming against the desk for balance.
Jack doesn’t let up. He rides it out with me, coaxing every last tremor until I’m breathless and boneless, collapsed into the chair like I’ve run a marathon.
“fffffFFFFUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKKK!”
There’s a beat of silence. Then he emerges from under the desk, looking smug and completely unrepentant.
“Still mad I didn’t leave?” he asks innocently, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.
I stare at him, panting, then a wicked smile spreads across my face. “Almost, McKenzie. Almost.” I slide from the chair. “But now it’s my turn.”
His eyes darken as I stare at him evilly. “Soph—”
“Quiet,” I command, already working at his jeans. “You made me keep composure for Troy. Let’s see how you handle reciprocal stress relief.”
He looks at me, confused. I grab him by the collar of his stupidly soft t-shirt and march us both toward the couch like I’m triaging a trauma patient—decisive, focused, clinically aroused.
“Couch. Now.”
His grin is full wattage. “Yes, ma’am. Should I be worried?”
“Deeply.”
He drops onto the couch with a thump, legs spread, arms wide, watching me with a mixture of anticipation and open admiration. Still a little breathless from earlier, but cocky as hell.
Not for long.
I straddle him without preamble, knees on either side of his hips, pressing my weight down until I feel him— already hard , of course—underneath me.
“You’ve been smug since you brought that coffee,” I say, my hands sliding under his shirt. “So you tell me, Mr. McKenzie. Do smug paramedics deserve rewards?”
His breath hitches slightly. “I think they deserve…further evaluation.”
I lean in close, lips brushing his ear. “You want to be quiet under the table and test my composure? Let’s see how you do.”
I slide off his lap, kneel between his legs, and tug at his sweatpants. He lifts his hips without hesitation, no protest, no instructions. Just trust. And hunger.
God, I love this man.
He’s thick and warm in my hand, twitching slightly as I stroke him once, slow and deliberate. Jack’s head tips back against the couch, and I watch the way his throat works as he swallows. Still trying to play it cool.
I swirl my tongue around the head of his cock, feather-light, teasing. He grunts, hips twitching. Then I take him into my mouth fully, slow and unhurried. He groans again—louder this time, hips bucking just a fraction before I flatten my hands against his thighs.
“Stay still,” I murmur, letting him slide free for just a moment. “You made me have to keep a straight face for Troy. Let’s see how good your poker face is.”
“Jesus Christ, Sophia—”
I take him again, deeper this time, one hand wrapped around the base, the other bracing myself on his knee.
I let my lips and tongue work in sync, building rhythm, suction, pressure.
He gasps, tries to muffle the sound, one hand gripping the back of the couch like it’s the only thing anchoring him to earth.
“Soph—fuck—Sophia—”
“Quiet!” I whisper intensely, eyes locked on his. “You wanted this.”
He lets out this noise—half-moan, half-prayer—and it hits me somewhere deep, carnal, the way his voice roughens when he’s right on the edge but doesn’t want to fall. Not yet. Not without me.
I increase the pace, flicking my tongue in just the way I know will drive him wild, hollowing my cheeks as I take him deeper. His breathing turns ragged. His thighs tense beneath my hands. I can feel him unraveling, losing control one heartbeat at a time.
When I feel him throb, close, I slow—pulling back, letting cool air hit him before easing off entirely.
His eyes fly open. “What the—”
I crawl up his body slowly, straddling him again, kissing him until he tastes himself on my tongue. “Oh, no. I’m not done with you yet.”
He growls, low in his throat, and flips us, pinning me against the cushions. His lips crash into mine, his hands everywhere—rough with need, reverent with restraint.
“Still think I should’ve left?” he breathes against my mouth.
“I think,” I pant, wrapping my legs around his waist, “you should shut up and fuck me already.”
He thrusts into me with a growl that vibrates through my entire body. No teasing now—just raw, rolling need. I moan into his mouth, hands scrambling for purchase on his back, his arms bracketing me like steel.
The stretch hits hard—deep, perfect, greedy. My back arches instinctively. It’s not polite. It’s not slow. It’s full-body, toe- curling, mess-up-your-insides kind of sex. The kind you feel for hours. The kind I haven’t felt for years .
It is perfect .
“Don’t stop,” I gasp. “Don’t you dare stop—”
He doesn’t. He drives into me like he can’t bear to leave, like he wants to etch himself into my skin. I come apart again, this time with sound, with shudders that won’t stop. He follows with a broken curse and my name like it’s a benediction.
The second time comes faster. For both of us. He buries his face in my neck as he groans my name, hips stuttering, and I follow, biting his shoulder to muffle the sounds spilling from my throat. It’s not elegant. It’s not planned. It’s real .
When we finally collapse, sweaty and tangled and boneless, I can’t stop laughing. He bubbles out of me like champagne.
Jack grins against my collarbone. “That good, huh?”
“You,” I gasp, “are banned from ever bringing coffee and smug grins into my kitchen again.”
“Noted. Counteroffer: I bring coffee and smug grins, but also flowers and foot rubs.”
“Deal.”
He lifts his head, brushing hair back from my damp forehead. “You okay?”
I nod, sobering slightly. “Actually…yeah. I really, really am.”
Outside, a delivery truck rumbles past. Inside, the world is soft and slow, our bodies still wrapped around each other like we’ve got all the time in the world.
“Ten days,” Jack murmurs against my neck, his accent thicker in his post-orgasmic haze.
“Ten days,” I agree, then remember Troy’s dig about the trip. “Jack? The flights—how exactly did you manage—”
“Points,” he says quickly. “Lot of miles between here and there. They add up real quick.” His eyes briefly shift away, a tell I’m starting to recognize.
“Between flights home, medical conferences, even that All Blacks match in San Diego last year against Fiji—sixteen hours to Auckland or four to California still counts the same to the airline.”
“That’s a lot of flying.”
His hand traces circles on my hip, too casual. “Plus there’s routing bonuses. Stopover in LA adds miles. Premium credit card multipliers.” He’s explaining too much now. “Amazing what you can accumulate if you’re strategic.”
Something in his tone makes me want to push. But then he’s kissing me again, slow and deep, and Troy’s paperwork can definitely wait another hour.
Or three.