7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Abigail
T he kitchen counter is cool against my palms as Jon holds onto my hips tightly, his grip firm and possessive. I can feel the weight of him between my thighs, stretching me deliciously as he starts to move.
His motions are slow and deliberate, savouring each sensation as he pulls back before pushing into me again. I let out a low moan as Jon’s hands trail up my sides, his fingers tracing patterns over the soft curves of my body. His touch ignites a fire within me, the flames licking higher with each passing second.
He leans down to kiss me then—a hungry, passionate kiss that steals any coherent thought from my mind. Our lips meld together in a frenzy of need and want, tongues tangling and teeth clashing in a primal display of lust.
As we kiss, Jon quickens his pace, his thrusts becoming harder and more urgent. I can feel myself teetering on the edge of bliss, the anticipation building with every stroke.
Sensing my impending release, Jon breaks away from our kiss and takes one hand off my hip to reach between us. He finds my swollen clit easily and begins to rub it in tight circles.
The added stimulation sends shockwaves through me, intensifying the pleasure until it becomes almost unbearable. I dig my nails into the countertop as I feel myself hurtling towards that precipice of ecstasy.
With one final thrust and a well-placed flick of his thumb against my clit, Jon pushes me over the edge. I cry out his name as waves of pleasure crash over me, each one more intense than the last.
As I ride out my climax, Jon continues to move, chasing his own release. I can feel the tension in his body, the way he tenses up just before he finds his release.
With a low groan, Jon’s hips stutter and then he stills, buried deep inside of me as he spills himself. I can feel the warmth of him as he pulsates with every heartbeat, our bodies connected in this moment of pure bliss.
We stay like that for a few moments, catching our breath and revelling in the afterglow. Then, with gentle kisses and lingering touches, we start to untangle ourselves.
My skin still tickles from his touch, and the warmth of the moment lingers like a soft glow in the room.
Jon shifts beside me, reaching for his shirt on the back of a chair. “I… I should apologise,” he says, hesitant, almost shy.
I pause, my shirt halfway up my arms, and glance at him. “For what?” I ask lightly. “For that?” I let out a soft laugh. “There’s nothing to apologise for.”
He rubs the back of his neck, his movements awkward. “I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen. And... I wasn’t exactly prepared. ”
It takes me a second to realise what he means, and when I do, my cheeks flush. “Oh,” I say quickly, pulling my jeans into place. “It’s fine. I’m on the pill.”
He exhales a little too loudly, relief flickering across his features. “Good. That’s… good. It’s just… I haven’t…” He hesitates, his words faltering. “It’s been a while.”
I bite my lip, offering a small smile as I smooth out my shirt. “You’re not the only one.” My voice is softer now, the vulnerability in the admission surprising even me. “So, no need to worry. We’re… fine.”
We move around the kitchen, collecting the evidence of our spontaneity—his jeans rolled up on the floor, my bra discarded near the oven. There’s a strange kind of intimacy in the quiet movements, like we’re silently acknowledging the weight of what just happened.
Jon is about to step toward the door when he stops abruptly, turning back to me. His gaze locks with mine, his expression unexpectedly open. “Thank you,” he says simply.
I blink, caught off guard. “For what?”
“For… this. For letting me forget for a little while.” He hesitates, his voice dipping into something heavier. “For the first time in… I don’t even know how long, I felt something other than guilt or numbness.”
The rawness of his words sends a pang through me, and I take a small step toward him. “You don’t need to thank me for that,” I say softly. “I’ve never… done anything like this with a guest before. But with you… I don’t know. It just feels… different.”
His lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile, though there’s still something guarded in his eyes. “Different, huh? ”
I nod, a little smile tugging at my lips. “I’d be open to… more of the same… whilst you are here. If you are.” I glance toward the ceiling, mindful of the third person in the cottage that thankfully has slept through all of the noise we made. “Just as long as Layla doesn’t find out.”
His smile grows, warmer now, but still understated. “Agreed.”
We share a last kiss, and for a brief moment, the air between us feels lighter. But as Jon finally slips out of the kitchen, leaving me standing there in the dim light, I can’t help but worry if it all really is such a good idea.
Nancy breezes into the kitchen, dropping a paper bag on the counter like it’s a peace offering. “Morning, sis! Tell me you’ve got the kettle on. I’m parched.”
“It’s on,” I reply with a smirk. “I knew you’d show up and expect tea. You’re predictable like that.”
“Predictable? Excuse me, I spent yesterday afternoon trekking over hills and navigating muddy footpaths. I am anything but predictable.” She flops into one of the chairs at the oak table, dramatically brushing a bit of invisible dirt off her leggings. “I’m an adventurer.”
“Adventurer, sure,” I tease, setting out mugs. “How was the first walk with the ramblers?”
“Let’s not talk about it,” she says, helping herself to one of Layla’s colouring pencils that’s been left on the table and doodling absentmindedly on a napkin. “Let’s just say, the farting dog was the best bit of the day. ”
I laugh, shaking my head as I pour boiling water into the teapot. “Poor you. The trials of leadership.”
“Don’t mock me.” She points the pencil at me in mock indignation. “And anyway, what about you? How is my favourite niece and the mysterious Mr Jon Peterson?”
“She was thrilled about her spelling test. Jon’s off on one of his long walks, so it’s been quiet,” I reply, sitting down across from her.
Nancy perks up at the mention of Jon’s name, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, has Mr Broody gone adventuring? Let me guess—he’s storming through the Dales like Heathcliff, brooding about life?”
I roll my eyes. “He’s not that dramatic.”
“No? I bet he’s off pondering the meaning of existence while the wind dramatically whips through his hair. Probably reciting poetry about the futility of it all.”
I can’t help but snort at the image she’s conjured. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Guilty as charged,” she says, smirking. “But come on, what’s he like? He’s been here long enough now. Brooding or not, there’s got to be something interesting about him.”
I shrug, aiming for casual. “He’s… fine. Keeps to himself mostly.”
“Fine?” Nancy leans forward, her grin widening. “Oh, Abby. You’re terrible at lying. What’s the deal with you two?”
“There is no deal,” I say firmly, though I feel my cheeks flush under her scrutiny.
Nancy eyes me like a hawk. “You’re blushing. There’s totally a deal. ”
I roll my eyes, pretending to ignore her, though my lips twitch with a faint smile. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“It’s one of my finer qualities,” she quips, leaning back in her chair and brushing crumbs off her lap. “Seriously, though, you seem… I don’t know, lighter today. Happier. Something happen?”
Her words catch me off guard. My heart skips a beat, but I busy myself straightening the teapot and cups, hoping to dodge the question. “What are you on about?”
Nancy narrows her eyes, leaning forward like she’s examining me under a microscope. “You’ve got that look. You know, that ‘something happened and I’m trying to act normal but failing miserably’ look.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, maybe a bit too quickly. My hands feel unusually clumsy as I pour the tea.
“Oh, come on, Abby,” she presses, her voice lilting with amusement. “You’re practically glowing. And you’re terrible at keeping secrets from me. Spill it.”
“There’s nothing to spill,” I protest, focusing on the tea as though it’s the most important task in the world.
Nancy’s snort is loud and wholly unapologetic. “Please. You might be good at fooling your guests, but I know you better. So, what is it? Did something happen with Jon?”
The mention of his name sends heat rushing to my cheeks, and I hate how easily she can see through me. I hesitate, the memory of last night still vivid, still fresh enough to make my stomach flutter and twist all at once.
Nancy raises a knowing eyebrow, the corners of her mouth curling into a grin. “Oh, my God, something did happen. Didn’t it? ”
I sigh, defeated, and sit down across from her. “Fine. Something happened… last night.”
Her jaw drops, and she clutches her chest in exaggerated shock. “Last night? With Mr Broody himself? Oh, Abby, you didn’t!”
I glare at her, but it’s half-hearted. “It wasn’t… planned,” I mumble, my cheeks blazing. “It just… happened.”
Nancy’s grin is positively wicked as she leans forward, practically vibrating with excitement. “Details. Now. Spare me nothing.”
I groan, burying my face in my hands. “Why do I even talk to you?”
“Because I’m your sister, and you love me,” she says breezily, already helping herself to another biscuit. “Now, come on, don’t leave me hanging. I need every juicy bit.”
Reluctantly, I start telling her about last night, my words stumbling as I try to downplay the enormity of it all. Nancy listens intently, her grin never fading, and for all her teasing, I can see the genuine delight in her eyes. She’s impossible, but she’s also right—I’d be lost without her.
“My, my, who knew there is more to the good doctor than just being a grumpy sod,” she giggles.
“Do you think it was a mistake?” I ask her in earnest. If anyone will tell me the truth it will be Nancy.
“No! I don’t. I just don’t think either one of you will be able to stick to the part that this is just a fling whilst he is here.”
“No, we agreed!” I protest.
“Sure. Doesn’t mean anything,” she giggles.
And there they are again. The doubts from last night if this all is actually a good idea.