The car ride to the airport had been quiet, polite smiles and travel chatter between Laura and her parents filling the space. Mark sat in the back, his hand resting beside Laura's on the seat. Occasionally, her pinky would graze his, or she'd shift just enough for her thigh to press against his, but her face never betrayed what her body was doing.

He knew her well enough to recognize the signs: the bounce in her leg, the way she twisted her fingers in her lap. She was simmering.

After a tight hug from her mum and a pat on the back from her dad, Laura turned to Mark with a dazzling, innocent smile — but the look in her eyes said otherwise.

“Ready?” she asked sweetly.

Mark nodded, slinging their two packs onto his shoulders as they walked into the terminal. The automatic doors whooshed shut behind them, and suddenly it was just the two of them again. Alone — sort of. That was always the trick, wasn’t it?

Laura’s hand slid around his waist as they walked. “God, it feels good not to pretend anymore,” she whispered.

He gave her a sidelong look. “Pretend what?”

“That I’m not throbbing for you.” Her breath tickled his ear. “That I didn’t spend all morning thinking about how you’ll feel inside me.”

Mark nearly tripped over his own feet.

Laura laughed softly and slipped ahead of him toward the check-in kiosk. Her skirt swished just above her knees, her fitted tank top leaving nothing to the imagination. No bra — he could tell. She wanted him to.

They checked in, passed through security, and made their way to the business lounge. The airport was busy, but not packed, enough people for modesty, too many for real privacy.

She leaned in close as they stood in line at the coffee bar.

“If we find a quiet spot,” she whispered, “I’ll sit on your lap and make you regret not booking a hotel near the airport.”

He chuckled, adjusting himself discreetly. “You’re going to get us arrested.”

“Only if you scream.”

They found a quiet corner near the floor-to-ceiling windows, where the sun poured in and reflected off the runways. Laura curled up beside him on the bench, then casually swung her leg over his, settling into his lap under the pretence of being tired.

Mark shifted uncomfortably. “Laura…”

“What?” she asked sweetly. “My legs are sore from all that hiking.”

She began to rock her hips just enough for him to feel her, hidden beneath the soft cotton of her skirt.

“You’re insane,” he muttered, trying not to groan.

“You’re hard,” she whispered, her mouth against his jaw. “And I’m soaked.”

Mark’s hands gripped her waist.

Their flight wasn’t for another hour.

Laura’s body pressed flush to Mark’s as she shifted in his lap, her soft skirt concealing the slow, rolling rhythm of her hips. To any passerby, she looked like a doting girlfriend resting against her partner, but Mark could feel it. Every barely-there grind, every damp brush of her inner thigh against the large ridge in his jeans.

“You’re going to be the reason I get detained by airport security,” he whispered, gripping the armrest with white knuckles.

Laura smiled against his neck, her lips grazing his skin. “Only if they have X-ray vision. Otherwise, they’ll just see a woman cuddling her very tense boyfriend.”

He could feel the heat radiating off her, a slow burn building between them. She shifted forward, ever so slightly, and Mark felt it: the unmistakable wet warmth of her pressing through his thin worn jeans. She wasn’t pretending. She was soaked.

He swallowed hard. “Are you serious?”

“Dripping,” she murmured. “I didn’t put them back on after I went to the washroom earlier.”

His jaw clenched.

She took his hand and, under cover of her flowing skirt, guided it to her inner thigh. His fingertips found nothing but smooth, warm skin, then slid upward, grazing heat, feeling her arousal as his middle finger glided between her folds and down to her entrance. She stopped him just before he made entry into her quivering sex.

“Not here,” she whispered. “But feel that? That’s what you do to me.”

He was throbbing now. A painful, hot ache that his jeans barely contained. She reached across his lap, adjusting herself with faux innocence, and with a subtle flick of her hand, brushed her knuckles across the monstrous bulge straining beneath his zipper.

Then she stood.

“Let’s get on the plane,” she said, straightening her skirt and tossing her hair like nothing had happened. “I’d hate for you to go soft before we land.”

Their seats were toward the front just behind first class. Two across in the middle isle relatively private.

Mark was still trying to get his pulse under control when Laura leaned over mid-flight, pretending to reach for something in her bag. As she did, her hand grazed his thigh, then rested a little too long over his zipper.

She whispered, “Still hard?”

Mark didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

She smiled, then fumbled with his trousers and pulled it out.

“Your keeping this hard for me?” she said devilishly, not bothering to check nobody was walking past.

The plane hummed quietly around them. Cabin lights dimmed. Passengers slept. Laura slid a blanket over their laps, leaned in like she was going to nap, and rested her hand on his tight scrotum and began to massage his balls gently.

Minutes passed. Then, her fingers moved. Slow, deliberately slow and painful strokes of her nails from the base of his thick shaft up to the now leaking swollen head.

Slow, delicate strokes, just enough to make him twitch and gasp. No one could see, but Mark’s eyes remained fixed on the seat in front of him, jaw locked, breath shallow.

She leaned up again, brushing her lips against his ear.

“If you’re good, and don’t cum” she whispered, “I’ll ride you in our bed the moment we get home.”

The Uber dropped them off just after 11 p.m. The house was quiet, the cul-de-sac still. The moment the front door shut behind them, Laura turned, slammed Mark against it, and kissed him like she’d been holding her breath all week.

Their bags dropped to the floor, forgotten. Laura tugged his shirt off before they reached the stairs, her own top discarded halfway up. By the time they stumbled into their modest bedroom, lit only by the amber glow of a streetlamp, they were half-naked and gasping.

Mark grabbed her by the hips and lifted her onto the bed.

Laura lay back, arms outstretched, bare and beautiful, her hair fanned over the pillows. “No more teasing,” she whispered. “I want you. Now.”

Mark pulled off the last of their clothes and crawled over her. The pressure had been building for days, tension spun tight like a wire between them. Now it snapped.

Their bodies met with a thud as Mark grasped her legs and spread them high and wide. Laura aligned him with her dripping hole, and he pushed it in hard. No rules. No restraints. Just raw, breathless passion.

She screamed as he tore her open, stretching her to her fullest in a single thrust. Within three thrusts he was almost fully into her as her stomach bulged with each long, hard deep jab of his cock.

They fucked with pure animalistic passion, the kind only earned after days of pretending, of stealing glances, of aching through distance and desire.

Clothes forgotten. Doors locked. Voices unrestrained. The headboard banged, the bed squeaked, and they came with roars of passion as they emptied themselves both physically and spiritually.

That night they made love like people who knew every inch of each other but still enjoyed discovering something new.

The morning sun filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm, golden haze across the modest bedroom. Laura lay sprawled beside Mark, their bare legs tangled together beneath the thin cotton sheet. Her head rested on his chest, and she traced slow, idle circles across his skin with her finger, occasionally flicking playfully at his nipple. Mark, eyes half-closed, exhaled contentedly, still wrapped in the haze of the previous night.

Laura’s voice broke the silence, low and teasing.

“You sleep like a man who’s been thoroughly emptied.”

Mark chuckled. “I’d say that’s accurate.”

He tilted his head to kiss her forehead, then paused, catching her expression, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips.

Laura’s voice came quiet, thoughtful.

“Did you know Maxine was watching us that day at the lake?”

Mark turned his head sharply to face her, confusion chasing the edges of his grogginess.

“You... you knew?”

Her expression was calm, but her eyes searched his.

“I saw her. As I slipped out of the water. I didn’t say anything because… well, I wasn’t sure how you'd react.”

Mark sat up slightly, his naked body catching the morning sun and propped himself on one elbow. “You didn’t seem surprised then. Or now.”

“I wasn’t. Not really.” She bit her bottom lip. “Maxine’s always pushed boundaries. And… she asked me about you. After. She was curious. Said watching us made her ache.”

He blinked. “She told you that?”

Laura nodded, then leaned in closer, her voice dropping.

“She also asked me something. Something bold. She asked if… she could have a turn.”

Mark blinked. “What?”

“She wanted you,” Laura said quietly. “She asked if I’d be willing to share. Said she couldn’t stop thinking about…it.” She said playfully, flicking Mark's now deflated but still impressive cock.

There was a long pause. Mark searched Laura’s face, waiting for a sign of anger, jealousy or anything.

“And what did you say?” he asked carefully.

Laura bit her bottom lip. “I said... maybe. If it was something you wanted. If it didn’t change us.”

Then she smiled, a little more playfully this time.

“But, I didn’t think you’d go and fuck her in the tent.”

Mark’s breath caught. “Wait… what are you talking about?”

Laura’s brow furrowed. “Yesterday. You said I came to your tent. That we… you know.”

Her expression shifted, something between amused and curious.

“But I was In my tent.”

Mark’s blood ran cold. “You didn’t come to my tent?” he whispered.

Laura shook her head slowly, eyes wide now.

And in that instant, a quiet, surreal realization settled over them both.

It hadn’t been a dream.

And it hadn’t been Laura.

“I’d just finished playing with myself to get worked up and ready for you. But as I was about to enter your tent, she stepped out. Just like you said—clutching her knickers between her thighs, trying to stem the flow of your... evidence. She looked at me, all flushed, smiled, and planted a soft kiss on my lips before walking off.

"I peeked into your tent—you were already passed out. So I just went back to bed.”

He sat back against the pillows, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Why are you telling me all this now?”

“Because I love you,” she said without hesitation. “Because this thing between us has always been real. But I need to know we can be honest — even about the messy parts. Even if that means hearing things we weren’t prepared for.”

He turned to look at her. Her eyes were wide open — vulnerable, sincere. There was no game in them now.

Mark reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know what to say,” he admitted.

“You don’t have to say anything yet.” She leaned in closer, resting her forehead against his. “Just tell me this still feels like home.”

He kissed her then — not with urgency, but with the slow, deep certainty that grows between two people who have been cracked open and are still choosing to hold each other, anyway.

Laura straddled him, and they moved against each other again. Mark stiffened at her touch, and she lowered herself onto him. It wasn’t about lust or drama. It was about closeness. About affirming something sacred — not despite the chaos, but because of it. Their bodies folded together naturally, instinctively, with every breath and heartbeat echoing one truth: they were still choosing this — whatever shape it took.