Dinner Time

Before Jordan could decide, the oven timer dinged. James promptly got up, "Lasagna is ready, let's have dinner."

Sarah herded everyone to the round dining table with the easy authority of someone who had wrangled twins for a decade. Candles flickered low; the windows were open to the hum of cicadas and the last lavender light of dusk.

The lasagna came out bubbling and fragrant, carried by James in thick oven mitts.

Sarah guided Elena to the seat on James' left. Mia darted in behind her, before Jordan could even glance toward Elena, and claimed the seat on Elena’s left.

"I want to talk to Elena more about designs and colors," Mia exclaimed, as everyone cooed. That left Elena between Mia and James, the big man’s denim-clad thigh brushing the silk of her dress the moment he sat.

Max rushed to take the spot next to Mia. Not to be outdone, he tapped the back of the chair beside him. “Joanne, please come sit next to me. I want to learn all about coding.”

Jordan’s legs felt like water. He lowered himself carefully, the plug driving deeper the instant his weight settled. The navy dress rode another half-inch; cool air kissed the lace tops of the stockings he prayed no one could see. Max scooted his chair so close their knees knocked.

Sarah took the last open chair between Jordan and James, practically locking him. Her bare foot immediately found Jordan’s ankle under the table, warm and unmoving. Jordan’s breath hitched; he covered it with a nervous smile and reached for his napkin.

James lifted the wine bottle. “Elena?”

She extended her glass. When he poured, his fingers brushed hers. “Thank you,” she said.

Sarah passed the garlic bread. “Joanne, try this. I made it with too much butter on purpose.”

Jordan took a piece with trembling fingers. The moment he leaned forward, Sarah’s foot slid higher, the arch pressing gently along his calf. Heat surged up his neck fast.

Conversation flowed like warm syrup. Mia grilled Elena about sparkly filters and whether she ever got to pick the music for ads. Max fired questions at Jordan about variables and loops he learned in Scratch, eyes shining every time Jordan managed a soft, high-pitched answer. Whenever Jordan spoke, Sarah’s foot stroked once, twice, then settled again, as if rewarding him for being a good girl.

Halfway through the lasagna Sarah set her fork down and turned fully toward Jordan, elbow on the table, chin in her hand.

“So, Joanne,” she said, voice honeyed and curious, “a pretty girl like you starting college in the fall. Do you have a boyfriend waiting back home?”

The question landed like a slap. Jordan’s fork clattered against the plate. The plug felt enormous; the tape tugged with every frantic heartbeat.

“N-no,” he whispered, cheeks scarlet. “I don’t… I mean, no.”

Sarah’s smile softened, almost tender. Her foot traced another slow line up his calf. “That’s a crime, sweetheart.”

Elena’s laugh floated across the table, light and teasing. “Actually,” she said, swirling her wine, “Joanne met the cutest boy today. Alex, the barista at the corner café. Tall, tousled hair, gave her his number before we’d even finished our lattes.”

James’s eyebrows rose, amused. “Sounds like Joanne made quite the impression.”

Sarah’s hand settled on Jordan’s bare arm on the table, thumb sweeping a small, soothing circle. “Tell us everything,” she said, eyes sparkling. “Was he cute?”

Jordan couldn’t breathe. Sarah’s palm was warm, higher than any neighborly touch had a right to be. His tucked shaft strained uselessly against the medical tape and padding. Shame and arousal braided so tight he felt dizzy.

“He—he was nice,” Jordan managed, voice cracking into that breathy register that made Max grin and Mia giggle.

Elena leaned forward, green eyes dancing. “He asked her out on the spot. Our little Joanne was blushing so hard I thought she’d melt.”

Sarah shifted even closer, her arm came around him in one fluid motion—a close, sideways hug that pulled his shoulder and upper arm snugly between the soft weight of her breasts. The thin cotton of her off-shoulder top did almost nothing to hide their warmth and softness; he was suddenly enveloped, cheek inches from the curve of her neck, a warm magnolia and creamy sandalwood scent flooding his senses so completely he forgot how to breathe.

“I’m not surprised,” she murmured. “Look at her.” She continued rubbing his arm, a silent good girl.

Jordan’s entire body went rigid, then melted in helpless betrayal; the plug shifted, the soaked pad clung, and his tucked cock gave a frantic, leaking pulse against the tape. He was mortified, yet couldn’t stop the tiny, involuntary lean into her softness, the way his breath stuttered when her breast pressed firmer against his trapped arm with every inhale she took.

He hated how perfectly the humiliation fit, how her scent alone made his hips want to rock forward into nothing, how the plug felt.

Across the table Elena sat pressed between Mia’s small frame and James’s solid bulk. Her eyes darkened, lips parting on a silent inhale as she watched her “little sister-in-law” practically disappear into Sarah’s embrace. Her gaze met Jordan's for a single second—his eyes heavy with shame, and something else.

The sight sent twin spikes through her: sharp jealousy that someone else had put that color in Jordan’s cheeks, and a darker, wetter thrill that made her shift in her seat and press her own thighs together beneath the emerald dress. Her pupils were blown wide, lips flushed dark from wine and something else.

She noticed movement from the side, and her gaze shifted towards James. His forearm briefly brushed the side of her breast as he reached for the wine; she wasn't sure if it was an accident. Elena’s lips parted; but she didn’t pull away.

Sarah’s voice floated through the haze, bringing her out of her thoughts. “Eat your lasagna, sweetheart. You’re going to need your strength,” she told Jordan, his fork trembling all the way to his mouth.

Throughout dinner, every time James laughed something coiled tight low in Elena's belly. Every touch felt the pulse between her legs.

As the dinner ended, James rose to clear the plates, Elena offering to help him. The twins scampered off to finish their game. Sarah stood up and crooked a finger at Jordan. “Come help me with coffee and dessert, sweetheart. You can carry the tray.”

Jordan nodded numbly, the plug shifted as he started to get up, every nerve ending screamed.

He followed Sarah into the kitchen on shaky legs. She handed him a silver tray already loaded with demitasse cups and the tiramisu. When he turned, nearly dropping it, she stepped behind him, chest to his back, and guided his grip with both of hers.

“Steady,” she murmured against his ear, lips brushing the edges. Then she scooped a generous bite of tiramisu and turned him to face her. “Open.”

Jordan obeyed. The mascarpone was cool and sweet; a tiny bit of cream and a dusting of cocoa clung to his lower lip. Sarah’s thumb swept it away slowly, deliberately, then lingered, pressing gently against his tongue. Her eyes never left his.

“Good girl,” she whispered, after Jordan nervously licked it—her voice so low only he could hear.

Jordan was one heartbeat away from whimpering out loud, only for James and Elena to walk in carrying the last of the plates.

James set the last platter on the counter and glanced at the two women—one tall and confident, one small and trembling—then at his wife with a slow, knowing smile.

“Looks like dessert’s already started,” he said, voice low.

Sarah’s laugh was soft. She drew the thumb away from Jordan's lips, and slipped it between her own lips, licking the remains with a soft hum.

“Joanne was just helping me taste-test,” she answered, eyes never leaving Jordan’s flushed face.

Elena’s gaze flicked from Sarah’s glistening thumb to Jordan’s parted, cocoa-dusted lips. The pulse between her own legs gave another sharp, jealous kick.

Sarah looked at the clock and tilted her head toward the hallway. “Kids!! ten-minute warning."

Everyone finished their dessert and coffee standing in the kitchen. As they finished, Sarah turned towards Jordan, "Joanne, sweetheart, why don’t you come with me to tuck the kids in? They’ll sleep faster if their new favorite person says goodnight.”

Jordan’s heart slammed into his throat. He wanted the night to be over now. He shot a pleading look at Elena, **** for a rescue, as Sarah’s palm pressed gently against his back, and started guiding him forward.