Progress in Progress

The engine of Tom’s car rumbled outside, the headlights sweeping across the half-finished walls of Luke’s open-plan kitchen-diner-living room as it pulled away. The house was still a work in progress—exposed beams, a pile of skirting boards in the middle of the room you had to hop over, the faint scent of sawdust lingering in the air. But the sofa was comfortable, the TV was on, and the bottle of red wine breathing on the counter was already half empty.

The door swung open before Luke could get up.

“You massive twat,” Becky announced, kicking the door shut behind her with one long, denim-clad leg. She was already laughing, her blonde hair loose and messy from the drive, her cheeks flushed from the evening chill. She dumped her bag on the sofa, then flopped down beside it with a dramatic sigh. “I had to jump over that bloody pile of wood again. You’re a menace.”

Luke didn’t look up from the TV, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You love it. Gives you a sense of adventure.”

“Adventure?” She grabbed the wine bottle, topped up her glass, then reached for his. “More like a bloody obstacle course. And what the hell are we watching tonight? Please tell me it’s not *Gardener’s World* again.”

“Gogglebox,” he said, finally glancing at her. Just for a second. Long enough to take in the way her vest top clung to her chest, the curve of her collarbone, the way her laughter made her eyes crinkle at the corners.

She groaned. “Ugh, fine. But if there’s another episode about people who collect teapots, I’m leaving.”

He smirked. “No promises.”

They settled into it, the way they always did. Becky tucked her feet under her, leaning into the cushions, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. Luke stretched his arm along the back of the sofa, his fingers just brushing the fabric near her shoulder. Not touching. Just… there.

The first segment was some inane reality show about baking. They watched in silence, sipping wine, until Becky suddenly snorted. “Oh my God. Look at her face. She’s about to murder that judge with a rolling pin.”

Luke barked out a laugh. “She’s one bad comment away from a life sentence.”

And just like that, they were off. The banter came easy, the way it always did. Inappropriate jokes, sarcastic remarks, the kind of humor that only worked because they *got* each other. By the time the next segment rolled around—a documentary about some niche sex fetish—they were already in stitches.

“Oh *fuck*,” Becky wheezed, clutching her stomach as the screen showed a man in full horse regalia prancing around a living room. Tears streamed down her face. “I can’t—I can’t *breathe*.”

Luke was no better, his deep laugh rumbling through his chest as he wiped at his eyes. “This is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

Becky gasped for air, swatting at his arm. “We are *awful* people.”

“Speak for yourself,” he said, but he was grinning, his gaze lingering on her just a second too long.

She caught it. And she didn’t look away.

The laughter died down slowly, the room settling into a comfortable quiet. The TV murmured in the background, but neither of them were really watching anymore. Becky shifted, her thigh pressing against Luke’s for just a moment before she pulled back. Or maybe she didn’t pull back enough. He didn’t move either.

“I really love this,” Becky said softly, her fingers still tracing the glass. “Being here. With you.”

Luke’s jaw tightened. He kept his eyes on the screen, but his voice was rough. “I love you being here.”

She exhaled, a shaky little sound. “You know… when I call you. When I’m stuck in some bloody Travelodge, and we talk for hours. And this…” She gestured between them. “Our Friday nights. It makes me feel…”

“Same,” he said, before she could even finish.

Becky put her drink down. Shifted closer.

Luke’s fingers twitched against the sofa.

“Becky,” he said, his voice low, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful.

She didn’t back off. If anything, she leaned in. “Have you ever thought about me… in a not just friends way?”

The air between them went electric. Luke’s breath hitched. His fingers curled into the fabric of the sofa.

“Becky,” he said again, like her name was the only thing keeping him grounded.

She looked down, twirling her fingers in her lap. “I’m not— I’m not asking for anything. I just… I need to know.”

Luke shifted back, just an inch, but it was enough to make her look up. His dark eyes were intense, almost pained. “You’re my best mate. You’re Tom’s wife. I interact with you more than anyone else in my entire life.” He swallowed. “But that’s it. That’s where it has to end. You’re married, Beck.”

Her face fell. Just for a second. Then she nodded, her throat working as she stood up abruptly. “I think I should go.”

Luke’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist. She froze.

He stood slowly, his towering frame dwarfing her. His other hand came up, his thumb brushing her jaw, his fingers tangling in her hair. His touch was rough, calloused from years of manual work, but his grip was gentle. Reverent.

“Becky,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I have thought about nothing else for fifteen years.”

Her breath hitched.

“If you knew what I’ve thought about. What I *want* to do to you…”

A whimper escaped her lips. Her free hand found his chest, her palm flat against the solid muscle beneath his shirt. “Tell me. *Please.*”

Luke’s grip on her jaw tightened, just a fraction. His thumb traced the line of her bottom lip. “I’ve thought about what your tits look like. What noise you’d make when I bite your nipples.” His voice was rough, raw. “I’ve thought about tasting you. Making you come with my mouth.”

“Jesus *Christ*,” Becky breathed.

Luke’s cock twitched in his jeans, straining against the fabric. He was so hard it hurt.

“Every Friday I come here,” Becky whispered, her voice shaking. “And as soon as you look at me, I’m dripping wet. Absolutely *sopping* sitting on your sofa, thinking about what your cock would feel like inside me. How it would feel when you came inside me.”

“Fuck, Becky,” Luke groaned, his fingers flexing against her skin.

“Do you know how wet I am right now?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Before he could answer, she took her hand from his chest, guided his free hand down, past the waistband of her jeans, beneath the lace of her knickers.

Luke’s breath left him in a rush. His fingers slid through slick, hot folds, her arousal coating his skin. “Fucking *hell*, Beck. You’re *soaked*.”

“I told you,” she whispered. “Absolutely sopping for you. Ready for your cock.” She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. “I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t sit down.”

That was it. The last thread of his control snapped.

Luke crushed his mouth to hers, his kiss bruising, desperate. Becky melted against him, her hands fisting in his shirt as she kissed him back just as fiercely. Their teeth clashed, their breaths mingled, and when Luke finally broke the kiss, they were both panting.

He didn’t waste time. His hands went to her jeans, yanking them down her hips along with her knickers in one rough motion. She stepped out of them, her long legs trembling. Luke’s eyes darkened as he took her in—her bare pussy, glistening and swollen, her thighs slick with arousal.

“Fuck,” he growled, his voice thick with need.

Becky reached for his belt, her fingers fumbling in her haste. She got it undone, then his zipper, and when his cock sprang free, she wrapped her hand around the thick length with a hungry moan. “Big,” she murmured, stroking him. “So *fucking* big.”

Luke groaned, his hips jerking into her touch. Then he was lifting her, setting her on the edge of the kitchen counter. The cold surface made her gasp, but before she could adjust, he was between her legs, his mouth on her pussy.

Becky cried out, her back arching as his tongue dragged through her folds. He was relentless—licking, sucking, his fingers digging into her thighs to hold her open. She was so wet, so *ready*, and when he found her clit with his tongue, circling it with just the right pressure, she let out a broken, “Oh *God*—”

Luke didn’t let up. He devoured her, his tongue working her clit while his fingers slid inside her, curling just right. Becky’s hips bucked, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to her as she came with a shuddering cry, her thighs trembling around his ears.

He didn’t give her time to recover. He stood, his cock in his hand, and in one smooth motion, he was inside her.

Becky gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Fuck—*fuck*—”

Luke groaned, his forehead pressed to hers. “So tight. So *fucking* tight, Beck.”

He started to move, his hips snapping forward, each thrust deep and hard. The counter creaked beneath them, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Becky’s legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his arse, urging him on.

“Harder,” she panted. “Fuck me *harder*, Luke.”

He growled, his grip on her hips bruising as he obeyed, driving into her with everything he had. The angle was perfect, each thrust hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. Becky’s head fell back, her body trembling as another orgasm built, coiling tight in her stomach.

“I’m gonna— I’m gonna *come*,” she gasped.

Luke’s rhythm stuttered. “Fuck, yeah. Come on my cock, Beck. *Now.*”

And she did, her body clamping down around him, her walls fluttering as she came with a broken cry. Luke groaned, his own release building, but he wasn’t done with her yet.

He pulled out suddenly, his cock glistening with her arousal. Becky whimpered at the loss, but then he was stroking himself, his thumb swiping over the tip before he aimed at her chest.

The first spurt hit her collarbone, hot and thick. Then another, landing between her breasts. Becky moaned, her fingers sliding down her body, her own touch replacing his as she rubbed her clit, watching as he painted her skin.

Luke groaned, his cock twitching as the last of his orgasm spilled onto her tits. Becky didn’t hesitate. She scooped up a thick bead of cum with her fingers, then brought them to her mouth, her tongue flicking out to taste him. Then, with a wicked grin, she leaned down, her lips wrapping around her own nipple, licking the rest of him off her skin.

Luke’s breath hitched. “Fuck, Beck.”

She was still touching herself, her fingers working in slow, deliberate circles. “More,” she panted. “I want *more*.”

Luke’s eyes darkened. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away from her pussy. Then, in one fluid motion, he flipped her over, bending her over the counter. Becky gasped, her arse in the air, her cheek pressed against the cold surface.

Luke’s fingers were slick with her arousal as he teased her entrance, circling slowly before pressing against her tight back passage. Becky’s breath hitched, her body instinctively tensing, but she didn’t pull away. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

Becky tensed, but she didn’t pull away. “I—I’ve never—”

“Shh,” Luke murmured, his free hand sliding up her back, his touch soothing even as his cock pressed against her tight hole. “Just relax. Let me in.”

She took a shaky breath. And then, slowly, he pushed.

Becky cried out, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter. It burned, the stretch almost too much, but then—

“Oh *fuck*,” she gasped, as the head of his cock slipped inside. The sensation was intense, overwhelming, but in the best way. “Oh *God*, Luke—”

He went slow, giving her time to adjust. His hands were everywhere—her hips, her back, her hair—grounding her as he sank deeper. And when he was finally all the way inside, both of them groaned, the feeling of fullness unlike anything Becky had ever experienced.

“You okay?” Luke grunted, his voice strained.

Becky nodded, her own voice breathless. “Yeah. *Fuck*. Yeah.”

And then he started to move.

It was different—tighter, deeper, the angle hitting a spot inside her that made her toes curl. Becky’s moans were muffled against the counter, her body trembling as Luke fucked her with slow, deep strokes.

“So *fucking* tight,” Luke growled, his hips snapping forward. “Christ, Beck. You feel *amazing*.”

Becky couldn’t form words. She could only feel—every inch of him inside her, the way his balls slapped against her clit with each thrust, the way her own arousal dripped down her thighs. She was so close, so *fucking* close—

Luke’s hand snaked beneath her, his fingers finding her clit. And that was it.

Becky came with a shattered cry, her thighs trembling, every nerve ending alight as her climax detonated through her. But it was the full, relentless stretch of his cock buried in her ass that shattered her completely, the intensity so overwhelming her vision whited out for a heartbeat. She’d never known pleasure could feel like this—raw, consuming, *perfect*.

Fuck Becky’s arse clenched around him, milking his length as her body convulsed, her hips jerking back against him despite the burn. She was coming so hard tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, her breath a broken gasp.

Luke’s body tensed, every muscle locking as his release tore through him. He drove deep, his cock pulsing as thick ropes of come painted her insides, marking her in a way that felt primal, inevitable. His groan tore from his throat, raw and guttural, the sound vibrating against her skin as he emptied himself into her with shuddering, relentless thrusts.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Luke stayed buried inside her, his chest heaving, his forehead pressed to her shoulder. Becky’s legs trembled, her body still humming with the aftermath of the most intense orgasm she’d ever had.

Finally, Luke pulled out slowly, carefully. Becky whimpered at the loss, but she turned, leaning against the counter as she caught her breath.

Luke’s eyes were dark, his expression almost reverent as he looked at her. “You okay?”

Becky let out a shaky laugh. “I think you just ruined me for all other men.”

Luke smirked, some of the tension leaving his body. “Good.”

She reached for him, her fingers tracing the lines of his tattooed arm. “I’ve never… let anyone do that before. Not even Tom.”

Luke’s expression softened. He cupped her face, his thumb brushing her bottom lip. “I know.”

Becky bit her lip, her heart still pounding. “So… what now?”

Luke exhaled, his forehead resting against hers. “Now? Now I make you a cup of tea. And we watch the rest of *Gogglebox* like nothing happened.”

Becky laughed, swatting his chest. “You’re such a twat.”

He grinned. “But I’m *your* twat.”

And as the TV murmured in the background, the two of them stood there, naked and tangled and perfectly, blissfully satisfied.