Down Under (Aussies, #2)

by Donna Alam

‘Oh. Amber,’ I respond a little breathlessly. Not that I’m channelling Marilyn Monroe or anything, but I suppose breathless can sound alluring, right? Or asthmatic.

Or will this be the birthday I’ll long remember as the one where I lost my mind. I’ve had friends who’ve viewed turning thirty with a sense of reluctance or fear, but it truly hadn’t bothered me. I didn’t feel like I was kissing my youth goodbye, trading in my heels for house slippers. Mainly because I turned a little crazy when I turned twenty-nine and decided my life didn’t fit me anymore. That it needed shaking up. That I was going to travel. So as my thirtieth birthday approached, I’d so far viewed it with a sense of equanimity. I thought I was being Zen about the whole thing. Crazy was so last year. Turning thirty was going to be fine.

Would it be wrong to applaud?

My exclamation is more breath than anything else because he’s long, and thick, and I find, just what I need. Birthday felicitations to me!

‘You’re sure it’s not my birthday?’ His expression wears a lazy half grin that should come with a warning to panties everywhere.

The crinkle of a condom wrapper sounds, and my heart gives an excited jump, my eyes springing open to watch him roll on a condom. The jump turns to an eager thud as he pushes my thighs a little wider. Wrapping his hand around the base of his thick erection, he lines himself up, two sets of eyes falling to where we meet.

‘Ah, shit,’ he complains, with the intonation and finesse of, well, me.

Mum thinks she’s in need of protein. Apparently, feeding her my sausage every night isn’t enough. I can’t imagine it’ll be long before Amber twigs. If Mum was any more solicitous, it’d be creepy.