Friday evening found them leaving the city behind, Lily’s sleek BMW packed with weekend bags and an esky of simple provisions. The drive to the central coast cottage was quiet at first. Lily focused on the road, and Jane fiddled with Spotify on her phone until her acoustic playlist kicked off. She started with Amy Shark’s Adore, but now Angus & Julia Stone have filled the car with soft, breathy harmonies.
Their hands linked over the centre console after a while, thumbs stroking absently, a silent acknowledgment of what this weekend promised.
Lily had suggested the getaway mid-week, her voice casual over the phone but laced with intent.
“Somewhere away from everything. Just us. To explore what we’ve started.”
Jane had agreed without hesitation, but as the skyline faded in the rearview, a faint nervousness stirred in her chest. They had flowed so naturally into each other’s rhythms, but this felt deliberate, and deliberate had once been the end of something she thought might be special.
Jane was quiet as she stared out at the passing eucalypts blurring into streaks of grey-green, her thumb still moving absently over Lily’s knuckles. The weekend ahead felt like stepping off the edge of a familiar tidal pool into open water. Ever since the relationship she felt she had ruined with a step towards something more deliberate, she had always been the one who drifted, letting the current take her, never needing to name where it led. With Lily, though, drifting had started to feel like choosing. And choosing scared her more than she wanted to admit. What if this deliberate space cracked something open that couldn’t be closed again? What if she gave too much, surrendered too completely, and woke up on Monday morning feeling hollow instead of full?
The ocean had taught her early that everything could be taken without warning, with her friend drowning in a rip, then her grandparents taken in a horrible car crash, the steady rhythm of childhood summers disappeared, first and second loves. Love, she’d learned, was safest when kept light, when she could swim away if the tide turned.
Yet here she was, driving up the coast with a woman who both drove her a little bit crazy with desire and made her want to stay anchored. The thought was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure. She squeezed Lily’s hand tighter, as though testing whether she could still let go if she needed to. Lily felt the shift in Jane’s grip and glanced sideways, reading the quiet tension in the set of her jaw.
Lily smiled her gentlest smile, looked at Jane and said, “I might need my hand this weekend.” Jane released her grip but kept hold.
Lily understood. She carried her own version of the same fear. For Lily, control had always been armour, sharp-edged, perfectly tailored, useful in negotiations and boardrooms alike. She had spent years learning how to hold everything together: arguments, deadlines, her own heart. Letting go in front of Jane had already felt like peeling off layers of that armour, piece by piece, and that made her nervous. It didn’t feel right. This weekend was different. This was choosing to leave the armour behind entirely, to walk into a space where she might not be the one setting the rules, where vulnerability wasn’t just allowed but required. What if she couldn’t find her way back to the woman who commanded meeting rooms and client briefs? What if softness became weakness, if surrender left her exposed in ways she couldn’t recover from?
The thought made her stomach twist. And yet, every time Jane looked at her with those steady green eyes, every time Jane yielded so completely and still looked at her as if she were something precious, Lily felt a pull stronger than fear. She wanted to know what lay on the other side of her own carefully constructed walls. She wanted to trust that Jane would be there when she emerged, still whole.
Neither of them spoke the doubts aloud. They didn’t need to. The silence between them was full of the same unspoken questions, the same quiet courage. They were both afraid of losing themselves, of losing each other, of the unknown shape this deeper intimacy might take. But they were also willing. More than willing. The willingness itself felt like its own kind of bravery.
Jane lifted their joined hands and pressed a soft kiss to Lily’s knuckles.
“We’re really doing this,” she said quietly.
Lily smiled, small and certain despite the flutter in her chest. “Yeah. We are.”
The road curved ahead, carrying them toward the coast, toward the cottage, toward whatever waited on the other side of this time together. They drove on, hands linked, doubts and desire travelling together in the same breath.
Halfway through the drive, as the road curved along the coastline and the first hints of salt air filtered through the vents, Jane glanced at Lily’s bag in the backseat. “You packed light,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Except for that little pouch I saw you slip in. What’s in it?”
Lily’s lips curved, eyes staying on the road. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Jane shifted in her seat, the words sending a small spark through her. “I would, actually. That’s why I asked.”
Lily laughed softly, squeezing Jane’s hand. “Patience. It’s a surprise. But I promise… it’s for us.”
The vagueness only fueled Jane’s curiosity, her mind spinning through possibilities, something soft, something teasing, something that would make her beg?
She pressed her thighs together, glancing out at the darkening ocean to hide her flush. The cottage was modest, perched on a low rise overlooking a stretch of beach, inherited from Jane’s grandparents and not rented this weekend. They arrived as dusk fell, the air thick with salt and the sharp, clean, almost medicinal scent of eucalypts and banksia. A lone magpie warbled from the tea trees near the verandah; the sound carried that unmistakable Australian twilight sound.
Lily unpacked the bags while Jane lit a fire, as her grandfather had taught her when she was eight. The crackle of gum tree warming the open living room. Among Lily’s things was a small silk pouch she’d slipped into her suitcase with a secretive smile. She set it on the bedside table without comment, but Jane noticed. Of course, she noticed. It sat there like a wrapped gift, innocuous yet charged, drawing Jane’s eye every time she passed the bedroom door.
Dinner was simple, grilled prawns and flathead from the fish shop, fresh sourdough from the bakery in town, rosé chilled in the fridge. Dessert: fresh mango.
They ate on the deck, knees touching under the table, conversation drifting from light anecdotes to quieter admissions. Jane spoke of how the cottage held memories of her grandparents’ easy love, how the sound of the surf and the smell of gum trees had always felt like home. Lily confessed her fear that work would always pull her away, that intimacy like this felt fragile against the demands of her life in the city.
As the meal wound down and they cleared up together, Jane’s gaze kept returning to the silk pouch visible through the open bedroom door. Lily caught her looking and smiled, slow, knowing, the corners of her mouth lifting in that way that always made Jane’s stomach dip.
“Curious?” Lily asked, voice low, swirling the last of her rosé.
Jane felt heat climb her neck. “Maybe.”
Lily leaned closer, elbows on the table, chin resting on her laced fingers. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before… just things I’ve never used. With anyone.” She paused, letting the words settle. “But I thought this weekend might be the right time to change that.”
Jane swallowed. The firelight played across Lily’s face, catching the faint flush on her cheeks.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Teasing me.”
Lily’s smile widened, wicked and tender at once. “A little. Watching you try not to ask what’s inside… It’s doing things to me.”
She reached across the table and brushed her thumb over Jane’s lower lip. “Patience, love. You’ll see soon enough.”
Jane exhaled shakily, thighs pressing together under the table. “You’re cruel.”
“Only when I know you like it,” Lily murmured, eyes dark. She stood, collecting plates with deliberate slowness, hips swaying as she carried them inside. Jane followed, drawn like a tide to the moon.
They washed up together, shoulders brushing, the domesticity undercut by the thick tension humming between them. Every time Jane reached for a dish, Lily’s fingers grazed her wrist, her waist, the small of her back. Small, deliberate touches that felt like promises.
By the time the last glass was dry, Jane was breathing unevenly, skin too sensitive, pulse loud in her ears. Lily turned, backing Jane gently against the kitchen bench. She didn’t kiss her, not yet. Instead, she leaned in, lips hovering a breath from Jane’s ear.
“I packed silk ties,” she whispered. “Soft ones. The kind that looks pretty against your wrists.”Jane’s breath hitched.
“And a feather,” Lily continued, voice velvet. “For when I want to make you squirm before I even touch you properly.”
Jane’s hands found Lily’s hips, gripping. “Lily…”
“And something cool and smooth,” Lily finished, pulling back just enough to meet Jane’s eyes. “Curved just right. I’ve been thinking about how it’ll feel inside you… how you’ll look when it’s moving.”
Jane made a small, helpless sound. “You’re going to kill me before we even start.”
Lily laughed softly and kissed the corner of Jane’s mouth. “Not yet. I want you desperate first.”
She took Jane’s hand and led her to the living room, where the embers glowed. They sank onto the rug, Lily pulling Jane into her lap, kissing her slowly, hands roaming over clothes without removing them. Jane’s fingers tugged at Lily’s shirt, but Lily caught her wrists gently, holding them.
“Not yet,” she murmured against Jane’s lips. “Let it build. Imagine what I could do with those ties… how the feather would feel on your inner thighs while you’re bound, unable to move. Or the glass sliding in, cold at first, then warm from you.”
Jane groaned, hips grinding down instinctively. “You’re evil.”
Lily’s eyes sparkled. “And you love it.”
She kissed Jane’s neck, teeth grazing just enough to tease, then pulled back. “But tonight… we wait. Just a taste.”
They kissed for what felt like hours, slow, heated, hands exploring over fabric, building frustration until Jane was trembling, whispering pleas for more. Lily finally relented, shedding clothes by the fire. Jane’s mouth on Lily’s breast, fingers teasing until Lily gasped and rolled them, returning the touch with equal fervour. They came together on the rug, bodies slick and entwined, moonlight spilling through the windows like a silent witness.
Sleep came easily, wrapped in each other, the ocean’s rhythm lulling them deep, the pouch still unopened, its promise hanging in the air.
Saturday dawned bright, the sea calmer than the forecast had promised. After coffee on the deck, flat whites made with the little stovetop espresso pot, they dressed lightly: Jane in faded denim shorts and a white singlet, Lily in a loose linen sundress, both with their swimmers beneath, and headed to the beach. They each carried a bag with towels, water, and some snacks. The path wound through dunes dotted with coastal wattle and pigface.
The beach wasn’t one of the popular ones. You had to walk in along the path, so it was secluded but not entirely private. Distant walkers dotted the beach, a few surfers bobbed further out, and one family with their kids waded in the water. They held hands openly, then cuddled as they walked, a new thrill after the city’s careful discretion. At the water’s edge, Jane pulled Lily close for a kiss, soft at first, then deepening, tongues tasting salt from the spray and the faint trace of morning coffee. Lily’s hands slid into red hair, pulling her nearer, but a laugh from further up the beach made them pause. Two figures strolled in the distance, not close but visible, boardshorts and thongs kicking up sand.
Jane’s pulse quickened, a flush rising on her cheeks. “They might see,” she whispered, but her body leaned in, not away. Lily’s dark eyes sparkled.
“Let them.” She kissed Jane again, deliberately, one hand slipping under the singlet to trace the warm skin of her back. The nervousness coiled in Jane’s belly, mingling with heat; the risk felt like electricity, sharpening every touch. Lily’s tongue found Jane’s, her hips pressing forward, the passion and need intense. They broke apart when the walkers drew nearer, but the tension lingered, a promise for later. “Umm, they saw us,” said Jane.
“They really did,” giggled Lily.
The day unfolded lazily, swimming in the cool waves, a picnic of cheese and olives on the sand, reading side by side under a shared umbrella while the sun climbed. But the earlier kiss hung between them, building like a slow tide. Jane’s skin tingled where Lily had touched her under her singlet.
By afternoon, back at the cottage, Jane’s skin felt like it was burning with it. She watched Lily stretch on the couch, sundress riding up her thighs, and felt the pull and her control crumbled.
“Show me what you packed,” Jane said softly, voice almost trembling with anticipation. Lily met her gaze, then retrieved the silk pouch. She laid out the items on the coffee table: the ties, soft and shimmering; the feather, light as breath; the glass dildo, cool, ridged and curved. Jane’s breath caught, her nervousness flickering again, but underpinned by trust.
“Will you let me?” Lily asked, holding a tie. Jane nodded, heart racing. They moved to the bedroom, where Lily guided Jane to the bed, tying her wrists loosely to the headboard with silk, secure but yielding. The exposure sent a shiver through Jane; she felt seen, held, desired and displayed, the faint restraint amplifying every sensation.
Lily trailed the feather down her body, watching goosebumps rise, then followed with her tongue, then her lips, slow and teasing. She teased Jane for almost an hour, ignoring the pleas, grinning at Jane’s moans. For the first time, she teased Jane’s tight rose with her fingertip, revelling in the squeal she caused. When she finally used the glass, cool glass warming quickly inside Jane’s heat, the glass curved perfectly, Jane arched, loud moans spilling free, the build exquisite and relentless. Release crashed over her twice, then three, then four times, body trembling, eyes locked on Lily’s in wordless gratitude as she fought to catch her breath.
Then Jane untied herself, flipping Lily with a playful growl. “My turn.”
She bound Lily’s wrists the same way, feather and fingers drawing gasps, the glass eliciting broken begging. Lily yielded completely, tears of intensity on her lashes, coming apart with Jane’s name on her lips. The shared vulnerability felt like a revelation, edges explored not to break, but to bind them closer.
They collapsed, entangled, bodies spent, hearts full. Dinner was forgotten; sleep claimed them early, the cottage quiet save for their steady breaths.
Sunday brought clear skies and a bolder edge. After a slow morning, coffee in bed, lazy touches turning heated, they ventured out again. This time, to a secluded path along the cliff, overgrown with wild grasses, pigface, and coastal myrtle that whispered in the breeze.
The track was narrow, rarely used, but not impossible to stumble upon; signs of other walkers showed in trampled patches and a distant wooden bench overlooking the water. They walked hand in hand, barefoot, the sandy path warm underfoot from the morning sun. Every few steps, they stopped to kiss, each one deeper than before, tongues tasting lingering salt from breakfast and the ocean air.
Jane pressed Lily against a smooth boulder, hands sliding under the loose sundress to grip sculpted hips she couldn’t bear to touch. Lily’s breath hitched, fingers threading into red curls, pulling Jane closer until their bodies aligned perfectly.
“Here,” Jane whispered against Lily’s mouth, voice rough with want. “Now.”
Lily’s eyes widened, the path curved just beyond a rise of dune grass, voices could carry on the wind, but the risk sent heat spiralling through her core. She nodded, dress already hiked high, Jane’s fingers slipping between her thighs to find her already slick. Lily gasped, head pressing back against the rock, eyes half-closed as Jane circled slowly, deliberately, building the tension with every stroke.
Then they heard it: footsteps on the path, soft conversation, a woman’s laugh. A couple, middle-aged, hand in hand, crested the small rise and froze. The man’s arm tightened around his wife’s waist; her hand paused on his chest. They didn’t turn away. Instead, they stepped half behind a cluster of tall grass, eyes locked on the scene below.
Jane felt the shift, the sudden awareness that they were being watched and it ignited something primal. She didn’t stop. Her fingers moved faster, curling inside Lily with steady pressure, thumb pressing above in perfect, relentless rhythm. Lily’s moan escaped louder than intended, hips bucking against Jane’s hand, the exposure stripping away every last inhibition. She lifted her gaze and met the couple’s eyes for a heartbeat, saw the woman’s hand slide down her husband’s chest, disappearing into his waistband; saw his head dip to kiss her neck as they mirrored the intensity unfolding before them.
Lily came hard, back arching against the rock, a cry sharp and unrestrained, tearing from her throat. The sound carried on the wind; her thighs trembled and clamped around Jane’s wrist as waves rolled through her, long and shattering.
The couple’s breathing visibly quickened. The woman’s free hand clutched her partner’s shoulder, her other still working inside his trousers, slow and deliberate now.
Jane kissed Lily through the aftershocks, swallowing the last soft whimpers, then gently eased her fingers free. She pressed one last lingering kiss to Lily’s parted lips before switching places, guiding Lily down onto the soft grass beside the path with tender authority.
Lily knelt between Jane’s legs, sundress falling open to reveal flushed skin and hardened nipples. She lowered her mouth to Jane’s centre with focused hunger, tongue circling slowly at first, then flattening, pressing, tasting the slick heat that had built from the moment they’d been seen. Jane’s fingers tangled in dark hair, her hips lifting in silent demand.
The couple watched openly now. The husband’s trousers loosened further, the woman’s hand wrapped firmly around him, stroking with the same unhurried rhythm Lily used on Jane. The wife’s blouse was half-unbuttoned, breasts exposed to the cooling air, nipples tight. She leaned into her husband, lips brushing his ear, whispering something that made his head fall back, a low groan escaping him.
Jane’s eyes flicked to them again and again. The sight of the wife’s hand moving faster now, the husband’s hips jerking into her grip, the way the woman’s own thighs pressed together as though chasing her own edge. The shared gaze between the four of them felt like an electric, unbroken current. No words passed, only breath, soft sounds, the wet rhythm of hands and mouths, the distant crash of waves.
Lily’s tongue never faltered, circling, flicking, then sucking gently until Jane’s back arched off the grass, a broken cry echoing off the cliff. Jane’s release crashed through her like a storm, thighs clamping around Lily’s head, fingers tightening in hair, Jane’s name torn from Lily’s throat in a gasp as she held her through every shuddering wave.
Across the clearing, the husband’s control finally broke. His wife’s hand moved with purpose, quick, firm strokes and he came with a low, guttural sound, spilling over her fingers and onto the soft swell of her belly. She didn’t pull away; instead, she turned her face to his, kissing him deeply as his body jerked through the aftershocks, her other hand still stroking him gently, milking every last tremor. Their eyes never left Lily and Jane.
For several long seconds, the four of them simply breathed, captivated, lost in the raw, wanton mirror of desire. No shame, no haste to cover or flee. Only the quiet acknowledgment of what had been shared: pure, unfiltered desire. Then the couple offered a small, knowing nod, intimate and conspiratorial. The wife licked her lips, wiped her hand on the grass with a soft laugh, and the man pulled her close, kissing her temple. They turned and slipped quietly away down the path, footsteps fading into the wind.
The air felt charged, electric, the silence afterwards almost sacred. Lily crawled up Jane’s body, collapsing half on top of her, foreheads pressed together. Their breathing slowly synced, hearts hammering in tandem. Jane’s fingers traced Lily’s spine, soothing the last tremors but then causing more. Lily pressed soft kisses along Jane’s jaw, tasting salt and sweat and ocean.
“That was…” Jane started, voice hoarse, almost reverent.
“Us,” Lily finished, eyes shining. “All of us. No hiding. No pretending.”
They lay there until the sun dipped lower, skin cooling in the breeze, bodies still humming with afterglow. Eventually, they rose, brushing grass from their hair and dresses, hands linked as they walked back to the cottage.
The path felt different now, wider, brighter, theirs in a new, indelible way. Inside, they showered slowly, washing grass and salt and the lingering scent of exposure from skin, then curled up on the couch by a dying fire. Jane nestled against Lily’s side, head on her shoulder.
“I’ve never felt so… free,” Jane admitted quietly. “Being seen like that. Wanting it. Needing it. And seeing them want it too.”
Lily pressed a kiss to her temple. “It wasn’t just exposure. It was trust. Knowing we could go there together and come back whole. Knowing we could share that edge and still be safe.”
They talked for hours, about the nervousness that had twisted into exhilaration, about how the watchers had become part of their moment without invading it, about how the risk had peeled back another layer, revealing deeper trust beneath. No shame, only wonder at how vulnerability could feel so powerful, how being witnessed in desire could make them feel more real, more connected.
As evening fell, they made love one last time by the fire, slow, eyes open, every touch a promise. Jane above, then Lily, then side by side, hands and mouths worshipping without hurry. Release came softly, then intensely, and shared, bodies trembled in the glow of embers, the ocean breathing steadily beyond the windows.
The cottage weekend had stripped away the last careful distance. What remained was open, raw, and certain. They were no longer two separate lives touching at the edges. They were becoming one.
Monday morning came too soon. They packed slowly, stripping the bed, blowing out candles, leaving the cottage as they’d found it but forever changed.
On the drive home, windows down, hands linked, Lily spoke first.
“I don’t want to go back to separate nights.”
Jane glanced at her, smile soft. “Me neither.”
They didn’t decide everything then, just that the conversation would continue, that the current pulling them together was stronger than any reason to resist.
