Sticy Fingers and Sweet Heat

The fairground was already packed when he pulled into the school car park, a chaotic mess of kids sprinting in every direction, harried parents clutching raffle books, and the distant sizzle of sausages on the barbie. A storm had been threatening all afternoon, but the heat lingered thick in the air, settling over the oval like a sweat-soaked blanket.

He hadn't wanted to come. Wouldn't have, if Mick hadn't badgered him about it all bloody week.

"C'mon, just show up for a beer and a snag. Cass reckons I never get people to these things. You don't even have to stay, just do a lap and piss off."

Dan had caved, mostly because it wasn't worth the argument. That, and a little part of him might've wanted to see Cass. She was easy company, always up for a laugh. Maybe there'd be a moment, just a bit of friendly teasing, a smile thrown his way. Not that he'd ever do anything about it. But thinking about it didn't hurt.

He stepped out of the ute, the late arvo sun still clinging to the horizon, casting everything in a golden haze. Gosford in February never really cooled down. His shirt stuck to the back of his neck before he'd even made it past the front gate, and the smell of cheap lollies and sunscreen mixed with the meaty waft of sausage sizzles and deep-fried god-knows-what.

"Oi, Dan!"

Mick's voice cut through the noise. He turned, spotting his mate standing beside Cass, who was balancing a baby on one hip and pointing frantically at something in the distance. Mick looked harassed. Which wasn't unusual, but this was next-level.

"Good bloke," Mick clapped a hand on his shoulder, already distracted, already sweating through his polo. "Knew you wouldn't let me down."

"Jesus, it's like a bloody war zone," Dan muttered, eyeing the swarm of sugar-high kids tearing past.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Mick groaned, rubbing his temples. "Listen, small issue. Ollie's just spewed his guts up behind the bake sale and I gotta get him home before he redecorates the car. Cass is gonna take them both, but that leaves,"

Cass shot Dan a bright, knowing smile. "We need someone to help out at the Snow Cone stall."

Dan frowned. "I was just,"

"You're a legend, mate, thanks." Mick was already backing away, already moving towards the car.

"Wait,"

"Oh, and Ms Wells is running it, so you'll have some company."

Dan barely had time to register the name before Mick and Cass disappeared in a blur of flustered parenting. He let out a slow breath, hands on his hips, wondering at what exact point he'd lost control of his own Friday night.

Snow Cones. Christ.

He was gonna kill Mick.

The school fair was winding down, the air thick with fried food, sugar, and the distant sound of kids losing their minds over glow sticks. Dan had been promised a quick in-and-out, grab a beer, make an appearance, fuck off home, but now Mick was gone, his kid having spewed all over him, leaving Dan standing here like an idiot in front of a woman who very much looked like she had better things to do than babysit some bloke who didn't belong.

Ms. Wells. He'd seen her before. Sexy, sharp, the kind of woman who could silence a room with a look. Now she was behind the snow cone stall, curls sticking to her temples, arms bare, forearms damp from condensation, an apron snug around curves that had his fingers twitching. She met his eyes, caught him mid-appraisal, and arched a brow.

"You gonna stand there looking pretty, or are you actually useful?"

Dan cleared his throat, shifting. "Ah, yeah, right. Mick said,"

"Mick said a lot of things," she cut in, handing him an ice scoop. "Now he's gone. Congratulations, you're hired."

He could leave. Could mutter some half-baked excuse and be done with it. But then she looked at him, waiting, unimpressed, and something about the challenge in her eyes made his cock stir in ways he did not appreciate in the middle of a fucking school fair. He sighed, stepping up beside her.

"Dan," he offered, reaching for a cup.

She smirked. "I know. You're Mick's mate. The builder, right?"

"Yeah."

"Figured. Not many blokes like you making snow cones."

"Yeah? And what kinda blokes usually do this?"

"The teenage kind. The reluctant kind. The ones who don't look like they could snap a syrup bottle in half by accident."

Dan huffed a laugh, grabbed a bottle of blue syrup, and squeezed.

Nothing.

He frowned, shook it. Squeezed harder,

WHOOSH.

A thick jet of syrup shot straight onto Ms. Wells' tits.

Dan froze.

She looked down.

Dan exhaled slowly. "Ah... shit."

She dragged two fingers through the sticky mess, licked them clean, then, without breaking eye contact, sucked the last drop from her fingertip.

Dan forgot how to fucking breathe.

"Bit eager there, aren't you?" she mused.

"Didn't mean to,"

"Relax." She grabbed a napkin, dabbed at the stain, utterly pointless. "If you're gonna make a mess, at least buy me dinner first."

Dan actually choked.

She laughed, tossed the napkin aside, and went back to work like nothing happened. Dan, meanwhile, stood there like an idiot, half-hard in a school fair, questioning every decision he'd made today.

The next half hour passed in a blur of sugar and sarcasm. They settled into a rhythm, her scooping, him drizzling (more carefully this time), both of them trading barbs and sizing each other up.

"So," she mused, handing a kid a snow cone, "you always this helpful?"

"Bloke owes me a beer."

"Oh, so you're in it for the alcohol?"

"Could be worse," Dan smirked. "Could be in it for the company."

Her brows lifted. Interested.

"Yeah?"

Dan held her gaze. "Yeah."

She rolled her eyes, but there was heat behind it. The next time their hands brushed reaching for the same cup, neither of them moved away first.

The fair was winding down, the carnival lights dimming against the soft navy of the sky. The distant chatter of kids past their bedtime, the low murmur of parents negotiating one last ride, and the scent of frying onions clung to the cooling air. Dan stood beside the tray of his ute, arms folded, watching Sam size up the bulky, inconvenient snow cone machine like it had personally insulted her.

"So Mick was supposed to take this?" he asked, lips twitching.

"Mmm," she hummed, one hand on her hip, the other swiping at the hair sticking to her damp neck. Her sundress, now lightly dusted with fine sugar, clung in places where sweat and syrup had melted into her skin.

"And now you're gonna wrestle it home solo?"

"Yeah, or drag it down the street like a tragic fairground Cinderella. What's it to you?"

Dan exhaled, shaking his head. "I'll chuck it in the tray."

She turned, eyebrows lifted, sizing him up. Up close, he was bigger than she'd registered before, broad through the chest, arms roped with quiet, working-man strength. His T-shirt, slightly damp from the lingering heat of the day, clung in places, revealing the ridge of his collarbones, the thick slab of his shoulders, the faint shadow of hair dusting his chest beneath the cotton.

"And just like that, you're a gentleman?" she teased.

"Just like that, I don't wanna see you breaking a sweat over this thing when I got a tray built for it."

"Oh, so now you're doing me a favor?"

He smirked, tossing the tailgate down. "S'pose so."

She watched as he hefted the machine effortlessly, his forearms flexing under the strain, the stretch of his shirt pulling tight across his back. A strong man, moving with casual confidence, there was something to be said for that.

"Well then," she murmured, dusting her hands. "Since you're going out of your way and all... you drop this at mine, I buy you a drink. Fair?"

Dan met her gaze, considering. She had a way of looking at a bloke like she was measuring his worth, like she already knew if he was up to scratch but was humoring him anyway.

"Reckon I can live with that."

Her place was a five-minute drive, an old weatherboard house tucked behind a hedge, fairy lights strung along the verandah railing. Dan pulled into the driveway, the gravel crunching under the tires as he killed the engine.

"Well, this is cozy," he remarked, glancing up at the soft glow of the porch lights.

"You sound surprised," Sam teased, already unbuckling her seatbelt.

"Dunno what I expected."

"What, milk crates and a blow-up mattress?" She shot him a smirk. "I do own furniture, you know."

Dan chuckled, his hand lingering on the gear stick as she slid out of the ute, bare legs catching the glow of the porchlight. He followed, grabbing the snow cone machine from the tray.

"Just inside the door," she instructed, leading the way up the steps.

He trailed behind, watching as she fished out her keys. Her dress clung in places, slightly damp from the lingering humidity, the thin cotton stretching over the curve of her ass with every step.

Dan swallowed.

"Gonna stand there all night, or you bringing that thing in?" she called over her shoulder, amused.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, adjusting his grip on the machine as he stepped inside.

The air inside was cooler, carrying a faint trace of something warm, vanilla, maybe, with an edge of something sharper, muskier. It smelled like her.

"Drop it there," she said, gesturing vaguely before disappearing into the kitchen.

Dan set the machine down, rolling his shoulders, glancing around. The house was comfortable, a little lived-in, cushions askew, a pair of heels abandoned by the couch, a cardigan draped over a chair like it had been stripped off mid-motion.

"You drink beer?"

"I drink anything cold."

A moment later, she reappeared, two bottles in hand, condensation trickling down the sides.

"Earned it, didn't you?"

Dan took the beer, the glass cool against his palm. "What, carrying your gear around like a pack mule? Yeah, reckon I did."

She smirked, leaning back against the counter, watching as he tipped the bottle to his lips. Her sundress had shifted slightly, slipping off one shoulder, the strap of her bra barely visible beneath.

"Gotta admit," she mused, eyes raking over him, lingering at the way his T-shirt stretched across his chest, the slight sheen of sweat at his collarbone. "Didn't peg you for the volunteering type."

Dan smirked, lowering his beer. "And I didn't peg you for the type to make blokes sweat for an icy treat, but here we are."

She exhaled a laugh, tilting her head. "You were watching me work, then?"

"Hard not to." He let the words sit between them, watching her lips part slightly in surprise.

She licked them, slow, taking a sip of her beer. "So that's how it is, huh?"

Dan shrugged, watching the slow stretch of her throat as she swallowed. "Dunno, Ms. Wells. You tell me."

She smirked, pushing off the counter. The shift in her posture was subtle but unmistakable, hips swaying slightly, shoulders relaxed, inviting.

"Well, Dan Carter," she murmured, voice dipping, fingertips trailing lightly over the rim of her bottle. "How'd you end up stuck at a primary school fair on a Friday night?"

He smirked, rolling the bottle between his hands. "Bloke roped me in."

"And now you're here."

"Seems that way."

A pause. The space between them, casual just moments before, now something heavier, more charged.

She lifted her bottle again, this time sipping slow, eyes holding his as she licked a stray droplet from the corner of her mouth.

Dan's fingers flexed around his beer.

"You gonna play shy now?"

His jaw ticked. He wasn't shy. Not by a long shot.

"Not shy."

"Good."

And then she turned, walking toward the hallway.

Not asking.

Not waiting.

Just expecting him to follow.

Dan exhaled, finishing his beer in one slow gulp before setting the bottle down beside hers.

Then, he followed.

Dan followed her down the hallway, the hum of the refrigerator fading behind them, replaced by the creak of wooden floorboards. The air between them stretched tight, charged, like the seconds before a summer storm. She led him into her bedroom without fanfare, flicking on the lamp beside her bed. Soft, amber light spilled into the space, catching on warm wooden tones, the unmade bed, the subtle mess of a woman who lived comfortably in her skin. Dan lingered in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame. She hadn't asked him to follow, but here he was.

She glanced over her shoulder, amused. "Something wrong?" His tongue swiped over his bottom lip, head tilting slightly. It was the first time he'd seen her like this, less teacher, less cool school fair queen, more... something else. Her dress was wrinkled, straps barely hanging onto her shoulders. She looked warm, soft. "Just makin' sure I'm meant to be here." "You planning on leaving?" Dan smirked. No, he wasn't. She walked to the bed and sat, stretching her legs out slightly, ankles crossed. One hand trailed lazily up her thigh, dragging the hem of her dress higher, baring more golden skin.

"It's been a long day," she mused, watching him as she ran a hand over the back of her neck, pushing wild curls away from her flushed skin. "Reckon I earned a little unwinding, don't you?" Dan exhaled slowly, stepping inside, closing the door behind him. "That what I am? Some kind of wind-down?" Sam smirked. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Carter." He chuckled, shaking his head. Cocky little thing, wasn't she? But then her fingers hooked under the strap of her dress, pulling it off her shoulder, and whatever comeback he'd had lined up died in his throat.

She was deliberate. Unhurried. She slid the fabric down one arm, then the other, letting it pool at her waist, leaving her bare from the waist up. Full breasts, flushed from the heat of the evening, nipples already tight. She didn't hide herself, didn't pause for effect, just let him look. And fuck, did he look. Dan exhaled through his nose, his eyes dragging over every inch of her. "Gonna say something?" she teased. "Tryin' not to say something dumb." She laughed, warm, like honey dripping off a spoon. "Good policy. Let's see how long that lasts."

Dan let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah? You gonna test me?" Sam's smirk deepened. She lay back, half-reclining on her elbows, legs still crossed at the ankle. The shift in position arched her back slightly, tilting her breasts higher, making her nipples stand even prouder. "Thinking about it." Dan scraped a hand through his hair, watching her. She knew exactly what she was doing. "You always like takin' your time?" "Why?" One leg uncrossed slowly, the hem of her dress sliding higher. "You in a hurry?" His jaw ticked. She was winding him up. And yeah, it was working.

"Nup," he said, voice lower now. "Just checkin'." She hummed, tapping a finger against her chin like she was weighing a decision. Then, with an infuriating slowness, she pushed the dress down further, inch by inch, until it slipped over her hips, pooling on the sheets beside her. Bare. Every inch of her. Dan let his gaze rake over her, over the neat triangle of dark curls between her thighs, the way her skin shone slightly with sweat from the lingering heat of the night. She was stunning. And she knew it.

"You like what you see?" she murmured. His breath left him in a slow exhale. "You know I do." Sam smirked, tilting her chin. "Show me, then." Dan's fingers found the hem of his shirt, dragging it up and over his head in one smooth motion. Sam's eyes roamed appreciatively, lingering on the solid plane of his chest, the dark dusting of hair that trailed down toward his stomach. Her gaze dropped lower. His belt was next, then the button on his jeans. She didn't look away.

The denim slid down his hips, and then... he stood before her, naked, unashamed. Sam let out a slow breath, licking her lips. "Jesus, Carter." Dan smirked. "Yeah?" Her gaze lingered on the thick, hard length of him, standing proud against the sharp dip of his abdomen. "Yeah," she murmured, shifting on the bed, thighs parting slightly. Dan ran a hand over his jaw, watching her. "Still think you're the one in control here, Wells?" Sam met his eyes, grinning. "Come find out."

Dan didn't need telling twice. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, letting her feel the weight of his attention as his eyes dragged over every inch of her body. Sam lay back against the pillows, arms stretched lazily above her head, watching him with a smirk that was equal parts challenge and invitation. His knees hit the edge of the bed, and for a moment, he just looked at her, really looked at her.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

Sam's smirk deepened. "You keep saying that, Carter."

Dan exhaled sharply, reaching for her ankle, his fingers curling around the delicate bone. "Yeah, well," he drawled, dragging his palm slowly up her calf, feeling the smooth heat of her skin. "You keep givin' me reasons to." He pushed her legs apart, just a little, enough to step between them. His hand kept moving, up the soft curve of her thigh, pausing to squeeze the plush flesh, his thumb grazing the crease where it met her hip. Sam shivered, but her grin stayed put.

"Bit handsy, aren't you?"

Dan chuckled, voice rough. "Nah, sweetheart. Handsy's what happens next."

She raised an eyebrow, daring him to prove it. So he did.

He bent over her, bracing himself with one arm as his free hand trailed over the soft curve of her belly, up the gentle swell of her breast. His thumb found her nipple, already tight, and he flicked it once, watching her breath hitch.

"Sensitive?" he murmured, circling it again, slower this time.

Sam swallowed, but her voice stayed steady. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Dan grinned. "Reckon I would."

He leaned in, dragging his lips down the side of her throat, letting his breath fan over her skin before pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the spot just below her ear. Sam exhaled sharply, tilting her head slightly to give him more room. His hand slid lower again, over her ribs, her stomach, until his fingertips grazed the trimmed curls between her thighs.

She was warm. Soft. Wet.

Dan groaned, low and rough. "Jesus, Wells."

Sam's breath hitched, but she still found the nerve to smirk. "Problem?"

He lifted his head, looking her dead in the eye. "You're drippin'."

Her pupils blew wide, her lips parting slightly, but she didn't falter. "And?"

Dan chuckled, shaking his head. "And you're a fuckin' tease."

She grinned, arching her back slightly. "So do something about it."

Dan exhaled, long and slow, then pressed his palm flat against her, dragging his fingers through the slick heat pooling between her thighs. Sam gasped, her hips twitching up into his touch, the teasing finally catching up to her.

"Yeah," Dan murmured, more to himself than her, watching the way she responded to the lightest pressure. "That's what I thought."

Sam opened her mouth, probably to fire back something sharp, but then he pressed a thick finger inside her, and the only sound that came out was a low, broken moan.

Dan grinned, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Nothin' to say now, huh?"

She glared at him, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the way her body clenched around his finger, drawing him deeper. Dan groaned, pressing another kiss to her jaw, then her throat, working his way lower as his hand continued its slow, devastating rhythm.

"Bet I can get you to beg," he murmured against her skin, his stubble scraping deliciously over her collarbone.

Sam swallowed hard, her breath coming faster. "Bet you can try."

Dan grinned. "Oh, sweetheart. I'm not tryin'."

And then he was moving lower, kissing a path down her stomach, his fingers curling inside her just as his mouth settled between her thighs.

Sam's sharp intake of breath was the only warning before her hands tangled in his hair, holding him there, and for the first time all night, maybe ever, she had absolutely nothing smart to say.