Chapter 24
Henry
Emma’s been different since her mum came to visit.
More together, and more kind of unbuttoned.
Or, at least, it seems that way to me when she gets back to school on Sunday evening after spending the day in Edinburgh with her mum.
We spend hours kissing in her room; the only reason I don’t spend the night with her is that Ms. Barnett catches us just before wing time and is sure to pop back later to check that I’ve definitely left.
It’s a surreal time. Lately, I’ve been asking myself if I’d ever really been in love before, because nothing compares to this.
I never felt so fluttery and light when Grace looked at me.
I never spent minutes at a time not paying attention in lessons because all I could think of was how soft her mouth was.
I never wanted so badly to know everything going on inside her head, every single thought—it feels almost like I can’t survive without knowing.
I even look forward to the training sessions that Emma and I have started again.
I missed them during our little break. Seriously. This is what things have come to.
It’s like we’re living in a transparent bubble, and I wish it could never burst. I’m actually physically addicted to being close to Emma.
Maybe I ought to be worried about this crazy magnetic attraction.
Sometimes it scares me when I think how much we still have to tell each other.
How many things I don’t yet know about her and urgently need to find out.
I only know the Dunbridge version of Emma, and I forget way too easily that there’s a completely different Emma out there.
One who speaks German and had a life before she switched schools.
A life that she’d been intending to go back to next summer.
There’s a long time to go until then but it still makes me nervous.
I suppose I ought to be a neutral nontoxic boyfriend, who supports her every decision, whatever it looks like, but the fact is that all I want now is for her to stay here.
There’s no point in denying it. She means way too much to me for that.
We haven’t spoken about it again, and I haven’t got the guts to raise the subject.
Not while everything’s so pink and perfect.
These days, we’re not just running in the mornings: We sometimes go out in the evenings too.
Like this Saturday, for instance. At around halfway, we stop in the woods because we have to kiss.
It really is a matter of considerable urgency.
My heart rate doesn’t drop the whole time, so I’m sure we can count it as part of my training, though Emma would probably disagree.
It doesn’t really faze me that we’re dripping with sweat—it’s actually kind of hot.
My knees are soft, and there’s no way it’s a coincidence that her mouth fits mine so perfectly.
Emma’s way of moving is almost more than I can stand.
I can feel everything through this thin sports kit.
Her warm body, every movement—I can’t get enough of it because Emma was always so far away and now she’s here.
I’m too distracted to pay any attention to the weather, but I guess I should be grateful when at some point the sky chucks an ice-cold shower over us.
We run back, we laugh, it’s unreal, and it eventually gets unbelievably cold, so I pull Emma toward the gym.
She’s shivering as we run through the empty corridors—the whole place seems dead, the boys’ changing rooms are deserted, and we keep kissing as we pull off our shoes.
My head switches off as Emma pulls me to her by the waistband of my shorts.
It’s a fluid, self-confident motion that takes my breath away.
Her hips meet mine. I’m hard right away, and I have to bury my hands in her hair.
It’s damp on my fingers, I pull her head back slightly and forget my own name as a stifled groan escapes her.
She pulls her hands back from my waistband and runs them over my belly up to my chest.
Our eyes meet. Her pupils are wide, her cheeks red and, God, I have to kiss her.
I have to kiss her right now. She raises her hands to my head as I run my thumbs over her cheeks.
I don’t know who’s pulling who closer. Maybe we both are, simultaneously, equally desperate, equally relieved when it happens.
This is no gentle kiss. It’s hungry and greedy. It’s everything I could ever imagine and more. It’s this weightless feeling in my stomach as I pull her toward the showers.
I can taste her sweat, salty and damp. My fingers slip over her skin. I can’t stop. It’s a kiss that has only a beginning, no end. Breathing through the nose so we don’t have to stop, her hot tongue in my mouth, and nothing else matters now.
I stumble backward against some wall in the team showers, and I can’t breathe as Emma’s warm body presses against mine.
She gasps, right in front of me, as she feels my erection.
She hesitates very briefly. Then, tantalizingly slowly, she moves her hips against mine.
My eyelids flutter closed, she kisses me more, my head sinks back against this cold tiled wall, and Emma lets her fingers wander over my jaw.
Over my throat to my collarbone. When her hands reach my chest, I lay mine on her bum.
I press her against me, but it isn’t enough.
There are too many clothes, there’s too much fabric.
We gasp all the same. I blink. It’s only a tiny glance as she looks at me, and I understand.
My hands slide lower, I grab her and lift her up.
I turn with her, Emma wraps her legs around my hips, and then I press her back against the wall as I move against her.
“God, Henry.” She groans, and I can’t stand it. It’s just too much. There’s too much heat, too much attraction, as she presses her legs more firmly against me and lifts her hips.
Her hands run through my hair as we keep on kissing, and then she grabs the neckline of my running top. She hesitates for a tiny moment, and it drives me out of my mind.
My eyes find hers, we look at each other, and for a second, we freeze motionless, facing each other.
“Have you got . . . ?” she begins, her voice hoarse.
“No, but Sinclair has. Wait.”
Reluctantly, I leave her on the floor. I feel dizzy.
We’re going to do this. I know the combination to Sinclair’s locker, but the damn thing doesn’t open until I give it a thump with my fist. Emma’s standing in the doorway to the showers wearing nothing but her skintight leggings and a blue sports bra that hugs her figure perfectly.
My tongue tingles as I think about what’s beneath it.
I dig through Sinclair’s crap. I have to fight back a groan of relief when I finally find his condoms.
Emma wraps her arms around my neck as I get back to her.
“Are you sure?” I whisper. It’s hard to breathe.
“Yes,” she breathes. “Are you?”
“I’m sure too.”
Her eyes flit from mine to my lips and back again.
Then she carries on. I plant kisses on her cheek, her throat, and her left collarbone as she grabs the hem of my shirt.
It’s all taking way too long. I lean away slightly and pull it off, then let my fingers wander over her belly and her leggings.
She slips out of her sports bra and drops it on the floor by her feet.
My mouth dries as my eyes take her in. Her throat, beaded with sweat, her slender shoulders, her small, full breasts, down to her flat belly.
Emma takes a step forward. When our bare chests meet, it’s perfect.
Hot skin, smooth, soft skin, and all this stupid clothing that has to go.
We keep on kissing, and Emma’s hands reach for my shorts.
I never knew undressing each other could be such a turn-on.
We let each other go briefly to undress, and then we’re standing face-to-face in this communal shower, wearing nothing but underwear, and I’ve never felt so complete.
When Emma grabs her knickers, I have to gulp.
We strip off our underpants at the same time, watching each other.
I’m trying to control my heavy breathing, but it’s impossible.
She looks me straight in the eyes, and we face each other, stark naked. Then we take a step forward.
Emma’s hands reach for the back of my neck, mine find her face.
We pause, an inch or so apart. I feel her hot breath on my lips, her eyes roam over my face, and I kiss her.
It’s different this time. Long and deep.
Without otherwise moving, at least until Emma pulls me closer and lets her warm hands run over my back.
We gasp for breath in unison as my throbbing meets the heat of her.
And then Emma moves her hands between us.
My eyelids close as I feel her fingers around my erection. My forehead sinks into hers as our hands meet.
“Wait,” I murmur, thinking of the condom. The plastic crackles; it’s all taking too long.
Emma waits until I’m looking at her again. Her fingers tremble as I feel her on my skin. But I can’t carry on until I’ve checked something.
“Have you ever . . . ?” I begin hesitantly, because there’s no way of asking that isn’t problematic. But I have to know if she’s a virgin. Not because it matters to me, but because I want everything to happen at her pace. I want to make sure that she knows we can stop. Even now.
“Yes,” she says. “With Noah.”
I can’t say I’m relieved, but in a way, I kind of am.
“How about you?” she asks, yet I’m sure that she knows. “Grace?”
I nod silently.
“OK.”
“We don’t have to . . .” I say, but Emma shakes her head.
“Yes, we do, Henry,” she says, and something flickers in her eyes in the darkness as she reduces the gap between us.
Well, yes, she’s right. We have to. It’s just good to know that she sees it the same way.