Chapter 57
The backdrop of the window is a melodramatic, grey watercolour. The percussion of rain against the glass is the only thing I can hear over the catch of my quickening breath. He draws me into the warmth of his chest and, the moment my mouth finds his, I am hungry for him. The thought of his touch has been in the back of my mind all day and, each time I’ve indulged it, a snare drum has begun to faintly roll somewhere inside my core.
His tongue teases open my lips, as I smooth my hand along the flesh of his lower back, the line where it meets his towel. Tiny goosepimples rise beneath my fingertips. He gently tugs the fabric of my top out of the waistband of my skirt. He lifts it over my head and drops it over the back of a chair. Then he pulls me in closer, the lace of my bra grazing his skin.
His hand sweeps slowly up the side of my ribcage until it reaches my breast. He caresses my nipple with his thumb, making it tighten. He slides one strap down off my shoulder, bends to kiss the freckled curve of it. Then he moves to the next as my chin tilts upwards and he presses his lips against my throat.
I reach around and unclasp my bra. It falls to the floor. He brushes his lips in a pathway all the way to my breast. Then my nipple is in his mouth and he’s playing with it with his tongue. I have to hold the back of the chair to steady myself.
I whisper his name, in a breath, a heartbeat, and the sound of it seems to make some feverish new pressure begin to build inside him. Our lips collide and he reaches down and unzips my skirt. I wiggle my hips so it falls to the floor, pooling at my feet. I step out and kick it away, before we stumble towards the bedroom in a frenzy of heat and kisses. We pause at the open door, my back pressed against the threshold as I reach down to smooth my palm over his towel, gaining a sense of how hard he is. His head tilts back and he groans.
We make our way to the bed and he sits on the edge. I climb on, straddling him, my thighs gripping the outer edge of his hips. His pelvis bucks, pressing into me, and I can feel his precise, rigid shape against the nub between my legs.
My body has never felt more fluid. The way we move together is like two instruments being played in complete harmony. I glide my fingers through his still-damp hair as his hands grip my waist, his palms just above my hip bones. The curves and dips of my body feel exaggeratedly feminine against the athletic bulk of him.
‘I think about this with you . . . all the damn time,’ he murmurs. ‘I swear my head has been taken hostage by your body.’
He traces the lace on my pants with his fingertips. Heat starts to gather in my core.
I begin to unknot his towel, making a point of doing it with purpose, as if I’m unwrapping a gift. The sight of his erection sends waves of melting pleasure through me. It twitches at my first touch, as I stroke my hand along it firmly and he releases a soft exhalation.
He slides a hand around my face and kisses me once more. The feel of his skin against mine is my new obsession. He runs a finger along my bikini line and skims the fabric between my legs, before he slides them off, all the way down my legs. Then I’m naked too and something inside me seems to fold in on itself. For a long time, we are a tangle of meandering limbs and hot skin.
‘Gimme a moment, okay?’ he whispers.
He stands to walk into the living room as I lie on his bed, wrapped in his sheets and utterly entranced. He is an exquisite vision of masculinity. The muscular form of his buttocks. The ripple of his back and triceps. The supreme curve of his shoulders. Right now, in the grip of desire, I feel as if a Renaissance sculptor couldn’t do him justice.
He picks up his wallet from the table, unfolds it, and takes out a condom.
When he returns to the room, he plants a brief, tender kiss on my lips before he sits and puts it on. Then he turns back to me and crawls on top of me.
We luxuriate in the undulating feel of one another to the point at which my need for him is agonising. But then the tip of his erection is right there, nuzzling at the soft folds between my legs. I have never wanted another human being like this in my life.
When he looks into my eyes, I can see some deep, elemental part of him. Then he slides inside me and something opens, like the time-lapse of a blossoming flower. A moment of surrender, a feeling of pure obliteration. When he withdraws, my insides grip around him. Then he pushes into me again, as far as he can go, and I groan because I just can’t keep it in any more. Every thought in my head is eclipsed by the mystery of his body, the poetry of his flesh. I begin to work my hips, intoxicated by him, by this , mindlessly grasping for more and more.
I am close to the edge of some primitive oblivion for so long after this that, in my head at least, I start to beg for mercy, scream out his name. The hair around my forehead is stuck to my skin. Sweat has gathered in the creases behind my knees. I am alive in places that never existed before this.
And then . . . and then . . . I’m there .
It is transcendental, otherworldly, a blissful skyscraper of a feeling.
Please , I think. Make this never end .