23. 7 Years Ago #2
Amidst more light banter, he settled up with the waitress and pushed the plate across the table so I could finish the last of the fries.
When I was done, he led me back out into the parking lot.
He walked me to the passenger side of the truck and opened the door for me, leaning his body close enough for me to catch a whiff of the beer on his breath.
Typically, the scent would repulse me, but on Matt, somehow even beer smelled nice.
“Such a gentleman,” I laughed, climbing into the truck.
“I’d like to think so,” he replied, his face closer than necessary.
“Hey. You got something,” he said, lifting his thumb to the corner of my mouth and gently wiping towards the space between my lips.
He put his thumb up to his own mouth, placing it on the tip of his tongue, sucking gently before releasing it.
“Maple.” I froze, awash with sudden desire at the simple action.
I replayed the moment in my mind on a loop the whole ride back to camp, while Matt flipped through radio stations, finally giving up and switching on an old Taking Back Sunday playlist from his phone.
I stared out the window, afraid to look at him, knowing I would only see the towel-clad Matt from earlier: one tattoo on his ribcage and another on his arm, water droplets falling from the tips of his hair to his shoulders.
The silence was like oxygen to a newly lit fire, helping it catch and grow more wild with each passing second.
We returned to his house. Matt unlocked the door. “Ladies first,” he said.
I entered the vestibule. As soon as Matt closed the door, I turned around to face him. His expression serious, he took a step toward me as I stood my ground in the tiny entry foyer.
“Hey,” I said, so quietly that I almost couldn’t hear the sound of my own voice.
“You know what I noticed?” he asked. His eyes looked me over, ravenous. “You didn’t drink tonight.”
I gulped. “I know.”
He raised one hand to my cheek, gently tracing his pointer finger down my jawline to my chin. His fingertips reached up and lightly landed on my bottom lip. I closed my eyes intuitively, letting the sensation emanate from my pursed mouth down my neck, through my arms and into my hands.
Matt’s finger traced back to the side of my neck, and I opened my eyes and reached out, greedily pulling him in by a fistful of his T-shirt. Matt contemplated me with the yearning of a man who had it all, lost it, and newly found it again.
“Is this…” he began. His inflection let me know it was a question. He was starving for me, but still stopped to ask permission before going any further.
“Mm,” I replied.
Matt pressed his mouth to mine. His long fingers wove through my hair, clutching me by the nape of my neck with the exact right amount of pressure to make me swoon.
Between gasps of ragged breath, his tongue slid into my mouth, playing against the involuntary movement of my hips into his groin.
We magnetically drew closer, twirling in an unconscious nirvana, devoid of gravity.
He pressed himself against me, exhaling desire as my fingernails scratched against the bare skin beneath his shirt.
I pulled it off over his head with an unfamiliar urgency.
The Matt of my past was ever-present; I could take my time and explore his body conscientiously.
But this Matt was as foreign as he was familiar.
“I need you,” he whispered, verbalizing my own emotions with the feral truth of an all-consuming second chance.
My breath caught in my throat. Matt lifted me up off the ground, and I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me into his unmade bed.
He moved as if I was weightless, already a part of him.
I stripped off my shirt and then my shorts, lying beneath him with nothing but cotton and a thin band of lace standing between our repossession of each other.
Matt pulled off his remaining clothing; then he traced my clavicle with his tongue and placed his hands firmly on my hips.
He thumbed at the sides of my underwear, retreating his face from my neck only to seek consent once more.
I wriggled my body like a snake, nodding my head, willing him to take me.
Matt replaced the minimal scraps of remaining fabric with his calloused touch.
His hands ran across my breasts, activating the nerve sensations in my chest. He adorned my skin with kisses, licking my nipples to tease me as his hand drifted between my thighs.
I was aching as he throbbed against my leg.
My hands were greedy for him, too, and they kneaded at his muscular torso from his back down to his firm ass cheeks.
Finally, my fingers wrapped around him, and he groaned as I stroked.
Just as Matt had memorized my body years ago, so had I.
Our fingers, tongues, and hips were simply conjuring up an old friend.
He kissed my stomach, my hip bones, and massaged me with his tongue until I raised my hips to press myself into his mouth.
Not wanting to stop and not wanting to finish without him, I breathlessly pulled at his mop of silky brown hair, lifting his face off of me.
“Get a condom,” I begged. “I need you inside me.”
Matt obliged, grappling at his nightstand drawer and pausing to pinch, then roll the Trojan over himself. I guided him to my entrance and held my breath as the pressure inside me mounted. “You okay?” he asked.