I want to shriek or yell at him, but I can’t. No, I don’t want to do those things, I should do those things.
Instead, I just stare at his face with our breath fogging up the area between us. He inches a little closer, his eyes glued to my lips, like the only thing on his mind is seeing what they feel like against his.
Holy shit.
It’s like a damn movie.
Instead of shoving him away, all I do is prepare my mind to record every damn sensation the first time Matthew kisses me.
“I’ve wanted to do this all day at work.” He inches even closer.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“And the whole time up at the bar.”
Closer.
“And during the ping pong game.”
He’s now right in front of my face. His shoes push up next to mine. His chest is millimeters away from me.
“I… uhh… we…” I tell myself to look away, but I can’t. He’s reduced me to a stammering moron.
It’s too much, too overwhelming. God, I want to reach out and see what he feels like under that jacket. I want it out of my way. I want all this tension out of my body, and I want him to be the one who takes it away.
“If you want to stop me, just say so.” He starts toward my lips.
It’s like slow motion, like time slows down. It’s agony.
Before I know what’s happened, it’s like a dam breaks inside me. I lunge up into him before he can even get to me. His eyes widen when our lips make contact earlier than he’d clearly expected, then I feel him smile against my mouth.
Our chests collide a fraction of a second later and holy shit, I don’t think he can press against me hard enough. It’s like running into a solid brick wall with a few layers of clothing to cushion the blow. It doesn’t take long for a low growl to come from his throat.
Our tongues dance and swirl, and of course, it’s the best damn kiss of my life. The kind of kiss that defines every other kiss; the one you compare everything to.
My fingers rake over his shoulders, up into his hair. His hands trace my sides like he’s learning the shape of my body, then they land on my hips, and he squeezes, pulling me closer to him. I grind against him, looking for any kind of friction I can create.
When the kiss finally breaks, it’s like we’re both in a daze for a moment. A stupid, happy daze, where nothing else exists.
“How far away is your place?” His words come out urgent.
Still in a post-kiss fog, I nod and say, “Yes.”
He snorts, laughing.
It feels like forever, but probably in the blink of an eye, I realize what I just did and say, “Sorry, like five blocks.” I can’t stop dare I say, giggling, about what just happened.
Fun fact about me, I don’t freaking giggle, ever. Not since I was a child.
His hand grips mine again, and a cloud of fog forms around his head when he says, “Let’s go.”
Before I know it, I’m being dragged down the sidewalk for the millionth time today. “You just going to leave your car here?”
He doesn’t even look at me, just continues pulling me behind him. “Yep. Don’t drink and drive—ever.”
“Well, lucky for you, you’re leading us the right way.”
He must realize he just took off without asking me for directions. His eyes dart over to mine. “I’ll be lucky when we get where we’re going.”
How does every damn word this man speaks heat me up in ways I didn’t know existed? Do I do that to him too? God, I hope so.
If I don’t, he’s a sadist, or a nympho, or psycho, or something. What else would be leading his feet the way mine just follow him down the sidewalk?
We turn a corner after an excruciatingly long and cold walk, and I point to my apartment building. He licks his lips, shifting his weight from one foot to another, waiting for the stoplight to turn. His eyes dart back and forth down the street, then he growls, “Fuck this,” and pulls me through the crosswalk while the light is still red.
Okay, so my heartbeat had to already be above the baseline. Now, with every step closer to what will eventually be my couch or my bedroom, it’s redlining. Like it’s the damn Indy 500.
Not to mention, the way he kissed me, the way he’s behaving—God, this sex is going to be phenomenal. He races me through the building, each step more urgent than the previous, his grip on my hand tightening by the second, like I might try to bail at any moment. Like the moment is fleeting and he’s not going to lose it at any cost.
I thought the whole five-block walk would make me think rationally, get myself out of this situation. No, all I did was justify it in my brain. This is biology, a natural human instinct, and it would be absurd to deny myself that. Once this is out of my system I’ll think more clearly and be able to compartmentalize and focus on my work.
I conveniently ignored every possible complication on how this might be the dumbest decision of my life.
Because I want it, so damn bad. It was the kiss, the attitude, all of it.
When we get to my door, I go to unlock it, and he does the damn surprise thing again.
Whirls me around and has me pressed to the wall. I expect him to kiss me again, but he pauses in front of my face.
I blink a few times because he needs to kiss me or take me inside and have his way with me. I don’t know what this pause-and-stare business is all about.
Then, something happens that hasn’t happened all night. He has this serious look on his face. His eyebrows rise a little. His tone softens somewhat.
My eyes dart around like what the hell is going on here? Then, they land back on him.
Slowly and deliberately, he says, “Are you sure?”
Fucking hell.
Is it weird that I kind of want to slap him for being so sweet?
Or maybe I want to slap him for making me like him so much, in the moment, when it really matters. When something is really on the line and there are consequences, and his actions could derail what he clearly wants.
No!
I nod at him. “Yes.”
The second I say it, he smiles. A real smile. Not like his smirking, asshole smile. He looks like a little boy who’s actually happy.
Just like that, he snaps out of it, and the urgency is back. “Unlock the damn door then.”
I nod, because I think I’d do anything he says at this point. “Right. Yeah. Okay.”
I fumble around for the keys because my damn hands are trembling. It’s impossible to hide, even though I’m mortified he sees it. The second I turn the key and the lock clicks, I hear a ringtone.
Matthew sighs. Like an irritated, forceful sigh.
The kind that says, are you fucking kidding me right now?
He slowly reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. When his eyes scan the screen, his jaw tightens even harder.
“Everything okay?” For some reason I smile, like I’m trying to lighten the sudden mood change.
It’s weird and something I need to give some thought to. Because I know I’m doing it to try to get boyish, smiling, sexy Matthew back. I don’t even know if it’s because I want to sleep with him. I may just want him to be happy and in a good mood. It’s weird.
It takes a second or two, but it’s almost like I’m inside his brain, watching it work. He’s clearly frustrated with receiving this phone call, but it’s like he thinks about it, and then slowly pushes that frustration somewhere else, so he can smile at me again.