The Cure

Chapter 33

She had thrown her hat into the ring, alright, she thought, plaiting a lock of golden hair as she hummed. Melissa's words had played on her psyche that whole, long, hungover afternoon, the TV prattling unheard, unseen before her glassy eyes as she weighed her options.

Either she left, or he left, or they carried on uncomfortably avoiding each other in the kitchen, stifling the memories that crept up as they stole glances at one another, wondering what could have been.

Or she could haul her sorry ass off the sofa, take a long bath with jasmine salts, and see if it was always that good.

And it was. It was better. She let a brief smile tickle her lips as she finished her plait, turning her head that was nestled beneath Nate's arm, and his long fingers ran the length of the tressed hair, then combing through the rest of it, coaxing her head back to leaning against his chest.

The parquet floor of the loft might as well have been a four-poster bed, for they couldn't bear to pull themselves up from it. The rest of the sushi sat abandoned on the coffee table.

He hadn't even bothered to take off her skirt this time, hadn't even managed to undress.

When she had finished eating, or as much as she could, her stomach squeezing, her body thrilling under his low-lidded gaze, he had reached over, placing another tender kiss on her lips; she had slid her arms around his neck to pull him closer, and he had responded to the unexpectedly open gesture with renewed passion, pulling her to kneeling, sliding a hand up the back of her legs, tickling under the skirt, kneading her, pulling her desperately flush against him as he gasped against her lips.

There had been time only to push her underwear to one side, let out a quivering fuck as he felt her wet against his light touch, wet for him, as she undid his jeans – so many unnecessary clothes – and he had fumbled too much in his impatience to pull his boxers down any more than just enough to pull out his already rock-hard length, push her onto her back, guiding himself into her with his head falling back in lustful abandon.

He had tugged the material of her underwear back across, as much as he could about himself, pulling it tight against her, so that his finger felt far away, drawing slow circles over her sensitivity, and couldn't possibly make her come, or so she had thought.

For the build was there, but it inched and winced into being with agonising slowness, and it was delicious, feeling herself swell against the dampening material as he thrust inside her, watching her hungrily as her cheeks flushed, her eyes glittering, watching him just as unblinkingly back as he unravelled.

His brow furrowed as pleasure coursed over his skin, cursing low, his muscles seizing; then crying out in abandon as he came deep inside her, pumping, pulsing, his fingers gripping roughly at the material of her tee-shirt as he trembled in the final moments of his climax.

The irresistible sensation of his fingers circling her, quicker now over the material of her panties; the sight of him biting down on his lip as he took in her flushed cheeks and quivering mouth brought her shudderingly to an intense, drawn-out, throbbing, tumbling release, her cries echoing and skipping across the floorboards and her hips jolting uncontrollably off the floor as he slowed his movements, leaning down to capture the last moans in his kiss.

And they hadn't moved since; it was long since dark, and their sweat had long since dried, and it had been at least half an hour since anyone had spoken.

She had thrown her hat in the ring, all right.

'Are you asleep?'

He had tried to whisper, but the sound echoed from his chest, just beneath her ear.