Don't Look Back (11 page)

“You look beautiful, Kate,” Matthew replies, “but stop worrying. I thought we could grab a takeout and take it to my place, if that’s all right with you?” He looks over for my approval.

“Sure, I’m starving.” Butterflies leap in my stomach at the thought of spending time alone with Matthew.

“Good.” I see him smile, though he keeps looking straight ahead.

Swiftly, he brings my hand to his lips, kisses the back of it gently, and lowers it again. We continue the rest of the way chatting about my week with relatives, his week at work, and random memories about Harptree, all while walking in sync with each other, our motion fluid as we head toward Hayloft Alley.

CHAPTER 12

Hayloft Alley

Matthew’s flat is a tiny one-bedroom with a lounge-kitchen combo and the smallest bathroom I have ever encountered. Originally, the building was a large detached house, and now it has been split into four flats. The front door, hallway, and stairs are shared by all of the tenants.

Matthew’s unit is downstairs to the right, and his lounge has a large bay window looking out onto the street. Underneath the window, in front of the central heating radiator, is an old teak wood side table with a stereo, a telephone, and various stacks of papers on the top. Along the far wall, opposite the front door, is a boarded-up fireplace that’s sadly no longer used. Below the mantle, his guitar is propped up against the wall, and next to that is a
small sofa covered in a cream blanket.

A large glass coffee table sits in the center of the room on a shaggy cream-colored rug, and a pile of wrinkled clothes lies in a basket next to the front door. A few pairs of shoes are scattered around, but for the most part, Matthew's bachelor pad is fairly tidy. The kitchen is tucked neatly in a corner to the left of the fireplace, with a small oven, a sink, and enough counter space to make a sandwich or cup of tea (but not both). A door in the far corner leads to the bedroom and bathroom. It is cozy, and it is Matthew’s, so I have to give him that much credit.

While I unpack our Chinese takeout onto the coffee table, he puts on some music, then brings over some silverware, two glasses, and a bottle of white wine, and we settle down to our first romantic meal together at six o’clock on a bright, sunny, English summer evening.

The Chinese food is amazing—sweet and sour chicken is always my favorite, and prawn crackers are a delicacy that I miss in America. The wine is sweet and crisp, and we share fried bananas, taking turns feeding each other spoonfuls of the sweet, syrupy dessert. Our conversation never falters. There are no awkward silences, and things flow perfectly between the two of us. Matthew stares at me intensely when I speak; sometimes he leans over and kisses me softly on the lips for no reason or plays with my ponytail, tracing his finger around my ear.

The sun finally starts to set and the room begins to dim, casting shadows through the room along with a soft pink glow. Matthew clears the plates, and I watch as he lights some candles by the stereo. He
is quite the skilled romantic. I am feeling full from dinner and a little light-headed from the wine, so when he pulls me up from our dining spot to dance, I don’t object or feel embarrassed.

Once again I find myself dancing in Matthew’s arms, a place where I feel so relaxed and comfortable. “Kissing a Fool” by George Michael plays quietly, one of my favorite songs right now. I have it on tape back home, and I play it in my car often. All those times, driving around singing to it in the confines of my car, I never imagined that I would be here, dancing to this song in Matthew’s flat. We sway slowly back and forth, our bodies close, pressing against one another, our toes touching. My fingers twist into his hair at the nape of his neck as I nuzzle my face into his chest, breathing in his scent deeply.

He smells good, very manly, like the men’s cologne counter at the department store. He smells masculine and sexy, and my senses seem to be heightened by the wine. Being close to him is intoxicating. I feel his hands slide down my hips and onto my butt, urging me closer to him. He presses his hips closer, his erection pushing against my belly, and it excites me to know I turn him on. I hear his breathing becoming deeper, his mouth resting against my head. His breath caresses me, blowing against my ear, sounding like waves crashing against the rocks each time he exhales. The sound echoes into my head and vibrates down my body.

I lift my head, and looking into his brown, fathomless eyes, I kiss his lips and raise my hands to the top button on his shirt, undoing it. His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath, and I move to the
next one, exposing his gold chain and flawless skin. With each freed button, I kiss his lips delicately and slowly, taking turns.
Kiss, button, kiss, button, kiss, button
. I get to the last one, which is tucked into his jeans.

I want to give myself to Matthew. With all my heart, I want him to be my first, and I want it to be now. This moment seems perfect, and I feel as though I am made for him, like I have always been made for him. Brazenly, I pull his shirt from his jeans, unbuttoning the final button. My hands run up along his naked belly to his chest. The scattered hair across his chest and his taut nipples feel foreign to my fingertips. Again locking eyes with him, I reach up and free my hair from the confines of my ponytail, letting it fall around my shoulders.

He tears his shirt off of his body and throws it to the sofa, his movements now urgent, almost desperate, as his eyes turn darker and his skin glows golden by the candlelight. In one swift movement, his lips are fiercely on mine as he picks me up. My legs straddle his hips, my arms encircle his shoulders as he carries me through the dark hallway into his bedroom.

We fall to the bed, his weight pinning me beneath him. My legs wrap around him and he grinds into me, his hardness pushing against me, causing me to ache deep within. My hands roam over Matthew’s back. His skin is smooth and perfect, his arms muscular as I grab his bicep, attempting to pull myself closer to him. With a simple, skillful motion, he tugs my sweatshirt over my head and tosses it across the room. Finally, flesh on flesh. Yet getting what I crave only makes me
crave more.

He rolls over, pulling me on top of him, astride him; an amazing sensation runs though me as I shift my weight and apply pressure against him. Something within me rejoices, and I shudder with delight. Matthew’s hands are expertly unhooking my bra, and the straps slowly slip down my arms while his palms slide up my rib cage to cup my young, firm breasts. He takes each nipple between a thumb and forefinger, gently rolling them, sending shooting exotic pains directly to my aching groin. I catch my breath, and for a moment, he stops kissing me and smiles. We stare at each other, panting, our breath ragged.

“I love you, Kate,” he whispers. “Always have, always will.”

He reaches up to my face once more and gently pulls me closer to him, covering my lips with his, softly, exquisitely, before I can reply. Our kiss deepens and our tongues dance together in a lover’s tango. Once again, we roll, and I find myself on my back pinned beneath Matthew’s weight. His lips leave mine and trail light kisses along my jaw, down my neck, to my breasts, leaving a trail of goose flesh in their wake. My skin prickles with electricity, his touch sending shockwaves all the way to my core.

His kisses continue across my stomach and down to my belly button, his fingers working to unbutton and unzip my jeans. In one rapid movement, they are swept off my long, tanned legs. He tosses the jeans and my panties across the room into the same pile as my sweatshirt. Matthew stands up and removes his remaining clothes, and then lies beside me in his naked glory.

I have never been naked with a man before, and I am intrigued and mesmerized by his body. My hands yearn to touch him all over, driven by a longing to caress him, to taste him. I have an intense need to satisfy him and myself, but I do not know how to complete the task. I pine for him to touch me, yet I don’t know where or how I need to be touched. It is almost as if there is a compass inside me, guiding me in the right direction; I just need to close my eyes and allow it to lead the way.

We lie there for a few moments, staring at each other in all our nakedness. I am not embarrassed or ashamed; I feel beautiful, and I feel confident that Matthew thinks I am beautiful, too. His index finger traces my eyebrows and then trails down across the bridge of my nose to the outline of my lips. I open my lips and softly lick his fingertip; he breathes deep and pushes his finger deeper into my mouth. I close my eyes, savoring the taste of his skin, sucking gently on his finger deep in my mouth, grazing my teeth against his skin. He moves it back and forth, slowly and erotically showing me what he wants to do to me. I want more; I instinctively arch up toward him, pushing my breasts toward him while thrusting my hips down. I need him to touch me, anywhere and everywhere. I can feel the moisture between my thighs, I can smell the scent of my wanting him.

His tongue switches places with his finger, and I feel his hand glide down my body toward my inner thighs. Wantonly, I part my legs to grant him access to my core, and he gently strokes me, finding me hot and wet.

“God, Kate, you’re driving me wild.” Matthew’s
voice is almost pained, his breath ragged as he speaks between kisses. His finger slowly enters me as his tongue thrusts into my mouth. The feeling is exquisite, and I arch up, gasping for air as he slowly repeats the synchronized motion again and again, his magical finger and tongue dancing in unison to the same beat. He reaches for one of my hands as they frantically roam over him, and he guides me to his erection. I gently grip it, unsure of what to do, letting my fingertips explore the silky skin. I never imagined it would be so smooth and hard, and I trace the outline, from the wet tip all the way to the base, where I feel his soft hair. Back and forth I move my hand, listening to his breathing, trying to learn what he likes while my own body goes crazy with his every movement.

Matthew pulls my hand away from him, and I moan as he stops touching me, leaving me wanting more. Pinning both my arms above my head with his hands, he gently nudges my legs apart with his knee. He continues to place soft kisses on my lips as he settles himself fully between my thighs, his hardness pressing against me, rubbing the delicate skin of my most private place. I wrap my legs around him, inviting him to enter, to fill me and satisfy this craving I have deep within. He pushes against me, and for a brief moment a burning pain rips through me as he fills me completely, as Matthew enters me for the first time, joining us together as one.

My body stretches and my muscles silently scream at the violation of this foreign object, but within moments I relax as Matthew unhurriedly glides back and forth, in and out like the waves of
the ocean. His slow rhythm entices me, and I find myself moving my hips to greet his movements, our bodies meeting tenderly, his lips kissing my face.

With each new stroke, an unfamiliar pressure builds within me. Deep inside I can feel this unexplainable heat growing and spreading between my hips—an ache inside that longs for Matthew to move deeper into me. My hips rotate, urging him to increase the tempo. My legs lock around his waist, opening me wider, pushing him deeper into me. Our bodies glide smoothly against each other as our sweat blends together; I taste salt on his skin, which only adds to my fervor.

The bed is rocking. I gasp for air, making sounds I never knew I could make, and I hold onto him as if he is the source of air for my lungs. As we reach the height of our tempo, my back arches and my fingers dig into him as a scream escapes me. Stars explode behind my eyes, and I feel an eruption where Matthew and I are joined deep inside; a massive release of energy rushes through my body. My muscles tighten and pulsate around him, clenching him deep within me. With his final thrust he collapses on me, kissing my eyelids, tasting my tears. Both of us lie speechless; the only sound is us gasping for air. Exhausted by what we have experienced, I drift off into a contented sleep with Matthew’s steady heartbeat as my lullaby.

I wake to the sound of people upstairs banging about. Matthew and I are wrapped in each other’s arms and a bed sheet. When I roll over to look at the clock, I panic. It’s 2:35 a.m.

“Shit,” I mutter. Sliding out of bed, I rush to my pile of discarded clothes and frantically get dressed.

Matthew is fast asleep; in fact, he is snoring. Obviously, the noisy neighbor is something he is accustomed to, so he doesn’t even move while I dress and slip out of his flat. The streets are quiet and the pubs are already closed, so I know I can make it back to the Whites’ house without any trouble. Running most of the way, I make it there in less than ten minutes. Quietly opening the door and hanging up the spare key, I tiptoe up two flights of stairs, trying to avoid as many squeaky floorboards as possible as I head to my room on the third floor.

As I climb into bed, my heartbeat eventually starts to calm, and the pounding in my ears slows and quiets. I think back to my night with Matthew, what it felt like to make love to him. I feel a soreness that I have never known before. My lips are swollen, my thighs feel bruised, and my heart aches like it has never ached before.

I can’t explain what I feel when I am with Matthew, but it isn’t anything that I am prepared for. It feels so right being with him. Matthew is who I am meant to love, it has been him all long, and I can’t wait until tomorrow when we will start planning our lives together. I can finally see my future; the fog has lifted. My future is Matthew. Somehow we can work out the details; either I will move back to England in a couple of months or Matthew will consider moving to California. In the morning, I will call Diana and we can all try and see each other one last time before I have to leave Harptree on Sunday. Tomorrow night, I will make love to Matthew again and we can celebrate our plans. Smiling, I roll over and close my eyes, lost in the dream of my happily ever after. I don’t hear the
footsteps from the second floor landing or the closing of my parents’ bedroom door.

CHAPTER 13