Page 66 of If We Were Young

His long dark lashes closed just as our lips touched, and for a split-second I watched them flutter against his skin until I submitted myself to blindness and sensation alone.

One push, then another, harder, longer. I sighed, opening my lips a little, my breath escaping into his mouth. The hand holding mine tightened, one palm burning into my scalp, the other pressed into my back, branding me with the size and shape of his hand so I’d never forget.

The next push was firmer still, its minted hardness rolled into the softest of velvet. His head slanted, locking our lips the way our hands had always held.

My tongue flicked into his domain, searching for his, tentative in its approach; but I needn’t have feared, because his waited ready and it slipped and slid along mine, pushing and tangling.

Everything about me sang until I was nothing more than an aria in the Royal Albert Hall.

Our tongues danced to a tune, pressing and giving, relenting and then seeking. I groaned from my toes into his mouth and his hand on my back slid up my spine to the top of my neck and back down again.

Flames ate away at me.

In the pit of my stomach a terrible tightening stretched along my limbs until I was boneless and hollowed.

Every inch of my skin craved him.

I should never have feared the kiss, the story of my soul. It was a tale he’d always known.

His sigh whispered.

I never wanted this to end. Never wanted to breathe or think, never wanted to speak or move ever again. Just this kiss in this moment forever. It was all I wanted.

Delicate, the dart of his tongue dove playful and fun, followed by a deep and delicious sweep that told me he could give me more. It was the soft and hard of my dreams. Feathered and light, as strong and unforgiving as iron.

And I wanted it forever.

“Matthew.” I trembled his name. It flourished in my chest like the unfurling of a vibrant wildflower.

I spoke though, mid-kiss, and it broke the magic. His deep hold on my mouth lessened and the all-encompassing deep dive became little splashes in shallow water.

Another peck.

Another brush.

His forehead pushed into mine. Both our chests heaved with the same rhythm.

For a long, unquantifiable length of time we remain tangled in the silent stretch of the moment.

“Did you prove your theory right?” My legs wobbled and his hold on my back tightened, firmly clamping me to his chest. And what a chest, wide and strong. It bruised hard against me.

He smiled, eyes closed, and I watched those dark lashes again, hurriedly sketching them in my brain so I didn’t forget the way they fluttered, a slight curl at the tips.

Inky pools met me when he opened them up. “I think you need to answer that.”

I laughed, my hands wrapping themselves into his jumper. “I think you did.” I smiled, my heart growing by the second, trebling in size. “More. Please.”

Smiling, he leant down and pecked a kiss on the corner of my lips. “I should get you home before I take this to a place we can’t come back from.” I burned hot. Take me to that place.

I turned and looked into the rented apartment, the blank canvas with no recriminations and memories. “I could stay.”

I couldn’t stay. I’d never hear the end of it. Ma would have kittens and her finger would shout. Hannah…well, what would she think?

“I want to stay,” I amended. I never wanted to leave this moment. I didn’t want to step back out of the door and be Ronnie Childs-the widow again. If I could have, I’d have stayed there with him, where it would only ever be Ronnie and Matthew. The one thing we only ever should have been.

“Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

“There really is no need. It’s just around the corner.” My eyes flew open. “You knew where I lived, didn’t you? How did you know I moved back home?”