Page 6 of When We Are Old

“Uh. Sure. I could.” What had I been thinking? Stupid me. I mean he didn’t actually invite me on the train with him—I'd chased him like a demented stalker.

“Ronnie.” He pulled me up, lifting me like a little rag doll and pressing me into a space all women should want to be, between him and a hard surface. “I’ll get off the train too. With you. Where you go, I go.” He released an arm from its hold of my waist and tangled his fingers in mine. “That’s a promise.”

Another gush of tears spurted from my eyes with the zeal of unwanted rain on a celebratory picnic. “I’ve been waiting so long for you to say that. It doesn’t feel real.”

His lips curved. “What would make it feel real?”

I watched him through my lashes. “Another kiss.”

“Easy.”

I inhaled sharply as he dropped his mouth onto mine. Leisurely and slow, it started a gentle dance. He made friends with my mouth like they had all his life to become acquaintances. Firm lips and warmth brushed, secure and hard. My head rested back against the door and my bones puddled into sweet and sticky pools of honey.

“More.” I grabbed him tighter, anchoring my hands on either side of his face.

I couldn’t think outside the train carriage. Couldn’t think of what would happen when I got home, or the mess I’d left behind.

Could only want his kiss, endlessly.

“Another kiss?” Fuck. His Scottish minor chords rippled along my spine.

“Yes.” I nodded, my nose brushing his cheek. “Tongue this time.”

His responding smile curved against my lips. “Easy.”

I held in a low moan as his tongue slipped through the barricade of my mouth and darted with warm bold strokes against mine. It lasted forever, a slip and a dive, a deep slide and a gasp of breath. I shifted my body against his, needy, my skin electrified.

“And now?”

I grumbled as he pulled away to speak. “No talking.” I tugged him back in, my hands against his jumper, running over the curves of all the goodness he kept hidden underneath.

He shifted back, his dark and inky blues on my gaze. “Now that I can definitely do.”

Lifting up, anchoring my legs around his waist, I peeped at the bunks of the carriage.

“I don’t think we will fit.”

His eyes held mine. “You’re obsessed with size.”

I appraised his six-foot-four broad frame.

Without a word he reached under me and clicked the lock on the door.

Oh God.

The train rocked beneath us as he held me tight in his grip and turned us around, pacing the three steps to the small bed. Still holding me, he leant over slightly and turned the knob for the blinds to come down.

The carriage pitched into the shadows of a tunnel and I shivered uncontrollably, all desperate and achy. After another endless kiss, he slid me down his body. Mentally, I high-fived myself for the thick and hard ridge in the centre of his jeans.

This was no longer a dream.

Everything about us, this moment, was startlingly real. All my years of wanting were being reduced to ash on a long-distance train to the North.

His chest heaved slightly, and I glanced up to find a desperate look of wonder on his face. His bright and wide eyes, shining in the low light, looked at me like I was his goddess.

“Ronnie. I will never let you go again. That’s a promise from my heart.” He picked up my hand and pushed it into his chest where it rose with the ragged climb and fall of his breathing. “I’ll never be able to tell you how much I regret the things I’ve done.”

I reached a hand for his face, standing on my tiptoes, and cupped his cheek, my heart pounding as he closed his eyes and surrendered into my touch. “I know,” I whispered. “But now we get to start again.”