She was glad they weren’t.
Everything inside was still. Calm. Expectant.
‘Is something wrong?’ he demanded suddenly.
And Anouk was aware of an edge to his tone. A hint that he was teasing her, playing with her, but she didn’t know what the joke was.
‘Wrong?’
‘You appear to be rather fixated.’
‘Fixated?’
She was beginning to sound a little like the old neighbour’s parrot that had had a habit of waking her and Saskia at ridiculous hours in the morning, despite the fact that it was a decent apartment and the walls weren’t exactly thin.
‘With my mouth?’
She snapped her eyes up.
‘I’m not fixated with your mouth.’
‘Indeed? Only, I was going to ask if there was something there. A mark perhaps. An ink stain. A crumb.’
God help her, but all she could think of now was that if it had been a crumb, she would have gladly licked it off.
‘No crumb,’ she managed briskly. ‘Or anything else.’
‘Shame.’
As though he could read her illicit thoughts.
‘I should go.’
‘You should,’ he agreed.
It took a great effort to galvanise her legs, moving one in front of the other in a great imitation of a newborn foal. Was it any wonder then that as she reached Sol and he refused to budge to let her pass easily, she faltered slightly?
He caught her in an instant, not that she had been about to fall, and suddenly she was being hauled into his arms, and he was holding her there, and she couldn’t breathe. All she could do was stare again at his fascinating mouth, silently begging it to come crashing down on hers as it had that night.
When it didn’t, Anouk didn’t see any other choice but to lean up and press her lips to his.
It was instant combustion. His arms encircled her, pulling her to him. Her soft, pliant body against his deliciously hard one. He dipped his head and tasted her, sampling as though she were some precious vintage wine, leaving Anouk feeling revered and rare.
He dipped in and out, making her arch to him for more, soft moans escaping her lips in spite of herself.
He let his fingers tangle in her hair, mumbling words like glorious and spun-silk gold.
‘It’s just hair,’ she muttered against his mouth, half afraid that she would fall for his charms when she knew better, probably better than anyone.
‘No,’ he argued, drawing back from her and tangling his hands deep within the abundance. ‘It’s like running my fingers through the softest gallium.’
‘I don’t need the hollow compliments...’ she began, but when he raked his thumb over her lower lip, apparently revelling in the feel of her shaky breath on his skin, she found she couldn’t even remember what she’d been about to say.
All the while she wanted the moment to last an eternity, maybe two, and yet also wanted the journey to be over, so that he could finally take her to his apartment and release the madness that had been building ever since he’d pressed his head between her legs that night and showed her exactly what she’d been missing all these years. With her two perfectly nice, perfectly dull boyfriends.
He kissed her some more. Slowly, reverently, as though they had all the time in the world and as though they weren’t in the middle of a busy hospital.
The hospital, the voice sounded dully through the fog of her brain.