Her eyes widened. He wasn’t sure if she believed him. Hearing it out loud, he found it difficult to believe too, but it was true. After what had happened with Lottie he’d buried himself in work, too unnerved by the failure of his mathematical certainties to test them again in person.
She breathed out unsteadily. ‘We should probably go inside.’
The prospect of returning to his room alone made his body tense—with hunger, not misery—but he managed to nod. ‘Yes, we should.’
He felt her lean into him, and hesitate, and then she said shakily, ‘My room or yours?’
The air swelled around them, swallowing up her question and retreating. He stared down at her in confusion. ‘I don’t—We don’t—I’m not—’
Her wide-eyed, panicky gaze met his. ‘Have you changed your mind?’
Hope fought with fear, and he gripped her tightly. ‘You know I haven’t. I can’t. There’s nothing inside my head except you.’
He heard her slow intake of breath.
‘My room then,’ she said quickly, and this time his relief was swift and sharp.
* * *
They dressed and he led her back into the house, moving purposefully through the darkness. Her heart was beating out of time and too fast, the aftershocks of their feverish almost-coupling mingling with a leaping panic. She was scared of leaving the starlit heat of the pool house, scared that the shift in mood and pace might introduce a change of perspective.
But as they walked upstairs she felt his hand tighten, and then he was pulling her against him, his mouth blindly seeking hers, kissing her with such blazing urgency that she forgot where she was and who she was, and there was nothing but the darkness and their staccato breathing and the insistent pressure of his mouth.
They made it to her bedroom—just. She had left the curtains open and, using the light from the pool house, they stripped again and kissed their way to the bed.
And then any fears she’d had about coming upstairs were forgotten as he raised her hips and gently nudged her legs apart. She felt his breath on her skin, and then her own breath seemed to stick in her throat as his tongue found the pulse between her thighs and began to move with slow, sure precision.
A moan of pleasure rose to her lips and her eyes slipped backwards. And then she was clasping his head, pushing him deeper, then pulling back, wanting more, but not wanting it to end. She felt weightless and her head was spinning. Heat was spilling over her skin in waves, each one faster and stronger than the last, so that her whole body was vibrating. And then she was tensing, pressing against his quickening tongue, her hands jerking through his hair.
She felt him move up the bed and then his mouth was on hers, pushing and parting her lips, probing her mouth and then dropping to lick her throat, her collarbone, her nipples. Her breath caught in her throat. He felt solid, harder and bigger than before. Was this how it worked? It had been so long she couldn’t remember.
‘It’s okay,’ he whispered, his lips brushing her mouth, his fingers sliding inside her, oscillating back and forth until her skin was tightening, her body melting against him.
She found her voice. ‘Do you have the—?’
‘Are you sure?’ He spoke through gritted teeth and she knew he was holding himself in check.
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
He rolled off the bed and moved swiftly to the door. Watching him leave, she curled her fingers into the sheet. His absence felt like an actual physical loss—like the sun dropping behind cloud—but suddenly he was back, tearing open the packet and rolling on the condom with smooth, precise care, then sliding back down beside her.
He pulled her against him, and as his mouth found hers she pulled him closer still, her hands pressing against his back, reaching down to hold his hips, and then she was guiding him into her body.
His eyes were rapt and unblinking in the half-light, his face taut with concentration and a need that mirrored her own as he moved against her in time to her accelerating heartbeat. And then she felt him tense, and he was thrusting into her, filling her completely, his groan mingling with her soft cry as her muscles tightened sharply around his hard, convulsing body.
He collapsed beside her, pressing his face into the curve of her collarbone, and she clung to him weakly. They were both breathing raggedly, their bodies slick with sweat, but she wanted to lie there for ever. Finally, though, he shifted his weight and pulled out of her. For the briefest half-second she thought he’d pull away completely. Instead, though, he drew her back against him.
‘I was careful...’
‘I know,’ she whispered, surprised but grateful that he had understood her nervousness about contraception.
His arm curved around her back, and he kept it there as his breathing slowed.
And that was how they must have fallen asleep.
* * *
She wasn’t sure what woke her, but even before her eyes were properly open she was aware of the solid warmth of his body beside hers and her body’s instant and unqualified response to it. Her heartbeat slowed. For a moment she kept her eyes shut. She just couldn’t bring herself to open them, for to do so would mean having to return to reality, to clothes, and to being composed and civilised. She wanted to stay here in his arms for ever—to be the woman she had become in his arms.