He flipped me onto my back and I looked up at him, every part of me wanting him, needing him.
‘This time,’ I said, ‘I won’t be quiet.’
Now I’m content to just lie here, holding his hand, feeling theheat of him pressed up against me. Then I realise something is stirring and roll over to see Art open his eyes.
‘Morning,’ I say.
He smiles at me, and my heart melts.
‘Good morning, McDermott.’
He kisses me then, his morning stubble prickling against my chin, his erection pressing against my thigh. I feel him grow harder and he pulls back for a second and says, ‘Just ignore that if you’re not—’
‘I don’t want to ignore it,’ I say, and kiss him again.
‘Good,’ says Art.
The first time we did this was giddy and joyful. All the times we did it yesterday were intense and urgent and incredible.
And this … this is slow and sweet and happy. This is hazy summer sunshine and the faint sound of music floating through the window from a neighbour’s garden. I lose myself in it, the sunlight and the movement and the weight of Art above me.
Art pushes my curls out of my face and kisses me. ‘You’re sobeautiful,’ he says, and he says it with such tenderness, such sincerity, I feel utterly undone. There’s no joking about it, no banter. I love the Art that teases me and bickers with me, but I love this Art too.
I suppose I just love Art.
Afterwards, when I’m lying in his arms, I say, ‘This is what I was hoping for, you know. On Sunday night, when I asked you to stay over. I wanted a morning like this.’
‘If I’d known that,’ says Art, planting a kiss on my neck, ‘I’d have said yes.’
‘Why did you say no?’ I say. ‘I thought it was because you were too tired to have sex with me and that’s all you wanted.’
‘God, no,’ says Art. ‘It was the opposite. I didn’t stay over because it made me feel … kind of sad.’
I laugh. ‘Jesus, Art, you’re not making me feel any better!’
‘It made me feel sad because it felt so coupley,’ says Art. ‘And I already knew my feelings for you were starting to get too … well, they werefeelings. I could handle those feelings when we were just doing the whole friends-with-benefits thing. But crossing the line into staying over … it would have messed with my head, especially when I hadn’t made up my mind about New York yet. I didn’t want to start acting like we were in a relationship when as far as I knew you had no interest in anything like that.’
‘I think I only realised I did that day,’ I admit. ‘Though … maybe I only admitted it to myself then. I think I had feelings for you for a while.’
‘Well,’ says Art, ‘Ididtell you the Sullivan charm was irresistible. Wait, stop! Come back to bed! I was joking!’
I’m laughing again as I lean over and kiss him. ‘I know. But I have to get up. So do you. You’ve got to direct our Honoria scenes today, remember? We should probably be around IBC all day in case Des needs us to prep anything. Also I definitely need a shower now.’
‘Hmmm,’ says Art. ‘Can I come too?’
An image flashes into my mind. Me and Art in the shower. Hot water. Art’s hands sliding slick over my breasts, soap on my skin and tiles against my back.
I reach out my hand and he takes it.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘You can come.’
An hour and a half later, after the best shower of my life, we’re walking up the drive of the IBC campus. Art took my hand as soon as we got off the bus. It’s not the first time we’ve walked along holding hands, of course, but this is different. This isn’t just about sex. This is also closeness. Just … being with each other. A part of me wonders what people will think if they see me and Art are together and then I realise I genuinely don’t care. I’m simply too happy.
We make it to our office without any public displays of affection (kissing in the lift doesn’t count, though I have to adjust my clothes as the doors open). It’s less than twenty-four hours since I was last here but it feels like everything has changed.
Although one thing hasn’t. We still have work to do.
‘Much as I would like to spend today defiling that couch,’ I say, ‘we should probably start the scripts for the next episodes.’ A pang of worry pierces my happy bubble. ‘If we’re still employed by then.’